“Isn’t the temple closed tomorrow?” I asked.
“Yes, yes.” Radhika shook her head, but it was unclear if she meant yes or no. “But it is open in the morning.”
I looked at the sign behind her, and this one said: DUE TO THE STORM, THE TEMPLE CLOSES TOMORROW AUGUST 27, AT NOON.
“If they start early, they can be done by noon,” Radhika Aunty said. Yes, Radhika Aunty—I was definitely adopting her after her genius idea. “We could have the reception another day.”
“We could go to our house for the reception!” I said. Yes, that would work. “But will they let us have the wedding here?”
“Not normally,” Radhika Aunty said. “But my husband, Natarajan, is on the board of the temple. He can talk to them.”
Manish’s family and their friends made up half the board, apparently. We were in luck!
Natarajan was smiling encouragingly over her shoulder. “You come with me and we fill out the forms.”
“But shouldn’t I ask Vinnie or Dad?” I asked. “Or Manish!”
“No time,” Natarajan said. “Ragini and Venkat are fine with it. If Manish and Vinnie don’t like it, we can cancel, but we should book it just so we have something.”
There was a small office window, behind which sat a plump lady with a bunch of jasmine flowers in her hair.
“Yes?” she asked sharply.
“Now ask for the wedding booking form,” Natarajan instructed from behind me. “In English, okay? Not Hindi or Punjabi.”
“Okay,” I said. “Er… could I please have the form to book weddings?”
Suddenly the woman was all smiles. “You are Ragini’s son Manish’s fiancée’s sister!” she said.
It took me a minute to figure out that this was correct. “Yes!” I confirmed. Natarajan Uncle was doing nothing but smiling and nodding in the background, but clearly his presence had changed the woman’s attitude and helped her identify who the hell I was.
“Tomorrow morning,” she said. “Yes, we are open!”
Something about the way she said it made me think that the open-till-noon thing had to do with various strings being pulled on the temple board as well.
I concentrated on the simple paper form in my hand. Bride’s name, groom’s name, temple member making the booking’s name—that would be Dad, right? I didn’t know if he technically was still a member of this congregation.
I looked back at the form. Temple donation: $500. Was that ALL? Dang, it was cheap to book a temple hall! But I didn’t think I had that much money on me. “Er… I’m not sure I have…,” I started.
“Make the payment tomorrow,” the lady said obligingly.
“Sure, if that’s okay with you,” I said, handing back the completed form. “So, are we booked for tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she said. “Krishna Ji will perform the ceremony.”
I smiled. Those simple words made the whole crazy thing feel better—Krishna Ji will perform the ceremony. Maybe this was also meant to be.
“Do we have a time?” Radhika Aunty asked.
“Yes, nine AM tomorrow, here,” I said, clutching the booking form to me. “Followed by the reception at Twenty-One Andrea Road, Westbury, at noon.”
“Write it down quickly,” she instructed. I jotted down the details and handed it to her. She walked briskly to the front and handed it to Dad. Dad looked at it, looked up at me, and mouthed: ARE YOU SURE?
I nodded vigorously, and he stood up, cleared his throat, and proceeded to read: “We, the families of Vinod Kapoor and Venkat and Ragini Iyer, declare the intention of our daughter Yashasvini Kapoor and our son Manish Iyer to marry at nine AM tomorrow, the twenty-seventh of August, at Sri Balaji Temple, Sherwood. The ceremony will be performed by Krishna Iyengar Ji, the head priest. A reception will follow at noon at the Kapoor residence at Twenty-One Andrea Road, Westbury.”
I suppose the announcement is usually a formality at these things because everyone already knows the details. But this was no formality—everyone was hanging on Dad’s words, including the bride and groom.
He looked up. “You may be aware that there has been a slight change in the plan due to the hurricane. We need to let everyone know the new date and venue so they can get here. Please help us spread the word.”
With that, Dad handed a platter of gifts to the Iyers, who in turn presented gifts to him. Manish grabbed the box containing the nice Punjabi sherwani we had bought him and went off to change.
“Mini!” I looked up to see Vinnie pass by surrounded by a flock of smiling Tamil ladies. I guess they were going to help her get changed. I got up and Masi put a hand on mine—“Let them,” she said.
So I took a deep breath and waited for Vinnie to emerge after they helped her dress.
Vinnie! OMG, Vinnie in a Kanji-freaking-varam! They had even put strings of jasmine flowers in her hair, and some gold temple jewelry too. She looked amazing!
Dad, meanwhile, looked on the verge of tears and ready to bolt.
Luckily I needed him to do something, which always calmed him down.
“Dad, you know the Indian grocery store in Framingham?” I said. “Go there and get this!”
“Now?” he asked.
“Yeah, now,” I said. “We’re just going to be eating now; they’ll understand.”
“Where’s Dad?” Vinnie asked.
“Dude, you look awesome!” I said. She looked stunning. “Manish, you too!” Manish looked even more transformed in the buttoned-up Nehru-collar jacket and pants than Vinnie did in her sari.
“So the wedding is here and the reception is at home?” Vinnie asked. “Will that work?”
“Yeah,” I said flippantly, trying not to let her guess the general state of panic under my smiling veneer. “Absolutely!”
“We need to let everyone know!” Vinnie said. “As soon as we get home, I have to call everyone!”
“Vinnie, what about the mehendi?” I asked.
“Well, we have to cancel that, of course.” Vinnie looked puzzled.
“But you have to have mehendi on your hands before you get married,”
