Shimmering lights, fireworks, blast of crackers, liquor in car's trunk,band playing music in a cacophonous sound, and the generators were contributing their bit to the cacophony, road filled with dancing homosapiens, Gandhiji's face flying in the air and lying on the road, kids from the road and band's folks fighting hard for them, and the pity mare all dressed up in gaudy cloths and bearing the weight of the lucky bustard.
All this and much more were nearing a venue where an old man with his two sons standing tall, with smile plastered on his face, all sweaty in his black bandhgala and host of girls were standing right behind them and were laughing and giggling with garlands and flowers and perfumes to welcome the lucky bustard along with his folks.
She was sitting inside the room, with her earlobes bearing the weight of the gold earrings, with the massive dupatta over her head and from the middle parting of her hair a gem studded tika was resting on her small forehead which she is trying to adjust every now and then and her neck adorning the multiple jewel sets, her hands were all covered not with the oil paints but with the auburn colour from tip of her fingers till her elbows, her wrists were heavy with the weight of the bangles and kalere was hanging in between the bangles and with great ease she was maintaining the hefty lehnga.
Her lips were dry with the thirst and anxiety, her heart was pounding and her head was telling everything is gonna be alright. She peered into mirror and saw the mole on the right side of her upper lip and smiled slyly.
Her mother came and took her out for the ceremony.
And a boy was standing on the other side of the road taking long drags from his nth cigarette, waiting for a miracle.
