The lehenga was brilliant, and I don’t use that word loosely. Among the people who can afford to buy this stuff—Bollywood A-listers, celebrities, billionaires—Masi is known for her gossamer laces and light-as-air lehengas and saris that still include traditional embroidery like zardozi and dabka. She has workshops full of craftspeople working on them—some of them months ahead of time. She doesn’t sell anything ready-made; every single piece is custom-tailored to her wealthy clientele. Seriously, she’s booked solid a whole season in advance, just like in that movie. Unless you’re lucky enough to be her niece. This lehenga was classic Mallu Masi—which meant it was awesome, but not necessarily that it was perfect for Vinnie. It was a subtle moss-green silk contrasted with rich red velvet—traditional wedding colors, but it would look too Christmasy on Vinnie, I thought.
“Ooh,” Vinnie said. “It’s beautiful!”
The girl walked around and did a slow turn, then spread the chunni out to show the intricate embroidery on it. After we’d examined every bit of the outfit, thanks to Masi’s camera assistant, we moved on to the next dress. And the next. They were all gorgeous but not quite Vinnie.
“It’s really nice, Masi,” I said after checking out the newest dress Ria had modeled, which had to be the understatement of the decade. “But I think the A-line lehenga will look spectacular on her. The one with the antique gold lace?” I consulted the catalog in my folder. “It’s on page four. Remember we talked about it?”
“Yes, the Meri Bollywood Wedding lehenga,” Masi said. “Ria, can you change into this one?” She pulled out the gold lehenga from the stack of garments on the table.
“Masi, Manish’s parents have invited us for lunch tomorrow,” Vinnie said. “Do we have to bring them gifts or anything? I don’t know what the etiquette is.…”
“You’ve already had an engagement, right?” Masi asked.
“Manish gave me a ring and we took our friends out to dinner, and his friend Sol took engagement pictures for us,” Vinnie said. “That’s about it. Mini and Dad and his parents and sister weren’t there.”
“What I don’t understand is why you kids don’t do anything properly!” Masi wasn’t impressed by Vinnie’s short and sweet engagement. “You live in America, not in a jungle. You’re supposed to have a godh bharai, when the boy’s family comes with gifts and formally accepts the proposal. And then your dad and uncles and brothers go with gifts to the groom’s house for the tilak ceremony.”
“That’s ridiculous!” I said. “What do the parents have to do with it? Those two are getting married, not the parents!”
“I’m not saying it makes sense,” Mallu Masi said. “I’m just explaining how it’s always been done.”
“Not in his family!” Vinnie volunteered. “They have this thing called a janvasam at the temple. The girl’s father announces the wedding date to everyone there. And then they parade around the temple with the groom in a decorated car and invite everyone they see to the wedding.”
“Everyone they see?” I was horrified.
“It’s a holdover from when everyone lived in one village and knew everyone else,” Vinnie explained. “It’s not like everyone at the temple thinks they’re invited, unless they also get a card.”
“Are you going to do the ceremony?” Masi asked.
“Good luck dragging Dad into a temple.” I snorted. “Have you leveled with Manish about us? He should know he’s marrying into a family of raging rationalists.”
“Of course I have. And Manish isn’t really religious or anything,” Vinnie said. “I don’t know about his parents, though. I think they might be a bit orthodox.”
“Hmmm,” I said. This meeting was going to be a disaster. I could feel it.
“Here she is!” Masi said, and Ria the assistant sashayed into the room in the antique-gold outfit. I was trying not to get too excited about Mallu Masi’s designs while she was watching, but I couldn’t stop smiling at how incredibly perfect for Vinnie this lehenga was. I felt like standing up and applauding.
“Wow!” Vinnie was speechless. “What do you think, Mini?” At least as far as style is concerned, she always looks to me.
“It’s outstanding.” I gave her two thumbs-up, smiling from ear to ear. “I knew that one was right. I just knew it!”
“Will it look like that on me?” Vinnie asked. I leaned over and whispered in her ear, so I wouldn’t offend the helpful Ria. “It’ll look better on you, I promise. Your arms and shoulders are so much more toned and tanned than Ria’s. That old-gold color always looks amazing on you. And it’s made to go with Mom’s jewelry.”
“Really?” Vinnie’s eyes were shining.
I gave her a squeeze. “Really.”
“What are you girls whispering about?” Masi demanded via video chat. “D’you like it or what?”
“I LOVE it, Masi,” Vinnie said. “That’s the one—I’m sure. Could I please, please have it?”
“Of course you can, darling.” Masi smiled magnanimously. “Get this one altered to the measurements I gave you,” she ordered some poor off-camera underling. “It has to be couriered to this address. Quickly, okay? They need it NOW.”
“Vinnie, read this!” I clicked on a bookmark in my web browser. “We can order your wedding garlands from India via FancyFlowers. Shoma Aunty said it might be easier if we order the varmalas ourselves.”
Apparently, a florist exists that ships handstrung garlands straight from India to Canada and the US every week. Vinnie could choose from dozens of wedding garland designs. Who knew?
“Niiiice!” Vinnie said. “But I hate this one!” The garland Vinnie hated was made with banknotes as well as flowers! “And what is this one?” Another garland, this time with twenty-four-karat gold-plated beads threaded in with the flowers.
“We can order jasmine strings for the mehendi!” I said, inspired by the gorgeous flowers and reasonable prices.
“We’re having a mehendi?” Vinnie asked.
“We most certainly are!” I said. “You can skip some ceremonies if you like, but how can you have a Punjabi wedding without a mehendi and sangeet?”
“How can you have an American wedding without a
