A Perfect Mismatch (5 page)

“You must get the designer’s name. Might get you splendid business for your boutique!” Bani was irrepressible.

Aparna shook her head in disbelief and whispered again, “We don’t deal in upholstery! Where did she get the dress anyway? From the Nizam of Bijapur’s palace furnishings?”

“That is enough!” Armaan cut in. He stepped forward grimly to stand beside his would-be bride as the cameras flashed.

Once the rings were exchanged and the rituals were over, everyone relaxed and chatted with the couple over steaming hot delicacies. Vini was by Zara’s side most of the time. Armaan could see that they were getting along better than he expected. More than once, he saw Zara holding his mother’s hand and smiling happily. She looked radiant when she smiled. Her lips were lush and pink he noted, vaguely distracted. He had hardly spoken to her himself, not trusting himself to say a word without exploding into a tirade.

He did get a chance to speak with her once while having lunch and gritted out to her in a low voice, “You seem hell-bent on insulting me in public!”

Zara was stunned by the suppressed fury in his tone and looked at him with a challenge. “What have I done
now
to irk the emperor?”

“Don’t be condescending! Why didn’t you dress appropriately?”

“Are we going to argue everyday about what I wear for the next six months?” Her anger equally matched his.

He curbed an oath. “Do you have to be so defiant all the time?”

“Exactly! Is it so relevant that you should chew on my brains at this moment over what I am wearing?”

He made a sound that indicated that he might lose his temper altogether if he didn’t move away. “God, give me patience!”

She looked heavenward dramatically and sighed “Dear God, I need it more than him!” They glowered at each other, both unwilling to back down.

“Are you children having a good time?” Vini poked into their conversation, noting their grim expressions.

“Yes, thank you!” So saying, Zara rose asking sweetly, “Shall I get a bowl of
badaam kheer
for him? He needs to sweeten his tongue a bit!” She sailed away without looking back.

“She is perfect for you, Armaan! Didn’t I tell you?” Vini beamed happily while her son choked on his food that suddenly tasted like soggy wallpaper. He chewed and swallowed with utmost care, thoroughly disgruntled with the bunch of stubborn women in his life!

Two days before the wedding, her clothes were delivered complete with their accessories to a bemused Zara. She had never owned so many pretty things in all her life. Wiser with her hard earned experience, she put them away safely under lock and key this time. After the engagement, another ugly scene had erupted with Bani who had only laughed at Zara’s predicament.

The wedding day arrived and Zara wondered where the days in between had disappeared. She was going to be Armaan’s wife. It seemed like an impossible dream. After the engagement fiasco, Armaan had called her once, to check with her for the customary jewels required for the occasion. She had simply extended her apologies saying that she could not accompany him as she had a mountain of work to do before she could apply for a week’s leave for the wedding. Zara pointed out with relish that since her aesthetic sense was below his superior standards, he might
as well choose whatever he felt was appropriate and not bother her with such trivial issues.

“You look fabulous!” Pari was gushing. Her friends showered her with effusive compliments as she stood admiring herself in the mirror, turning this way and that to get a better look. The previous night had been nothing short of torture with the
sangeet
ceremony, singing and dancing among the relatives and friends who had gathered in the house. Her day had been even more hectic with the visit to the luxury spa and salon with Aparna who had taken over the matter into her own hands. Zara had protested strongly, but in the end she had given up since it seemed too much of an effort to convince her sister-in-law without revealing that it was not a real marriage.

Now, standing in front of the mirror, Zara had to admit that she did feel a tingle of pleasure at the remarkable improvement in her appearance. Her friends crowded around her, arranging the sari for her. It was Armaan’s choice, Vini had informed her, when she had called to thank her mother-in-law for the gift. The lotus-pink
Banarasi
silk sari was delicately embellished with tiny Swarovski crystals and shimmering pearls, making her eyes appear stunningly luminous. She felt the first stirrings of excitement at the sight she presented in the mirror. Her long silken hair was well coiffed and spangled with specks of pearls and diamante bead hairpins.

In the glow of the dressing table lamps, her face suddenly appeared happy as if this day was real for her. Somewhere deep inside, she wished Armaan would notice her if only for today. As quickly as it arose, she extinguished the thought.

Zara had always been pragmatic, a quality she diligently nurtured. Now was the time to use it to her advantage. At best, they could work out an amiable relationship in the coming months. To hope for any kind of appreciation was downright suicidal.

“Time to go!” Her aunt came in to inform them that the
baraat
had arrived. She could hear the shouting, singing, the drums and the music. Slowly she turned with a smile. She was going to enjoy her wedding.

Armaan glanced for the umpteenth time at his brand new wife and felt something crackle to life deep within. It was not meant to happen this way, he grimaced. It was like being punched in the guts inside a boxing ring while his hands were tied. But he couldn’t deny that Zara looked absolutely gorgeous in that colour. It
had
to be the colour! The lotus pink suited her. The heavy silk sari was gracefully swathed around her, the vibrant shade giving her a delicate rosy glow. He saw that she was not exactly as shapeless, as he had presumed earlier. She did have a neat waistline and her hips swayed enticingly when she walked. He had torn his eyes away immediately in grim resolve when she came nearer, not wanting to appear like a clod who could not keep his mouth shut.

The photographers swarmed the venue and he felt like an idiot gawking at his bride. She seemed like a different person altogether. On his sister’s insistence, he had chosen the sari with a resigned air at the boutique without a second thought. The pearls on her neck and wrists made her look heavenly. He was stunned when he saw her coming towards him with that fiery challenge in her grey eyes,
eyes that seemed to have taken on a new shade of silvery light. It was there in the way she carried herself, in the tilt of her chin and the long slender neck. He did not even know she had a neck for goodness sake! She was regal in her wedding finery and he could not have asked for more. The thought plunged him unceremoniously into a gloomy black mood!

Zara was breathless with the sheer excitement of being the center of attention. She made sure that she avoided looking at Armaan though it was not easy when several people came to wish them. She did not want to remember the heart-stopping moment when his eyes were transfixed on her for several seconds at the beginning of the ceremony. The knowledge that she had managed to appear perfect was enough to make her believe that this time he could not find fault with her.

Her own eyes had been glued at the sight of her tall magnificent bridegroom, dressed in a striking deep ochre
bandhgala
and bronze ornamented silk turban. It made him appear austere and royal at the same time. He had finally shaved for the wedding, sporting a clean jaw that made him look spectacular. Zara would have reached up to spread a hand on that smooth masculine cheek if only she could! His dark eyes were hooked on her as she stepped beside him. She had hastily averted her awed gaze, afraid that he might guess how deeply he affected her. After that, she had only concentrated on the people around her as if she was somehow the sole participant of this wedding, smiling and laughing with everyone, as though she was truly happy.

Zara did have moments of terrible uncertainty at being part of such a farce. Her hand trembled when it was placed in his larger, stronger ones during the ceremony as a sign of union. Her eyes welled up unexpectedly while the priests explained the meaning of each sacred vow, chanting the holy
mantra
that joined them in matrimony. He had clasped her trembling hand in his firm grip, which was unusually comforting, as they walked around the holy fire, culminating in a shower of flowers and blessings from the guests. Later, during the reception when the endless line of people wished them, her mother-in-law hugged her with a genuine affection that Zara had not received in a long time. She was goaded by the urgent need to blurt out an apology and the truth about the marriage to her.

However aunt Sudha’s words that she was finally relieved of her responsibility confirmed Zara’s belief that her decision was for the best. She did nevertheless hug her aunt on an impulse.

The reception finally wound up sometime after midnight. It was almost three in the morning by the time the rest of the rituals and the
grihapravesh
concluded at Armaan’s house. Zara was exhausted. She pushed the uncomfortable thought that they would eventually have to face each other away. As Armaan had clearly explained, they would shift to his apartment to avoid any uncomfortable questions anyone might ask about the real nature of their relationship.

Zara was at last shown into the bridal chamber, by Aparna, her mother-in-law and several other giggling women. Mercifully, Armaan was nowhere in sight. The last she had seen him was in the bedecked car on their
way home. She refrained from asking anyone about his whereabouts, as she sorely wanted some solitude.

After the women left, Zara slumped in front of the ornate dressing table and breathed deeply. It was over! She was married … to a man who did not care who she was or what she felt. Suddenly all the excitement of the day drained away and she faced reality in the cold light of cynical clarity. Her attention was drawn to the beautifully decorated room. How angry everyone would be if they knew the truth. Strings of tiny fairy lights lit up the windows and the terrace beyond the balcony and the perfumed candles and the scent of hundreds of red, pink and white roses drenched her senses.

This was Armaan’s bedroom. It was magnificent in its muted décor, fitted with the latest gadgets. And yet it had an emptiness that spoke volumes about the sole occupant. She peeped inside the spacious walk-in-wardrobe, large enough to accommodate an entire range of clothes and shoes. The bed itself was huge and covered in scented roses and buds of jasmine over cream and beige satin sheets. The riot of colourful flowers that hung on strings from the ceiling alongside a canopy of gauzy red drapery made her nervous about the night ahead.

Zara’s visits to his house had been restricted to the drawing room. She had never imagined that she would ever become the mistress of this household one day. Gloomily she acknowledged that after her brief impersonal stint at being his wife, things would revert to the way they were. What a farce, she thought without humour, saddened that her choice did not involve anything more permanent than
the flowers that would die by the first light of the morning sun. With a sigh, her hand reached up to remove the first of the many hairpins from her hair.

She bathed, changed into her nightgown, a simple ivory satin one that covered her from neck to toe and a matching robe. It would be embarrassing to be seen in anything more revealing as she did not intend to appear anything but aloof with him. Zara could wear her ‘Batwoman’ dress, she thought with wry humour, trying to relieve some of the tension she felt at sharing the same bed with Armaan. That would probably irk him so much that he might want to make a hasty exit with his customary dour look, leaving the bed all to her.

It was in the wee hours of the morning that she heard Armaan enter the darkened room. She had been asleep for over an hour when she heard the rustle of clothes and the soft clicking of the bathroom door. She lay motionless, suddenly alert and breathless. She heard him come out of the shower. Instantly she closed her eyes, pulling up the covers gingerly over her head without any overt movement.

Armaan padded about softly for a while and then there was a sudden dip in the bed on the other side. There was a muffled oath when she felt the strings of roses hung from the ceiling snap under his weight. She heard him switch on the bedside lamp and there were sounds of threads snapping away sharply. She sneaked a look at him. He was dressed in a pair of comfortable shorts and a T shirt. Annoyance defined his sharp jaw and the glint in his eyes. For an instant, he looked like those ancient warrior
kings who roamed the land making bloody conquests. She swallowed hard as the all too familiar female reaction shook her. Her eyes took in the broad shoulders, the lean hips and muscled thighs. She averted her eyes towards the ceiling.

“Sorry for waking you up,” he said with a fierce look of annoyance on his face, snapping the rest of the flower decorations in quick, efficient movements. “The damn things are littered all over the place. It is impossible to sleep with these infernal things hanging over me!”

Zara rose silently to remove them from her side. The last of the scented petals were brushed away methodically from the bed and within no time the decorations had been cleared away. Not having much to say, they stared at each other across the bed.

“I guess it is better now. Goodnight!” Armaan sank into the bed on his side after switching off the bed lamp.

She lay still until all was silent. Slowly she became aware of the sounds of his even breathing and sighed. The wedding night was over, she thought dryly. And she slept without another thought to interrupt that slumber.

The next morning Zara woke up to find Armaan gone. At least she had the room to herself. Zara found Armaan at the breakfast table and to keep up pretences she gave him a bright plastic smile. He informed her briefly about having work at the studio and promptly disappeared for the rest of the day. The day was hectic with several guests visiting the newlyweds.

She was irritated with him when he didn’t turn up even in the evening when more friends and relatives poured in
to wish the bride and the groom. He became conspicuous by his absence for the next three days, only surfacing for dinner, adding to the aggravation of his family, especially his mother. Vini expressed her displeasure on his behavior at dinner that night and gave him a list of compulsory events to be attended for the next few days.

Zara was miffed, not to mention, very tired by all the new faces she had to remember, but kept her counsel only for the sake of her mother-in-law, who was kinder than anyone she had known. She was quite relieved that the same routine followed every night with Armaan coming in only after she had retired for the night without a word spoken between them except a nod of acknowledgement in the morning before he left.

The invitation to a friend’s dinner party was postponed twice then ultimately agreed upon by a reluctant Armaan at the insistence of his mother. That evening Zara dressed with more care than usual, acutely aware of her shortcomings as Armaan’s bride.

Armaan came home early in the evening and found her standing in front of the mirror with her hair spilling down her back. He had made a grave mistake by presuming that she was unattractive! He noted the curve of her waistline as she turned to retrieve the hair brush. Involuntarily, his hand curled into a fist, wiping out a sudden need to touch her smooth skin. It was becoming rather impossibleto ignore her presence in his bed. If it had not been for the dinner party tonight, he would have spent another evening at the studio and only returned when the bedroom lights were out. Last night had been particularly difficult. He
had come in to find Zara sound asleep in the middle of the bed, her beautiful hair spread like a satin cloud on his pillow. It had taken considerable effort not to touch the silken strands.

He stood for a moment, with his eyes shuttered, noting the lovely wine red silk sari that she wore with innate grace and dignity. Then his eyes met hers and he turned away.

Zara wondered if she was not dressed appropriately again. With him, she never knew what to think or how to act! He hadn’t said a word about whether she looked all right. Not a word about the wedding day, when she had known that she could not have looked better! Well, he can grumble some more if she was not up to his pompous, haughty standards. Zara’s heart skipped a beat when he came out of the shower wearing a pair of denim shorts that left little to the imagination. He stepped into the walk-in wardrobe, shutting the sliding door.