---------------Two---------------
Lalita was putting on her earrings, getting ready for the wedding reception she was going to. It was her friend Namrata's wedding to a rich Indian guy from London. The groom had apparently looked at a lot of girls, but Namrata was the one he liked best. Namrata had confided in her and Chandra that she liked the groom and his family and was curious to see what London was like.
Lalita's mother smiled at the eldest daughter, Jaya. "I heard the famous Balraj from UK is looking for a girl as well," she said happily. "He's our only hope," she added more seriously. "If we do not get the eldest married first, we'll never be able to marry the rest of you for the shame!" Jaya rolled her eyes.
Lately, their mother had been worrying and bothering them to look at every Indian guy there was to see if he was an ideal groom. She wanted all her daughters to be married to rich men, so that they could support her when she got older. Lalita understood that, but why couldn't they earn money and look after her? Why did they have to be dependant on some rich guy?
Lalita rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "Why does she think that every rich guy who comes to India must be shopping for a wife?"
Jaya, who heard her, giggled. "I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I hope he is," she said, referring to Balraj.
Lalita threw an amused look at her sister. "What, shopping, or loaded?"
Jaya laughed. "Both," she replied.
Lalita's mother bustled around, helping the various girls with their outfits, but stopped dead when she saw what the youngest (by two minutes), Lakhi was wearing.
"Lakhi, do you think your mother has gone crazy, that I'm going to let you wear that?"
For once, Lalita thought that her mother had a point. Lakhi was wearing an extremely revealing red outfit: the skirt was fine, it was like a normal dress, but the top covered barely more than a bra would. Lakhi adjusted and shifted it, looking in the mirror.
"But it's killing, Mama," she protested, fingering the red material, "it's what everyone's wearing in Mumbai!"
Their mother was adamant. "I want Balraj to look intoJeyes," she snapped, "not your cleavage!"
Maya said smugly, siding with their mother, "I told you, Lakhi, it's very vulgar!"
Lalita sighed inwardly at the squabbles and put on the last touches of make-up for the reception.
-----
Will Darcy had not had a good day. It was now his second day in India, and they were on the way to the wedding reception of Balraj's friend. The previous day, the wireless internet receptors in the hotel had not worked properly, so he couldn't send his sister, Georgie, an email to say that he had arrived safely. Then when they had been eating dinner, the power had gone. The waiters apologized frequently and lit candles at every table. This was not so bad, but it happened again when Will was typing an email (the wireless had been fixed) and he hadn't saved it, so he had had to type it all again. Then the hotel's computer system crashed and hotel employees went around the rooms, collecting everyone's details again. It had been tedious, to say the least.
Right now, he was wearing an Indian outfit called a 'kurta': it was a white shirt with embroidered edges that went down about to his knees and white pants with a drawstring at the top. The shirt was okay except for a bit of gold wire from the embroidery that was making the back of his neck itch. The pants, however, were a whole different story. The drawstring kept coming undone and he had done it up about five times.
And they weren't even there yet.
-----
Lalita looked down from the balcony as the noise level rose up a notch. She followed peoples' eyes to the doorway, where a man of medium height and long curly black hair was accompanied by a girl with shorter curly black hair who looked like she might be his sister.
Behind them, looking a little lost amongst all the spice and colour that was an Indian wedding, was a man with brown hair and blue-green eyes, wearing a white kurta. His hair was too light and his skin too fair for him to be Indian, so Lalita guessed that he was William Darcy, Balraj's friend from Oxford. All of them were about Jaya's age.
Then she saw – to her mortification – her mother and Chandra's mother, Mrs Lamba, staring openly at Balraj and his friend and they definitely noticed. She looked away from the newcomers, feeling herself blush. Why did her mother have to be like that?
-----
Will nudged Balraj. "Good Lord," he muttered, "is it just me or is every woman over fifty in this place giving you the eye?"
Kiran snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, Darcy," she said, "every mother in this room is wetting her knickers over him for their daughters."
Will looked around, unnerved, as everybody stared at them, then whispered something to their neighbours. He earned many strange looks as well, and he wondered whether they always reacted this way to a western guest at an Indian wedding.
It was only then that he realized that his drawstring pants were hanging down at his knees. He hurriedly went behind a table and pulled them up, tying the drawstring as tightly as he could.
When he rejoined the group: "Can we leave yet?" asked Kiran, sounding bored.
Will looked up gratefully. He too had been wanting to leave, but didn't want to sound rude by asking. "Yeah," he agreed, "It's about ten a.m. in New York and I wouldn't mind getting back a bit early so I can go through the hotel finances–"
"Will you stop working for once?" Balraj asked, sounding annoyed. "And you," he said, turning to Kiran, "stop being such a cobra. This is our dear, dear motherland."
A waiter came up to them, offering them a platter of some deep-fried snack.
Kiran refused, saying that she was on a diet, but Balraj took one. Will also took one after hesitating slightly.
"Are you sure this is safe to eat?" he asked. "I don't want to be getting Delhi belly on my first full day."
Balraj scoffed and assured him that it would be fine.
A bit later, he noticed Balraj looking up, and followed his gaze: he was looking at a pretty Indian girl in a pink dress who was leaning over the balcony. She happened to look down and noticed that Balraj was looking at her; she smiled shyly at him, then looked away.
Will's glance roved around the balcony; there were many girls there, no doubt helping the bride get ready. Then his gaze landed on another pretty Indian girl who had joined the girl who Balraj was looking at. The two girls were smiling and talking together; then the girl made some wild gestures with her hands before bursting into laughter. Will felt his own lips twitch upwards in a smile, even though he didn't know what was so funny. Just then, the girl looked straight down at him, and he looked away quickly, surveying the tables unseeingly, hoping that she hadn't noticed, though she probably had.
He chanced a glance up again, and she had looked away, seemingly having dismissed it. He sighed in relief, then watched as surreptitiously as he could (which wasn't very, considering the angle his neck had to be at to be looking up there).
He was not sure why he was watching this particular girl; sure, she was pretty, but so were a lot of them, really. There was something about her that captured his attention.
Then the girl and the others moved away from the balcony, going into an open door. The girl he had been watching turned around as an afterthought and closed the door, as if she knew he was watching.
-----