"What did you say to him for this to happen?! Did you run your nasty little mouth again?"
I hate the silence that follows after guests leave our house. That meant my mother no longer had anything to divert her venomous attention anywhere else except me.
"No, amma. We barely talked for seven minutes tops! Please stop making me the reason for everything you find annoying."
Her eyes changed. They were stone cold. Pupils wide. She was so angry she forgot to blink for a good number of seconds.
"Don't talk back to me. This was such a good proposal, and it's gone half to ruin."
A rock moves out of place and she thinks the earth is exploding.
I made sure to sit down on the couch before I took my earrings off. I'd rather lose my head than lose the thiruvaani. "I don't think it's a bad idea, amma. I barely know the guy."
"But wasn't it you who chose him from the list of suitors I brought home?" She questioned as usual, blaming me for anything that went wrong in her diamond-cut plans.
"Yes, it was me but it's not like I can force him. He's his own person just like I am. It's good that he asked you and appa for some more time."
She rose from the couch like a spring and paced back and forth as if her displeasure would dissipate from the friction of her feet against the floor. "All that time for what? Treating our family like a test drive?"
"Amma! Please don't say things like that."
I had to alleviate her anger before she'd do or say something terrible.
God, that awful temper of hers.
"You remember it well. What did Dhruvan say?"
"He said he'd like to get to know you better and equip himself with all the knowledge necessary to be a better husband to you before proceeding to the engagement."
"Exactly. And what part about this are you so offended with?"
She looked at me like I was the dumbest person she had ever met. "I don't like to wait. If you like someone, you just dive right in. You don't ask for time. If you have to wait, the answer is always no."
"That's not how it's supposed to be, amma. The more time he takes to accustom himself to me, the more he might like me. You know me and the reputation I have built for myself to uphold the family's pride."
'Yeah, yeah, you people-pleasing reptile,' a ghost of thought vanished with the same speed it had appeared.
"I suppose you do have some sense in you. Well, fine then." Her face relaxed. "We shall look at the brighter side of it too. The more time he takes, the more options I can explore for you. I thought this was an easy family with an even easier and timid son including the mother who could die anytime soon."
Even after living with her my entire life, I am bewildered by her in a new way after each sunrise.
"She's your acquaintance, amma. You are her confidante," I tried to make her use gentler words.
"And have I ever steered away from that role? You dare question my ethics, you ungrateful child?"
...and I may have made it worse. I just pray she doesn't hit me the way she did a couple of days ago.
"No, that's not what I meant, amma. It just...felt unpleasant to my ears is all."
She rubbed her hand on her forehead.
"I thought keeping you sheltered from the outside world for twenty-five years would give me a grown child with her mother's characteristics, but instead, I got you. A sensitive, glum, mouth of a daughter."
Sheltered? Is that what you call it, amma?
"I have never questioned your judgment. I will abide by whatever you think best, amma." I didn't want to become her sacrificial lamb so obedience works from time to time.
"That's more like it. Now go about your business, but wash up first. You smell like mud. No wonder that boy couldn't last 10 minutes in your presence."
"Right, yes."
I don't think he was bothered by this smell. I can't even smell anything on me. Is it because my nose has already gotten used to it? Dhruvan would have told me if I smelled funny. But then again, he's not one to talk easily. So would that mean he kept that embarrassing detail to himself?
I couldn't afford to spend too much time overthinking, so I left them as they were, like abandoned orphans, my thoughts.
Back in my room, I was looking for folders with past event contracts for reference when I came across a tattered sweater hanging in my cupboard, standing out like a martyred warrior's damaged armor.
Of course, Amma didn't even know I kept it hidden in the darker edge of the cupboard so she wouldn't see it.
She made sure to burn every piece of clothing I took to Kashmir as a rite of bad luck's riddance when I was tending to a client's wedding there last year around this time. She wanted no trace left from that place. Hell, she wouldn't have hesitated to make haste in ripping my skin off of my body if it were less painful and burnt it in the holy fire too.
It takes too much away from a parent to hear your child was kidnapped and was also probably going to get shot in the head by...bandits? Theives? Terrorists? I don't know. What does it even matter?
I should be thankful I'm safe now, aren't I?
Hence I went to great lengths to keep this sweater. It was my badge of honor. A sign of remembrance that I had survived.
Nothing would make anyone even touch this fabric except for me.
Trauma is something, and a wedding is nothing less, unfortunately.
How on earth was I going to guide this grown-ass man into learning the basics and workings of emotional intelligence when I already had too much on my plate?
Whoever said it, said it right. Never judge a book by its cover. I chose him because I thought he was cute. I mean, he is cute but he's as good as a plush toy. Pretty, but utterly useless and full of allergens over time.
I had dreamt of a beautiful love. A love that would come to me as a reward for the torture I faced from everything all my life. A love that would be made just for me to cherish and relish.
How stupid was I to even think that he was that love for me?
Fairy tales looked good only on pages, sadly.
"Have you gone to wash up or are you still daydreaming?!"
Her voice thundered from downstairs, startling the wits out of me.
I quickly tip-toed into my bathroom because it would mean I still hadn't begun washing up if I responded to her even if it was out of fear.
Nothing felt right on my body, or inside it once I stripped down and looked at myself in the mirror.
The skin I didn't show was an abundance. Had an abundance you see. Scars from amma, cicatrices, scratches, purple bruises, moles, and random whatnots.
My friends never had to know and see all of this but what will I tell my future spouse? How many times will the conventional "I tripped" excuse work?
I don't even want to think about my surgery scars.
Not that I care for their size but thank God for my adequate bosom that hides one of them in my underboob, but what about the one on the side?
Men like marking you with hickeys and bites but get disgusted by women who went under the knife because they're 'defective'. Sweet.
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