Written piece
Sunflower-yellow.
Joyeeta Nag Chowdhury
India
About this piece
Threaded into every core of an individual from the vast Indian diaspora are stories. Long and short. Sunny, twinkling or gloomy. Stories of celebrations and lamentations. Every story is a thread. Together, they weave eternal patterns in the transient fabric called life.
Tiny, dark brown and gold beads held the little gold pendant skilfully; you would fall in love with it immediately. Sunflower-yellow cords secured the beads and pendant in place. The sacred, nuptial thread that she had hoped he would tie around her neck some day. He had surprised her instead.
“Isha, do you have a minute?” His eyes were smiling and Isha’s sparkled as the joy in her heart coloured her cheeks.
They had been colleagues and friends for almost four years now. He was a year younger but had always looked out for her, shielding her from awkward office politics and sometimes unwanted attention. Isha was convinced he felt the same affection that she had for him. One had to tiptoe cautiously around workplace romance. But she knew. The way he beamed whenever she was near, she just knew.
Vedika was the only other colleague who knew of her precious secret. Vedika, who teased her good-naturedly about him. Vedika, who just knew what to say to cheer her up on days he had to visit another branch at a different location.
What he was holding up seemed alarmingly like a ‘mangalsutra’~ the threads symbolising sacred wedding vows. Isha felt numb with happiness. How traditional- how unique of him to propose marriage with a ‘mangalsutra!’ Considering his affectionate yet always slightly guarded mannerisms, this was sudden! Isha was not afraid. When you have met the right one, you just know. She had known it in her heart. For long.
His eyes were burning embers — so bright she felt she would get scorched by the sheer light in them. His boyish smile could charm anyone, but she didn’t care. He was hers.
“For Vedika! We just got it last evening! It's such a rush!” he chortled softly, quickly looking all around.
His voice dropped another notch. “She’s asked me to disclose at a later date. But I had to tell you! You’ve always been there for me, and you get along so well with my would-be-wife, haha!”
He giggled silly, slightly nervous. “We’ve resigned. I'm gonna join her dad’s business and their farmhouse near Mumbai…”
Isha had no recollection of how she spent the rest of the work day and how she stopped herself from falling apart before scores of curious eyes. Still she could recall that Vedika was on leave that day.
A month had passed since that day, and now she stood with other colleagues amidst lilting music and tasteful decor. Isha watched as the consecrated thread girdled Vedika’s slender neck. She clapped with the others and forced an exuberant smile. Vedika neither spoke nor made eye contact as she handed her the wedding gift.
Frail, delicate, flimsy. Except when they bind you to unwanted memories. Threads become rattling chains.