Wednesday, May 09, 2007

You are cordially not invited

My favorite things in Indian weddings, especially in the South Indian ones, are the flowers. However ornamental the others might seem; roses, orchids, gladiolas… however they tower in splendor and however much they glisten with color, the undefeatable smell of the jasmine ensures it stays in front of them all.

The closely knit, the warms white buds, the secrets within, the proud pale green stalk that form long chains and the clasps that are reluctant to let go…

From the same string of tied flowers, my mother and my maid cut out adequate quantities and weave them onto their hair. Communists I think jasmines are.

When they open, they surely must be whispering secrets- look, the groom is so ugly. Or perhaps- look the bride is plastered under makeup when all she would have needed is us to make her more beautiful.

I understand flower language. They speak the same words as I do.

So when I am getting married, my topmost item on the list - the flowers. My mother irately strikes them away- they are the least of important things she says.

The hall is booked with crisp notes. The cards are printed in erasable ink. The news is told in distorted stories. People come with fake smiles and what they don’t say deafens what they do.

And then the day that wasn’t to be dawns.

People are begged in embarrassed whispers by my family not to come. There isn’t to be a wedding.

Reason as it exists is really flimsy. Like the barely enough saree of a Bollywood heroine- it just refuses to cover the necessary.

So that just leaves us. The flowers that are now dead. And I, wondering whom I will now speak to.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Cold feet?

7:41 AM  
Blogger A Liberated Soul said...

I love the same flowers for the same reason as you do. But I couldnt understand their language on MY day! I wish I could...

9:23 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Dear Poo...

it started with a nice fragrance.... but why that sad note in the end.... enthuvatti???

3:16 AM  
Blogger Jubin George said...

" [...]And I, wondering whom I will now speak to."

To the new ones, of course. Millions bloom everyday, and there aint many who know their language. That's a lot of responsibility, is it not? Don't make them glum with your diffident silence. :)

8:41 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hey, whats happenning?

1:23 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

some of the dead flowers might have a couple of words left in them that you never listened to ..

6:55 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

where is one expected to draw the line between fiction and reality?

isn't the craving for voices from plucked flowers isnt in itself a fiction which we believe might be real.


10:49 AM  
Blogger dharmabum said...

adellam seri. kalyanam unda, illaya?

9:26 PM  
Blogger മുത്തലിബ് പി കുഞ്ഞിമംഗലം said...

Very clear and Good
വളെരെ മനോഹരമായി വിവരിച്ചിരിക്കുന്നു
വരവ് വെച്ചേക്കുക

9:32 PM  
Blogger sp said...

I fear for the guy who ties the knot with you. :-)

9:55 PM  
Blogger Maya said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

10:03 PM  
Blogger Maya said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

10:04 PM  
Blogger Maya said...

I don't know if you have seen the series "Sex and the City". Carrie Bradshaw from that show is you in my mind... But I knew you first and when I see her on the show I relate more to her way of thinking and her style of writing because I know you.... I hope you publish your book one and I hope I may become that publisher some day - Happy Blogging!!!

10:06 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I chanced to fall upon this blog today. Well I know one Poornima from Pondicherry who has a sister named Neelima and who i think is in Paris now. She used to visit her aunt's house in Kollam during her school vacations. If you are the same person, reply to this comment and guess who i'm. If not, i'm sorry, but i liked your blog so you can expect me here again cordially uninvited.

12:36 AM  
Blogger Sudarshan. A. G. said...

You... are a masochist.

9:24 PM  

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