Two Bichiyas, One Silk Slip

Two bichiyas. Two bride-mothers pressing gold into my palm. Tanvi's grandmother did it at the venue walk in front of two aunties and a steward. Today's mother did it in front of twenty crew and an assistant director with a clipboard. Same gesture. Same pressure. Same look in the eye that says: you are in this family now, even if only for the length of a wedding. I photographed it for my records. I don't have many records I like.

Vivek. He stood one step inside my choreography and put his hand on the small of my back like I was being led somewhere I couldn't find myself. I let it sit for two beats — not because I wanted it, because I wanted to be sure it was happening. Then I stepped sideways and said, evenly, "Vivek-ji, the mark is taped on the floor, I can see it." His face. Heena has a list. He is on it now. I don't get to see the categories but I know there's a subfolder for hands and one for the specific smile of a man who thinks choreography is a conversation.

The ICICI hold lifted at 6pm. Heena got the women-cell officer to write a letter referencing exhibit C and the fraud desk took it like a tip at a wedding. Relief is not the right word. Relief is what you feel when a headache ends. This was more like the cage unlocking after I'd already started rehearsing the next version of this problem. Tomorrow I withdraw the Tanvi deposit in cash at 9am, before the branch manager finishes her chai. After that it is not a number in their system. It is a paper envelope in my bag.