Nayna agreed. “I’m pretty sure Madhuri is going for knockout, not so much traditional as unforgettable.” Her sister had already spoken to a hairstylist about having a “wild” hairstyle—by which she meant something that hadn’t already been done but was stunning. Not a flower bun. With Pinky Mehra added in, they’d already been to four weddings this year where the brides had gone for the elegant look popularized by a Bollywood actress.
Madhuri examined each and every garment with care, cooing over the beadwork or the Swarovski crystals or the expensive fabric before finally deciding which one to try first. Most of the garments the doctor had ordered were skirt-and-tunic combos where the tunic didn’t display too much flesh—if any. Modesty was applauded in brides. However, he—or the shop owner who’d created the order—had also added a number of designer saris.
“I’ll be back soon!” Chosen outfit in hand, Madhuri disappeared into a changing room.
Excited to see her sister all dressed up, Nayna sat down in one of the provided chairs, ísa on her left and her mother next to ísa. Her grandmother sat beside Shilpa Sharma while Anjali and Jaci were on Nayna’s other side. All of them had champagne in hand—the doctor must’ve spent a lot—and snacks nearby.
“Anjali, how are your boys?” Nayna’s mother leaned forward to ask. “Is Avinesh looking after them tonight?”
A curl of Anjali’s lip. “Him?” A snort. “He’s out having a beer with his squash mates. I dropped the boys off at my parents’.” Her smile morphed into intensely real. “Honestly, they are the light of my lives.”
They all cooed over the adorable photos of her boys the other woman showed around.
Anjali then dropped into conversation with Jaci while Nayna’s grandmother and mother chatted. Nayna wasn’t attempting to eavesdrop, but with Anjali and Jaci right next to her, she couldn’t avoid overhearing the other woman’s continued thread on her husband.
Any love Anjali’d once had for Avinesh appeared stone-dead.
Nayna wouldn’t be surprised if she opened the paper one day to find Anjali had murdered her husband using a frypan and a meat tenderizer.
“This is going to be a long haul,” she murmured to ísa, who’d also caught a little of Anjali’s discontent. “Thanks for the company.”
“Are you kidding? All these gorgeous clothes and the yummy food? I’m so in.” Her best friend lowered her voice. “Did she just say her husband eats her head?”
“It makes sense in Hindi,” Nayna reassured her while struggling not to laugh—Anjali was now literally translating animal-related Hindi insults into English but replacing harsh swear words with words she clearly found easier to say, with hilarious results.
“Son of an owl?” ísa repeated, mystified. “Donkey poop?”
Nayna’s stomach ached with the force of holding in her laughter.
It was as well that Madhuri walked out in the first outfit at that moment, or Nayna would’ve lost it. Her sister was ravishing. Everyone gasped and the two store dressers ran forward to arrange the dupatta over her hair, positively astonished by her.
“You look like a movie star!” one of them said. “Madhuri Dixit.”
Her friend disagreed. “No, she’s Aishwarya Rai in Jodhaa Akbar. You know, when she had the brown contact lenses.”
Loving the attention, Madhuri showed off by strutting down the room and back. “What do you think?”
The consensus was that she had a winner.
Madhuri laughed. “It’s just the first one!” Then she went back into the changing room, calling out, “Ma! Can you come help me?”
Their mother got up at once. Nayna didn’t interrupt or offer to assist too. This was important to their mother—she’d missed Madhuri’s first wedding, and it was giving her so much joy to be involved in every aspect of the second.
Ten minutes later, Madhuri appeared in another astoundingly beautiful outfit. The gasps were louder this time.
“This one!” Anjali cried. “Lord, Madhuri. You’re going to knock Sandesh’s eyes out.”
When her sister looked toward Nayna, Nayna got up and took her hands, just shook her head at Madhuri’s loveliness. “You know you’re going to look beautiful in everything,” she said, well aware where this was going. That, however, didn’t mean she wasn’t going to be the little sister who messed with Madhuri. “Maybe narrow down the color range?”
“Are you kidding?” Madhuri put her fisted hands on her hips. “I’m not narrowing down anything!”
Five outfits later—all of them stunning, with Madhuri a vision of beauty in every single one, ísa picked up a sweet and said, “I see what you mean.” She took a bite of the crumbly white barfi, the taste for which she’d picked up over the years while hanging out with Nayna. “I think I’m going to put on five kilos by the time she’s done.”
Nayna snorted. “You’re still thinking too small.” Swallowing the last of a peda that appeared to have condensed milk in it, she said, “Ten kilos.”
ísa’s shoulders shook, and the two of them shared a laugh before they returned their attention to the next catwalk appearance by Madhuri.
After trying on every single one of the suits, Madhuri began to try on the saris—and ísa slipped halfway down her seat as if melting into a puddle. Nayna’s grandmother and Madhuri’s friends all laughed, as did Nayna.
Poking her head out of the changing room where their mother was putting her into a sari, Madhuri said, “What’s so funny?”
“I’m trying to slide into another time and dimension where you actually choose a garment before midnight!” ísa called out.
“Just you wait until it’s your turn. I’ll be the one calling time,” Madhuri threatened, but the response was lighthearted. Madhuri had been missing for a large chunk of Nayna’s and ísa’s teenage years. And ísa was deeply loyal and fiercely on Nayna’s side. As a result, she’d always looked askance at Madhuri. However, because they both loved Nayna, the two had come to an accord that allowed such jokes.
“Okay.” Nayna’s mother bustled out and took a standing position on the other side of the chairs, her face glowing. “Madhuri, we’re ready!”
Madhuri stepped out. And the entire room went silent.
Of a luminous shade of gold with a thick gold-on-gold border, the sari caressed Madhuri like a lover without being the least bit indecent. It shimmered like it was lightning given form despite being heavy with embroidery and glittering crystals.
The premade blouse that came with it echoed the embroidered border and fit Madhuri nearly perfectly. A little more taking in at the sides and it would be an absolutely perfect fit. It had a scoop neck and a simple back, but the way the sari draped over everything, the exquisite work on it…
Nayna pressed a hand to her heart, her throat thick. “You are so beautiful,” she whispered.
Beside Madhuri, their mother was crying. Madhuri’s own eyes shone wetly before she took their mum into her arms. “I can’t believe I’m going to wear a sari to my wedding,” she blubbered out. “God, it’s so traditional.” Despite her attempt to sound disgusted, it came out delighted and slightly shocked.
But there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that this was the one. It took Madhuri’s beauty and turned it transcendent. She looked as if she’d stepped out of another time, an Indian princess ready for her prince. Nayna wouldn’t be surprised if her sister’s wedding photos ended up in a magazine somewhere. Especially as Madhuri had—by working her contacts—found an award-winning photographer to record the event.
When the shop owner finally found his voice again, he tried to steer Madhuri toward the section that sold twenty-two-karat-gold jewelry, but she was having none of it.
“I’ll be wearing my mother’s, my nani’s, and my aji’s jewelry,” she said with a deep smile aimed at Aji and their mother. Their maternal grandmother, their nani, had passed on, but she’d left her jewelry to her daughter, and so Madhuri would wear both families’ histories when she walked to her groom.
Aji dabbed at her eyes while Shilpa Sharma continued to sniffle. Nayna got up and hugged both her mother and sister at once.
“I’m so happy for you, Maddie.” Pulling back, she cupped her sister’s face in her hands and smiled. This, she thought, this was the relationship they would have now.