“I feel like a twenty-year-old,” Mrs. Ray laughed. “I’m wearing sindoor. I haven’t bothered putting on sindoor since the day I got married last time.”
She pointed at the part in her hair, where a stroke of red vermillion marked her as a married woman. Mrs. Jha had also stopped wearing sindoor nearly thirty years ago. It had seemed dated and sexist to her, but now it suddenly looked like a symbol of rebellion, or, at least, love and commitment.
“Congratulations,” Mrs. Jha said. She stepped forward and pulled Mrs. Ray into a hug.
“Life is so strange,” Mrs. Ray said. “Is this all absurd?”
“It’s a little odd,” Mr. Jha said, sipping his whiskey. “But congratulations. You look lovely.”
Mrs. Jha smiled at her husband.
“You do look lovely. And odd is wonderful. And this club is much nicer than I had expected,” Mrs. Jha said.
“It really is. I’m glad Upen insisted on doing the dinner here,” Mrs. Ray said. “But don’t fill up on the snacks. Just have a few drinks, and then we’ve made reservations at the Chinese restaurant at the main clubhouse for dinner—just us and the Chopras.”
“Aren’t the Guptas coming as well?” Mrs. Jha said. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen them.”
“They were going to,” Mrs. Ray said. “I spoke first to Mr. Gupta on the phone and he was so nice and sounded happy for me and said they would come. Then this morning he called me and said something urgent had come up and they wouldn’t be able to make it. Not everyone is as excited about my wedding, I suppose.”
“Mrs. Gupta must have refused to attend,” Mrs. Jha said. “Anyway, never mind. All that doesn’t matter now.”
“It hasn’t been easy in Mayur Palli, Bindu. But Shatrugan cried when I told him—said something about me deserving love. It was quite sweet but he needs to stop watching all those Hindi soap operas. And Mr. and Mrs. De sent over a box of Bengali sandesh.”
“So just the Chopras and us?” Mr. Jha asked, taking a large sip of his whiskey.
“And the two sons. After Rupak has finished all his hard work. Bindu, Anil—that son of yours has made us as proud as we all expected. He’s such a professional. Who is that young woman with him? I didn’t know he had a special friend.”
“She’s just a friend from Ithaca,” Mr. Jha said. “Nothing important. Where is he?”
“He’s off filming shots around the club to add to the footage,” Mrs. Ray said. “And you heard that he wouldn’t accept any payment either? He’s a wonderful boy. I think it’s good that he’s come back to India—we need more young men like him.”
“We do,” Mrs. Jha said. “Reverse brain drain—it’s time to bring the talent home.”
“Exactly,” Mrs. Ray said. “For whatever reason it may be, it’s a good thing he’s here now. It’ll be nice for you two as well. Now let me go find Upen and bring him over to say hello.”
With that, Mrs. Ray walked back toward the center of the lawn to look for her husband.
“What did she mean by that?” Mr. Jha said, putting his empty glass down on the bar. “Does she know? Does everyone know? What does everyone know?”
He looked around the lawn to see if anyone was looking at him.
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is, like she said, that Rupak is here and he’s still as intelligent and wonderful as he was before this fiasco,” Mrs. Jha said. “Do you want another drink? I think I’ll try a glass of wine, or champagne. Anil, the last time we drank champagne was in New York. Gosh, that feels like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”
She turned to the bartender and said, “Do you have any champagne?”
“No, madam, sorry. But will a white wine spritzer do?” the bartender asked.
“You know what? I’ll try that, yes. And another Black Label on the rocks for my husband. Just a single, please.”
Mrs. Ray came back holding Upen’s hand. Mrs. Jha looked away, not used to such physical displays of affection.
“Anil, Bindu, I’m so glad you came tonight,” Upen said with a smile. “Well, this is all thanks to you after all.”
“Congratulations, Upen,” Mrs. Jha said. Next to her Mr. Jha nodded, looking straight at Upen’s large hand wrapped around Mrs. Ray’s. If he tried to hold his wife’s hand, she would think he’d lost his balance, he thought.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’m stealing your friend away to Chandigarh for a little while,” Upen said. “She’s nervous about leaving Delhi, but I think she’ll enjoy Chandigarh.”
“New beginnings can be difficult but nice,” Mrs. Jha said. “We’re still adjusting to Gurgaon.”
“I’ve heard,” Upen said. “I mean, I haven’t heard anything specific. I haven’t heard anything. I just mean yes, yes, you are right. New beginnings can indeed be difficult but nice. You will have to plan a trip to Chandigarh soon.”
“Why don’t you two finish your drink and then make your way to the main restaurant?” Mrs. Ray said. “We’ll see if we can round up everyone else.”
“Do Upen and Mrs. Ray know?” Mr. Jha asked his wife after Mrs. Ray and Upen walked away. “Bindu, I’m too tired to be here tonight. Please can we go home? Reema will understand. We can celebrate with them later, privately.”
Mrs. Jha was tired as well. She was tired of fighting and pretending everything was okay. The Chopras must have told Upen, who must have told Mrs. Ray, who must be thinking of her friend with such pity.
“Fine,” she said. “Let’s just go. I’m tired as well. I’ll just finish my drink and then we can leave.”
As Mr. and Mrs. Jha stood in silence finishing their drinks and looking out at the crowd, three women approached the bar, all looking to be in their midforties, with plumped-up lips and wavy thick hair. One was wearing a tight purple kurta with a slit up the leg, and wide black patiala pants underneath, with wedge-heeled boots and a leather jacket on top. Another was wearing a dark blue dress that she kept having to pull down and adjust over her thighs. She was wearing a brown fur coat to keep warm and she was slim but her knees looked crumpled. And the third was wearing a flowing long patterned kaftan-style dress with multicolored flowers on it with an open, ankle-length white sweater that reached to the ground.
The Jhas stepped to the side with their drinks and watched this cluster of women. Two of them ordered Grey Goose and soda and one ordered a glass of sangria, with extra rum.
“I hear he’s going back to Chandigarh,” one of them said. “Can you imagine wearing sindoor in your part at that age? It’s embarrassing. Not to mention that cheap-looking gold sari she has on.”
“Don’t worry, it won’t last,” another one said.
“I’m not worried. I’m not interested in him,” the first one said. “I was just telling you what I heard.”
The third, the one in the long dress who had ordered the sangria and already seemed quite drunk, ignored the other two and said, “Have either of you spent much time in the Maldives? Rakesh wants to go and I’m worried I’ll be dreadfully bored.”