The Banquet

The elevator slid to a halt in a slow, almost rhythmic, assured manner as maintenance in those sort of high end places was wont to make sure of. As the doors opened, the hallway from the elevator to the room of destination came into view, with its ambience of golden light emanating a fuzzy warmth almost encouraging one to nod off, bathed in the creamy yellow of the hallway. The golden lights spilled over onto the cream walls, and the marbled floor was more than happy to reciprocate the environment with its opalescent reflections, all this supported by the faint jazz heard wafting through the banquet hall, which was our destination. I walked carefully, as the floor appeared the sort on which slipping on seemed eminently possible. The receptionist at the door welcomed us with a smile, and motioned us to proceed on into the room.

 I observed the tastefully placed blue lights scattered around the hall in a delightful pattern, punctuating the otherwise creamy texture. But these punctuations served not as disruptions, but adornments, ornamenting the flow of colour. The blue lights delighted me, as they conformed exactly with the marigolds imprinted on my cream-based schiffon saree. Realization that the room was full of people made me grab the end of my pallu tighter, and wrap the loose end tighter against my hip.I knew the slight discomfiture I now experienced was a necessary bargain to offset the psychological delights of my attire. I had felt like I had come of age when I first wore my saree, gasping as it pressed gently against my body, caressing my contour, like the embrace of a lover whose love was meant to last forever. This overwhelmingly strong sense of emancipation that the saree provided, the gateway to femininity, titillated me, and still did.

 The gloriously soft saree felt like it would slip off any moment, even though I had firmly tucked it into my petticoat, and had wrapped it tightly around me. Tight enough to flaunt any minimal curvature I had. But along with the uncomfortable feeling of walking on high heels, my attire felt like it conspired to unwrap itself at any moment, revealing me in more ways than one. But all that practice in high heels must not go in vain, I reminded myself, and decided to take determined steps to maintain poise. But try as I might, I struggled, ironically, to keep myself synchronous with the lissome movement that characterizes feminine gait. Each few assured steps were followed by clumsy ones, leaving myself appearing to alternate between lithe and almost festinant steps.

Daddy's employer, the coordinator of the fest was engaged in all the boring activities that any celebratory occasion brings. He was helped by a few smartly dressed youth, perhaps sons of other employers. I heaved a sigh of relief noticing I was wearing a saree, and I wasn't required to do such menial work anymore. 

A few moments after we entered, we were countenanced by a very good looking woman in a red silk saree, perhaps in her late thirties, though appearing much younger, flanked by a girl with brilliantly black eyes, that seemed in their depth both finite and infinite. The contours of her face seemed shaped by happiness, as her lips were fixed in a perpetual smile, both innocuous and bewitching at once. The elder woman seemed to recognize my father, as she greeted him "Why hello Mr.Raghav. I'm so glad you made the effort to come along with your lovely family". "Thank you Mrs. Radha", replied my father, while turning to us and adding "This is Mrs.Radha, Mr.Anup's wife". He then turned to Radha and said "This is Lakshmi, my wife, and Deepika, my only daughter". "Oh she looks so lovely, and all grown up, I must say. Priyanka here never heeds my advice to wear ethnic wear. She thinks it wouldn't suit her". I smiled, and I am quite sure I must have blushed too at being addressed a lovely lady, and replied "Oh, thank you so much Auntie". "You are most welcome, sweetie. Please do take a seat. My husband will be down in a short while. Perhaps you would like to meet some of the other women, Lakshmi? The girls can handle themselves, I'm sure", she said. My father had already taken notice of his other colleagues, and had drifted away to share some light hearted moments with them. 

Glancing around the room, I let the skilful elegance of the surroundings sink in. At the centre of the room was a raised platform, presumably a performer's stage, adorned by yet more of the dreamy blue lights at its base, seeming almost to swirl in a balletic fashion. Tables were arranged in a nonchalant manner, yet not too haphazard, and the upholstery seemed as fine as I had ever experienced. I noticed a group of girls adopting faces practiced for occasions where they were required to meet other girls put in similar circumstances. The boys, somewhat lesser in attendance than the girls, seemed to get acquainted fairly quickly as they joined together two sets of tables, intent on making the solemn affair as boisterous as was possible. As old habits die not so quickly, I almost set forth in their direction, before reminding myself I was dressed in a saree, which was not exactly an attire boys would be pleased to wear. 

Bereft of my family for the immediate short future, and left to the mercy of my attire, I gingerly took a seat away from both the girls and the boys, while yet keeping my saree wrapped around me with the free end of the pallu in front of me, as any demure girl would have to do. And yet, this modesty elated me. The utter normalcy of such a traditional act gave me happiness, as I could find relevance in an abnormal world. I was cut short of my philosophizing because Priyanka ventured to the seat near me and sat down. She was dressed casually in an orange camisole over a black tee, and black jeans. Or perhaps 'casual' was just the way she wanted to be seen, because inspite of her apparent ease, traces of a morning spent decorating oneself were visible. "Hello", she beamed me a smile. Not used to attention by girls, I could only muster a shy smile in return. "Gorgeous saree", she said, stifling a giggle. "Oh thank you so much. You must wear one too. You would be the prettiest woman in this room", I said, immediately regretting my decision to put to words what my mind was thinking. "Aww, thank you. But I don't feel all that grown up yet", she said. "Oh, you will, when you wear one", I winked at her. "But I think you still are the prettiest woman in this room", I continued, though I wished I hadn't. She giggled, and I could then notice a slight reddening of her perfectly formed cheeks. "Thank you so much Deepika", she said. "I hope you don't mind me intruding on your privacy. I saw you sitting alone, and I realized your family just got transferred over here. I thought I might introduce you to my friends", she cheefully continued. I was grateful for this gesture of affection in a foreign place, in an indescribable existence.

Reviews

[emily]

Seriously? This is actually your first shot at fiction? That is absolutely amazing!! I honestly can't wrap my mind around that. This is seriously, seriously, probably the best-written piece of fiction I have ever found on this sight, and I am not kidding. Your imagery is absolutely stunning. I could see every detail of the narrator's inflections. And your vocabulary - wow! I honestly have nothing to critique, and I am probably one of the toughest critiquers (so not a word) around. Please, God, keep writing this!

[R.G. Bennet]

My goodness. I love your imagery. Eloquent and rich, one can get caught up in it. But that's where you might want to be careful...sometimes the elaborate detail can get in the way of the flow of the story. I see you hit a nice balance more towards the latter half of the story.

I love the way you bring out the reflections of the main character. Seems like a deep, soulful kind of person. The dialogue can use some work, but this is just a positioning issue. For example:

---He then turned to Radha and said "This is Lakshmi, my wife, and Deepika, my only daughter". "Oh she looks so lovely, and all grown up, I must say. Priyanka here never heeds my advice to wear ethnic wear. She thinks it wouldn't suit her".-----

This bit is kind of run-on and I at first got confused regarding who was speaking. Perhaps this format might be useful:

He then turned to Radha and said "This is Lakshmi, my wife, and Deepika, my only daughter".
"Oh she looks so lovely, and all grown up, I must say," she replied. "Priyanka here never heeds my advice to wear ethnic wear. She thinks it wouldn't suit her".

But again, overall I think this is quite well done. I wish I had half your descriptive talent.

[DeliriousCerises]

Wow, is really my first thought. I can't wait to read more, this is so unique and interesting. Both the Indian culture, and the perspective of a transgender youth are new to me. You're style of writing is easy to read. In general it just keeps me wanting to read, and learn more, like I just want to get to know this character.