Day 81.This maroon Maheshwari was one of the many saris my Matu (mashi) gifted me as part of my wedding trousseau. I wore it the day after my wedding when some close family members and friends came over for lunch and stayed on till I left for my new home. That afternoon nestles the warmest and fondest of my wedding memories. From the food (my favourite parshe maachh) to the people (my favourite uncles, aunts, cousins and dearest friends)….I got the best of everything that day. Every moment of that warm afternoon are etched in my heart. Be it waking up to frantic calls from Ma and Doepishi (my aunt, father’s sister, who had stayed over the night before) that they could wait no longer for the gifts to be opened and getting out of bed reluctantly to find them sitting amid the pile of gifts, a few of them already opened and sheepish smiles on their faces! Or the laughter that rang out loud in every room as I flitted from one adda zone to another, eager to soak in every moment to store away in my heart forever. Or even that fish smell in my Doepishi’s hands (she had just finished distributing among everyone the fish, a customary gift from in-laws as part of the tottwo as Bengalis consider the fish auspicious) as she turned make-up artist to turn me into a bride once again; all my protests were in vain as she ordained that I had bear with it. And all this while my Matu got busy in her role as hairdresser, busy tying my hair into that perfect jura. And then stepped in my Mami, who ensured that my sari was draped perfectly. In every stroke of the kajal, in each sweep of the comb and in the pleats of the sari, they wrapped in their love. As I sat down to receive the blessings of all those gathered, each one flashing a smile and fighting a tear, the lump in my throat got bigger and tighter, as much for the realisation that I was leaving my mother as in gratitude to the love I was so fortunate at having showered on me. But I had promised I wouldn’t cry and had made my mother promise. For, didn’t her favourite hero say “I hate tears”? But that couldn’t stop the sting in those eyes or hold back that tight clasp that she held Achintya’s hands in for a moment and just looked. Everything was said in those unsaid words. Just as when, a little later, he put his arm around my shoulder as I looked back through the rear glass of the car for that last glimpse of my home, my people, my world, till the car took a turn and they disappeared, but not before my brother-in-law had asked “ektu darabo (should we wait a bit?” I knew I was going just a couple of blocks away but for me that short distance was a journey to a different world. But my most long-lasting memory of that day is a happy frame, one that has been captured for etermity, of me wearing this sari and a smile, flanked by two of my best friends.