Shaadi Consultant

DOLLY

Main Delhi mein shaadiyan plan karti hoon.

Dusron ki.

Apni life ka jo bhi tha, woh kaafi pehle kisi corner mein fold karke rakh diya gaya tha—jaise hotel ka extra bedsheet, jo “kabhi kaam aa jayega” ke naam pe cupboard mein pada rahe. Mere din venues, calls, tastings, mood boards, aur un logon se bhare hote the jo apni shaadi ko ya toh kingdom samajhte the ya battlefield.

South Extension ki purani building mein humara office tha. Neeche tailor, upar CA, aur beech mein Dolly Weds & More. Naam aisa jaise kisi ne meri zindagi ko pehle hi shaadi ke envelope mein chipka diya ho.

Subah desk pe floral samples phailay hue the. Venue brochures. Seating charts. Pasta tasting notes. Ek half-drunk chai ka cup jis par lipstick ka nishaan tha—mera nahi, Golu ka.

Golu mera assistant tha. 22 ka, patla, hamesha thoda ghabraya hua, par uski timing aisi thi ki main chahe kitni bhi thaki hoon, uski baat pe react kiye bina reh hi nahi sakti thi.

“Didi,” usne file slide ki, “Mrs. Kapoor ka call teen baar aa chuka hai. Unhone bola agar aapne uthaya nahi toh woh khud aakar aapko correct karengi.”

Maine eyebrow uthayi. “Correct?”

“Unka exact tone tha, ‘Main logon ko correct karti hoon.’”

Maine aankhen band ki. “Speaker pe laga.”

Golu ne phone connect kiya. Next second, Mrs. Kapoor ki voice room mein aise phaili jaise expensive perfume aur warning ka combo ho.

“Dolly. Finally.”

Main chair seedhi karke baithi. “Good morning, ma’am.”

“Morning?” Unhone halki si hansi di, bina khushi ke. “Tumne jo stage design bheja hai, uske baad good morning bolne ka mann bhi nahi karta.”

Main pen uthakar notes banane lagi. “Aapko kaun sa part issue laga?”

“Kaun sa part? The whole thing. The entrance arch is too soft. The lighting is flat. And why is the couple’s table facing the buffet? Kya woh log khaana dekhne aaye hain?”

Golu ki aankhen meri taraf gayin—jaise bol rahi ho, shuru ho gaya.

“Ma’am, dining sightline ke hisaab se—”

“Sightline mujhe mat samjhao, Dolly. Main last twenty years se events attend kar rahi hoon. Mujhe pata hai kaun si cheez cheap lagti hai aur kaun si nahi.”

Uski voice sharp thi, par random nahi. Woh cheezein notice karti thi. Main usse ignore nahi kar sakti thi.

“Okay,” main boli. “Aap mujhe exact concerns bhej dijiye. Main revised options bana deti hoon.”

“Options mujhe kal tak chahiye the.”

“Main aaj bhej dungi.”

“Good. Aur Dolly—” ek chhota sa pause. “Main apology nahi chahti. Main better work chahti hoon.”

Call cut.

Room mein silence.

Golu ne saans chhodi. “Woh ‘better work’ bolke aise sunati hain jaise court order ho.”

Maine file band ki. “Unhone jo bola, galat bhi nahi tha.”

“Didi, unka tone bilkul galat tha.”

Maine uski taraf dekha. “Tone se wedding nahi banti. Delivery banti hai.”

“Yehi toh aapka problem hai,” usne bina soche bol diya. Phir uska chehra seedha ho gaya. “Matlab—sorry.”

“Bol diya toh rehne de.”

Mera phone vibrate hua. Arjun ka missed call. Phir maa ka. Phir Arjun ka message: “Call back.”

Main screen ko dekh kar ruki.

Arjun decent tha. Civil engineer, clean nails, soft voice, aur woh aadmi jo pehle permission maangta tha phir haath badhata tha. Woh mujhe samajhne ki koshish karta tha. Aur kabhi kabhi mujhe lagta tha understanding bhi ek pressure hota hai—kyunki samajh jaane ke baad insaan aur bhi dekhna chahta hai.

Hum engaged the. Six months ho chuke the. Ring mere dressing table drawer mein padi thi. Office mein pehenti nahi thi—clients notice kar lenge. Ghar mein pehenti nahi thi—maa ko aur ideas aa jayenge.

Maa ke ideas ke alag hi wings the.

Golu ne softly kaha, “Didi, khana kha lo.”

“Baad mein.”

“Kal bhi baad mein tha.”

Maine uski taraf dekha. “Tu aaj bahut bol raha hai.”

“Kyuki aap kam bol rahi ho.”

Main kuch nahi boli. Mrs. Kapoor ka WhatsApp agaya: “Need revised seating by 5. Also call me.”

Main screen lock karke chair mein peeche lean ho gayi.

Mera din dusron ke demands se bhara hota tha. Aur main un demands ko arrange karte karte apni saans ka rhythm bhool jaati thi.

KAPOOR

Mrs. Kapoor ka ghar Defence Colony mein tha—white bungalow, trimmed hedges, do security guards, aur andar woh kind of silence jo mehngi cheezon se banti hai, pyaar se nahi.

Security ne mujhe pehchan liya aur aise expression diya jaise main kisi routine nuisance ka hissa hoon.

Drawing room mein Mrs. Kapoor sofa ke edge par baithi thi, silk suit, diamond studs, aur aisa posture jaise woh office meeting mein nahi, inspection mein ho.

Rhea side wale sofa pe thi. Pretty, tired, aur phone ko aise pakde hue jaise usmein air pocket ho.

Mrs. Kapoor ne mujhe dekha. “You’re late.”

Main watch dekh kar boli, “Ma’am, main time se pahunchi hoon.”

“Late in the wrong way.”

Rhea ne ek second ke liye nazar utha kar mujhe dekha. Uski aankhon mein apology nahi, bas thakan thi.

Main file kholti hui boli, “Aaj main revised entrance options, seating flow aur stage backdrop ke alternatives laayi hoon.”

Mrs. Kapoor ne ek sip liya apni green tea ka. “Good. Because the current arch looks like it belongs to a school annual day.”

Rhea ne bina dekhe murmur kiya, “Maa, engagement hai. Embassy reception nahi.”

Mrs. Kapoor ne uski taraf aankh tak nahi ghumayi. “For you maybe. For this family, it is not small.”

Main notes mein keywords likh rahi thi. Mrs. Kapoor ke saath kaam karte hue main yeh samajh chuki thi ki woh bas nagging nahi karti—woh har cheez ka map dimaag mein rakhti thi. Kaun kis angle se dekh raha hai, kis relative ka kya ego hai, kaun kis cheez par offend hoga. Woh event ko logon se zyada seriously leti thi.

Problem yeh thi ki us seriousness mein kabhi kabhi insaan gum ho jaate the.

“Entrance pe marigold ko replace karke white orchids aur tuberose ka mix kar sakte hain,” main boli. “Less heavy, more structured.”