The heady intoxication of the wedding celebrations is jolted awake. It’s the morning of the bidaai. The little princess has grown up and time has come for her to leave her fathers kingdom for her husbands home. The sublime happiness of yesterday is conquered by melancholy today. The radiant smiles clouded by tear-washed kohl smudged eyes. The rapturous laughter stunned into silence. Punctuated occasionally by that odd sniffle. The bride and the groom leave. To a new life. A cloak of love and a halo of blessings around them.
I wear a red and gold dhakai from Bangladesh. Draped in traditional Bengali style.

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