Epigraph: Impending Doom
The stage was set. The curtains drawn wide apart; the morning sun streaming into the spring cleaned-for-Durga Puja-room with an unnatural eagerness. Mummum was chatting on the phone with Amateur Match Maker Senior - known in the Bhattacharjee world as Kolkata's Sapna Mashi. The speaker phone grumbled - the cacophony too much to endure. As all the downtown nuances of Kolkata's shuddho Bangla were brought in conversation, Ma's tailor bird like weaving skills went for a break. Even Dada's sixty first Mahabharata viewing session suffered the ignominy of a pause.
"And the morning couldn't have been better!" exclaimed Mummum as the speaker finally went mum. She grinned once at her wide eyed audience and once at the harbinger of a cell phone.
Deboshree raised an eyebrow. Who was next in queue to have set sail to the US? In Mashi's household, everyone had an MS-from-London gene. It had turned recessive a generation or so back but was now back in full form what with her son and his elder brother and their third cousin all booked and packed for an US trip. Deboshree had just cleared her throat to aim at a smile and a questioning glance, when Dada's partly sinewy arm stroked her head. Ma's gold bangles clanged as she shifted nearer to kiss her cheek. Deboshree shifted in her chair as well - what was with the sudden display of overt affection? And then it struck her...
"No. Nah. Never." She jumped up like a freshly moulded spring, frightening the house cat for life. "I am not going to share my room with that air head of a Sapna Mashi's daughter. I hate visitors!"
Titir - literally a bird in Bangla - was Mashi's elder daughter and though Deboshree harboured no particular apathy for her cousin of sorts, living with her did mean a sharp diversion from her otherwise scheduled lifestyle. Vacation time was Titir's undoing. Not usually too impossible to get along with, she broke all barriers of sanity on a holiday. She woke up at noon, showered till lunch time and appeared in a pair of shorts at the family dining table. Her evenings comprised of an hour of dancing to the ugliest music made and post dinner, she sat owl eyed on the terrace, chatting over the phone or counting stars. Deboshree suspected a streak of madness but then that probably ran in the family...
"Oh silly girl," laughed Mummum, breaking into her how-to-evacuate-Titir thoughts. "It's not about sharing your room with anyone." Sudden break in the throat - eyes filling up with lachrymose liquid. "Very soon you'll have new rooms to call your own."
New rooms? Were they shifting? No wait, that was impossible given Dada's strict notions about selling off your precious abode to a couple of corrupt builders who then invaded your territory with hideous bulldozers and trucks full of cement.
Mummum's eyes continued to water. Ma placed a hand over hers; Dada grinned. "Oh enough my emotional fools. How on earth will we manage to prepare with the two of you busy weeping?"
"Darling," he looked at Deboshree and declared with a smile. "You are getting married."
The sun fell down. The curtains drew shut.
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