Big weddings promise perfect beginnings. But in Farhad J. Dadyburjor’s Queerly Beloved, love refuses to follow a script, unfolding instead in all its messy, complicated and unexpectedly tender ways.
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Dressed in a royal gold-and-cream embroidered sherwani with matching jodhpuris on his feet and a large, bejewelled turban resting on his soft, floppy hair, Ved Mehra looked around him and admired the jasmine and marigold garlands dancing in the breeze. They covered the poles of the mandap like creepers—forming a drooping canopy after reaching the top. A small fire burned bright on little logs of wood in the centre of the stage in a shiny square vessel. The priest sitting cross-legged near it waited patiently for the ceremony to commence. Ved’s mother, Dolly, sparkling in a shiny maroon sequined saree on his right, was smiling from cheek to cheek as she gently pressed his sweaty hand in anticipation. Prem, his father, was just climbing onto the stage after welcoming some of their business clients who had taken their seats. Everyone admired the exquisite flower decorations all around and indulged in the posh nibbles and flutes of champagne being served as the Arabian Sea lapped gently a short distance behind them.
Ved smiled as his father hugged him and stationed himself on his other side, filled with pride on a day he had dreamed about for a greater number of years than he could remember. It had finally arrived, making Ved believe he was truly the luckiest man in the world for being able to marry his soulmate.
And there in the distance, the man of his life was approaching him. Carlos Silva, dressed handsomely in a dark blue Nehru jacket with tapered white pants, a pink kerchief placed spiffily in his jacket pocket that offset his tanned complexion and his slicked back light brown hair. Ved smiled with so much love that he felt as if his heart might just fall out. Here was the man he was ready to spend the rest of his life with.
But Carlos didn’t smile back. He seemed to be walking towards Ved hurriedly, his face flushed a deep red, an urgency in his stride.
Wait.
This was not how things were meant to go.
Carlos always had such a strong grip on his emotions. So, why was he suddenly looking so emotional? Was it last minute jitters? Had something happened to upset him?
Ved kept smiling goofily at him, egging him on, ignoring the sense of rotting dread deep inside of him as Carlos climbed onto the stage with tears streaming down his cheeks, took both of Ved’s hands in his tightly, looked at him pitifully for just a second, then said in a jittery voice, ‘Ved, I can’t do this . . . it’s over. I’m leaving you for someone else. Please, forgive me,’ and turned around, running out of the venue.
There was an audible gasp from the seated guests. Ved wanted to say something, but it was like his mouth was frozen. His face felt contorted and his body shook violently as he tried to hold back his tears. He could see his mother’s face filled with shock, his father supporting him from behind with trembling hands, the earth beginning to spin violently below him. Ved felt as if his mouth was being wrenched apart as he finally let out a scream, something so feral and frightening that it scared all the guests who hurriedly began scattering out of the venue.
And in that moment, when confusion reigned, the fire toppled over on to the stage and slowly started burning the sides, creeping up the wooden poles, eating the tiny white and orange flowers in its path. The priest shrieked frantically and ran off. His mother looked at him with tears in her eyes, waiting for Ved to do something. His father was shouting as the fire fast approached. But Ved seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move, staring helplessly as the burning flames started engulfing his feet.
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