Shaadi Consultant

Mrs. Kapoor ne file se nazar uthayi. “Orchids are overused.”

“Then garden roses?”

“Too common.”

Main pen ko ek baar table pe tap kar ke roki. “Ma’am, aapko warmth bhi chahiye aur control bhi. Dono ek saath—”

“Dolly,” usne mujhe beech mein roka. “I don’t need a lecture on compromise. I need taste.”

Room mein halka sa tension ka crack aaya. Rhea ne pair cross karke phone side mein rakh diya.

Main calmly boli, “Aapko revised options kal shaam tak bhej deti hoon. Teen versions. One conservative, one balanced, one high impact.”

Mrs. Kapoor ne mujhe dekhte hue kaha, “That’s better.”

Phir unhone table pe padhi hard-copy list uthayi. “And this seating arrangement. The groom’s aunt can’t be put beside the cousin from Chandigarh. There was an issue at Diwali last year.”

Main ne pen rukaya. “What issue?”

Mrs. Kapoor ne seedha jawab diya. “He asked for money in front of everyone.”

Silence.

Rhea ki hansi ek sec ke liye nikal kar ruk gayi. Mrs. Kapoor ne uski taraf dekha.

“Kya?”

“Nothing,” Rhea said, but uske mouth pe jo line bani thi, woh bol rahi thi ki kuch bahut purana, bahut ugly hai, aur us family ne usse manage karna seekh liya hai, solve nahi.

Mrs. Kapoor ne phir mujhse kaha, “Dolly, I chose you because your work is neat. Don’t make me revise that opinion.”

“Of course.”

“Good. Because I don’t have time for people who crumble when pressure increases.”

Rhea finally bol padi, “Maa, pressure toh aap hi ho.”

The room froze.

Mrs. Kapoor ne ek second mein bas usko dekha. “Excuse me?”

Rhea ke shoulders straight ho gaye. “You heard me.”

Main files ke upar jhuki rahi, par hawa badal chuki thi. Yeh unke beech ka roz ka pattern nahi tha. Is baar kuch zyada personal tha.

Mrs. Kapoor ki voice narm nahi hui. “If you’ve come to discuss your attitude, we can postpone the wedding.”

“Perfect,” Rhea said, aur uss single word mein bachpan, gussa, aur thakaan sab tha.

Mrs. Kapoor ne usse kuch aur nahi kaha. Bas mujhe dekha. “Send the options by tonight.”

No apology. No extra line. Just business.

Maine nod kiya. “Haan, ma’am.”

Rhea ne ek chhota sa glance diya, jaise keh rahi ho: careful.

Bahaar nikal kar Delhi ki garmi ne face pe slap maara. Golu meri taraf jhuka. “Unke ghar mein sab tone pe rehte hain kya?”

“Apparently.”

“Didi, woh aunty dangerous hain.”

Maine shoulder bag adjust ki. “Haan.”

“Bas ‘haan’?”

“Dangerous log loud nahi hote.”

Golu ne kuch bolne ke liye munh khola, phir band kar liya. Usne mujhe pehli baar bina joke ke dekha.

Phone phir vibrate hua. Arjun.

Main ne uthaya. “Haan.”

“Tum call kyun nahi karti?”

Meri gaadi ka driver horn baja raha tha. Mere haath mein files thi. Mrs. Kapoor ke notes. Maa ka missed call. Arjun ka repeated insistence.

“Busy thi,” maine kaha.

“Busy ho ya mujhe avoid kar rahi ho?”

Mujhe uska tone pasand nahi aaya. “Arjun, abhi nahi.”

“Abhi kab?”

“Later.”

“Dolly—”

Maine call cut kar diya.

Golu ne side se dekha. “That was rude.”

“Was it?”

“Thoda.”

“Thoda enough hai.”

Usne kuch aur nahi kaha. Bas apni file ko hug kar liya, jaise woh khud bhi samajh raha ho ki aaj maine kis mood mein duniya ko chhoda hai.

KAPOOR

Mrs. Kapoor ke ghar ka next visit shaadi se pehle ka sabse lamba din nikla.

Is baar hall mein relatives bhi the. Kuch aunties, do uncles, ek cousin jo har baat pe “interesting” bolta tha, aur ek pandit ji jo corner mein baithkar aise dekh rahe the jaise sab kuch already karti hui aurat hi sambhalegi.

Rhea ne mujhe gate pe hi call kiya tha. “Aaj mat bolna maa ko ki main late hoon.”

“Main kyun bolungi?”

“Because she’ll ask.”

“Main receptionist hoon kya?”

“Wohi toh.”

Main hall mein pahunchi toh Mrs. Kapoor dining table ke paas khadi thi, ek guest list printout ko do baar fold karke khol rahi thi. Rhea sofa ke arm pe baithi thi, ek gold bangles ki stack ko ungli mein ghumate hue.

Mrs. Kapoor ne mujhe dekhte hi kaha, “Finally. Come.”

Main seedha table ke paas gayi. “Ma’am, revised seating yeh hai. Mainne side tables ko gender aur family tension ke hisaab se split kiya hai. Aur entrance arch—”

“Later.”

Rhea ne aankh uthayi. “Maa, aapne do baar already seating change kar di.”

“Because people are refusing to behave.”

“People or family?”

Mrs. Kapoor ne uski taraf ek look maara. “Same thing.”

Main papers set kar rahi thi ki drawing room se ek aurat ki awaaz aayi—high-pitched, offended, familiar with entitlement. “Kapoor ji, yeh kya hai? Humko corner table?”

Mrs. Kapoor ne bina mudhe kaha, “Aapko corner table nahi, aapko corner pe baithne ki aadat hai.”

Main ne nazar utha kar dekha. Un aunties mein se ek thi—groom side ki, heavy earrings, red lipstick, aur aisa expression jaise koi uske upar personal debt ho.

Woh table ke paas aakar khadi ho gayi. “Main keh rahi hoon, mera bhai front table pe kyun nahi?”

Mrs. Kapoor ne calmly jawab diya, “Kyuki aapka bhai front table pe baithke bhi pichhe ki baat karta hai.”

Rhea ke lips twitch hue. Main ne pretend kiya ki mujhe kuch sunai nahi diya.

Auntie ki aankhen narrow ho gayin. “Itni izzat se baat kar rahi ho, Kapoor ji?”

“Main izzat se hi baat kar rahi hoon,” Mrs. Kapoor ne kaha. “Agar aur zyada izzat chahiye toh pehle dekh ke aaiye ki aapne kis din kis ghar ka paisa kis se liya tha.”

Room ekdum silent.

Main ne head lift kiya. Rhea ne meri taraf dekha—jaise keh rahi ho, ab aayega.

Auntie ka face badal gaya. “Kya?”

Mrs. Kapoor ne side se ek envelope nikala. “Aapke bhai ki handwriting pahchanti hoon. Diwali ke baad aaya tha. Wohi letter jis mein likha tha, ‘Aunty ji, iss baar adjust kar dijiye, logon ke saamne baat mat nikaliye.’”

Auntie ka rang utar gaya.