Read Becoming Her - A New Life :: Chapter 12 Part 1

Kiran sank into the backseat of the Uber cab, exhaling as he settled in. The silk of his saree (a traditional draped Indian garment worn by women) rustled softly against the seat. Raj slipped in from the other side, his sherwani (a long, formal embroidered coat worn by men for special occasions) slightly rumpled from the long evening.

It was nearly 11 p.m. The engagement ceremony had gone perfectly—but Kiran felt like he’d run a marathon in heels. In a way, he had.

Their day had started early. They reached Kiran's father’s house by 10 a.m., only to be greeted by the sight of Priya sitting on the stairs, teary-eyed and flustered.

“My choli (a fitted traditional blouse worn under a saree or with a lehenga) is too tight!” she wailed, tugging at its neckline. “It won’t close properly!”

Kiran had comforted her gently. “It’ll be fine. Come on, we’ll go get it fixed right now.”

He had rushed her to the boutique they’d bought it from, where a tailor loosened the blouse by half an inch—just enough to help her breathe and move without discomfort. From there, they hurried to the salon, where Priya had booked a joint appointment for both of them.

Kiran had tried to resist, murmuring weak protests about time and necessity, but Priya wouldn’t hear it.

“You’re the bride’s elder sister,” she said, eyes wide and pleading. “You can’t show up looking like a tired schoolteacher.”

So Kiran had given in. He sat patiently as the salon attendants worked on him—threading, tweezing, massaging creams into his skin, curling his hair into soft waves, and carefully applying layer after layer of makeup. He squirmed internally at first, but when he finally looked in the mirror, he had to admit... the reflection looking back was beautiful. Regal.

Back at the house, chaos reigned. The living room looked like a tornado had passed through—bags, jewelry boxes, safety pins, heels, and makeup strewn across every surface. His father was pacing angrily, shouting that they were running late and that the girls would make his head hang in shame in front of Priya’s in-laws.

To make things worse, Raj had forgotten to buy the traditional jutis (embroidered Indian slip-on shoes for men) for his sherwani and had dashed off to find a pair at the last moment. He hadn’t returned yet.

Meanwhile, the bridal makeup artist Priya had hired was still finishing her work on the bride—and, to Kiran’s surprise, she had also helped Kiran with his own look. She draped his saree with the kind of expertise that transformed the fabric into something sculptural and graceful, with Roshni watching and giving mostly unnecessary directions.

Roshni had come to their house in the afternoon itself to help with the last-minute arrangements and had been busy throughout.

Kiran had worn a regal Banarasi silk saree (a luxurious silk saree from the city of Banaras, known for its intricate gold or silver brocade work), in deep maroon with golden zari (metallic thread) work that shimmered under the lights. The pallu (the loose end of a saree draped over the shoulder) — richly woven with floral motifs — had been pleated and pinned over his shoulder with perfect precision. The saree hugged his waist before flaring gently, accentuating his posture.

His blouse was a matching maroon, with a modest scoop neck and elbow-length sleeves embroidered with tiny golden vines. The back had a deep U-cut with tassels hanging at the end, swaying slightly as he moved.

Around his neck, he wore a heavy choker necklace of kundan stones (traditional Rajasthani jewelry with glass stones set in gold) set in gold, with a matching longer haar (necklace) cascading below. His ears were adorned with large jhumkas (bell-shaped traditional earrings) that chimed gently with every turn of his head.

His wrists were stacked with glass bangles in gold and maroon, interspersed with stone-studded kadas (rigid metal bangles, usually thicker).

On his forehead sat a maang tikka (a traditional forehead ornament), the central pendant resting just above the bindi (a decorative dot worn on the forehead) on his brow. His anklets—silver, dainty, and tinkling—peeped out occasionally beneath the folds of his saree.

His hands and feet were decorated with the now-darkened mehendi (henna), curling up his forearms in detailed patterns that framed the shimmer of his bangles. On his feet, he wore gold-embellished sandals, their heels just enough to make him walk carefully but not uncomfortably.

Roshni had taken one look at him and thrown a dramatic air-kiss. “Oh, how I wish I were a man!” she sighed.

They had both broken into laughter.

Roshni looked radiant herself, dressed in a swirling ghagra (a long flared skirt, part of traditional North Indian attire)—in peacock blue with heavy mirror and threadwork along the hem. Her fitted choli (blouse) was sleeveless and she had styled her sheer dupatta (a long scarf worn with Indian outfits) around her neck, pinned into a neat V that showed off the blouse while keeping the look graceful.

“You look so hot yourself,” Kiran had teased, admiring the way the outfit highlighted Roshni’s curves and confidence.

By the time they left for the venue at 5 p.m., Kiran looked every bit the graceful elder sister of the bride. The stares he drew, the compliments he received—all felt surreal. Somewhere in that long, dizzying day, his old self had seemed to fade away.

The engagement function had gone off beautifully—smooth, vibrant, and full of fun. Kiran had been by Priya’s side throughout, taking care of her little needs, looking after the guests, and ensuring the caterers were ready with the food. And Roshni had been right there with him through it all.

The biggest surprise of the evening came when Sameer walked in—flashing his familiar grin—with his wife beside him. He explained that the groom was a distant cousin of his wife’s, and he had wanted to keep his attendance a surprise.

Sameer looked absolutely dashing in a deep green jari kurta (a long shirt with metallic thread embroidery) with fine gold threadwork. The collar was styled slightly open, just enough to reveal a glimpse of his muscular upper chest. He wore tulip pants (a modern take on Indian bottoms with a flared, draped look) that billowed around the thighs and tapered neatly at the calves. Kiran had chuckled to himself: The girls must be going crazy.

His wife, poised and graceful, wore a cream saree with a sleeveless blouse that was just low-cut enough to reveal a tasteful hint of her full bosom. A pearl necklace and matching bracelet adorned her, striking a perfect balance between elegance and quiet sensuality.

As the formalities wrapped up and the dinner service began, the groom’s friends requested the DJ to switch to Bhangra music (a high-energy folk dance style from Punjab). Within seconds, the floor came alive with infectious energy as they broke into an impromptu Bhangra routine—shoulders bouncing, legs kicking, hands clapping to the beat. The crowd roared with delight.

Next came another performance—this time by the groom’s female cousins, who had choreographed a dance to a popular Bollywood song. Halfway through, to Kiran’s surprise, they came up to him mid-performance and pulled him toward the stage.

“No, no, I don’t know the steps!” Kiran protested, blushing furiously.

But they only laughed and insisted, “The bride’s sister must dance too!”

Frozen under the stage lights, Kiran looked completely out of place—until Roshni appeared beside him, taking his hand with a reassuring smile. “Come on, we’ll figure it out.”

They began awkwardly, missing a few beats, but soon found their rhythm. Kiran’s feet started moving almost instinctively, guided by the music and the sheer energy of the moment. When they finished, the hall erupted into cheers and loud calls of “Once more!”

The DJ replayed the song, and to Kiran’s surprise, the Bhangra boys returned—dancing right alongside them. And then Sameer dashed onto the stage, grinning wide, pulling off his own version of the steps with his usual flair.

Just like that, the old trio—Kiran, Sameer, and Roshni—were back. Dancing together. Laughing breathlessly. The years melting away.

Catching his breath, Kiran looked around, scanning the crowd. His eyes found Raj, sitting at a table across the hall, quietly watching the scene unfold while nibbling on starters passed around by the waiters.

Kiran smiled and waved from the stage, beckoning him to join.

Raj shook his head with a shy smile, signaling no with his hands.

But Kiran kept insisting, eyes bright and playful. Finally, Raj gave in—rising from his seat and walking to the stage like a reluctant contestant. He wasn’t much of a dancer, but he moved with the flow, doing his best to match steps with Kiran.

When the music finally ended, the hall was filled with laughter, tangled dupattas, unhinged pallus, half-undone hair, and flushed faces. Everyone was exhausted—but the adrenaline, the joy, and the memories made it all worth it.

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That's the end of Chapter 12 Part 1. Do let me know your thoughts on the chapter. Comment freely.

Thankyou

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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