Maybe, Sliding Doors by Reshma Johar

London, 1997

Confident woman in magenta pink

I would guess that you were a similar height to me so 5ft 5. You have wavey long black and white hair, a killer smile with full shiny lips, big bright brown eyes that sparkle when you smile. You ooze confidence as you hold the audience of a group during this wedding. You wore a bright magenta pink sari covered in silver embroidery with stonework.

You stand out in a swarm of bright colours from the saris, lengha’s and kurta’s, flashes from all the jewellery worn, bright lights for the camera and photographer, noises from all the aunties sharing bio data to anyone willing to listen, and smells from the perfumes and food, that wafts in abundance.

In true Seema Auntie style, here is your bio data: 

• I have no idea what you do for a living, and I really do not care. 

• I do not care what your family education or occupations are. 

• Ideally you are also from London, but I am adventurous so happy to travel.

• You do not need to be from a religious background or have a particular caste.

• You do not need to be vegetarian.

• Be kind.

• Open minded.

• Confident.

• Queer or fit somewhere within that rainbow. 

As I laugh at the bio data with Seema Auntie rolling her eyes at me, I already can feel another dream coming and going. After all, what are the chances of two women being queer and interested in each other after being at the same very straight and very Indian wedding? Except this time, the advert is out for everyone to see. But will you see it? At least I tried, right?

You are the woman at the Indian wedding where the Indian doctor is getting married to the Indian doctor. Both sides of the families are beaming with pride. 

You are in a corner laughing and giggling with a group of other women. Not at all interested in the union of the tragic cliché of Indian families and their aspirations. I am the one who can’t keep my eyes off you, but when you looked at me, I subtly look away. I am hoping I was subtle, hoping that my friend, who would not stop talking, hadn’t noticed that I was distracted.

During the dinner, we are sat close by, I am at the table next to yours. It is at this point that I get to hear your voice. You sound incredibly smart and seemed so engrossed in what is going on with your group of friends or family. What amazed me most, was your complete lack of care of using your hands to eat the Indian food and 100% admiration for eating the super-hot fried mustard chilli. I was in awe!

After dinner, you are one of the first to get up and hit the dance floor and I just feel myself laughing and smiling as you dance and sing through a range of Bollywood songs. People form a circle around you as you wave your arms and shake your body. Eventually, you abandon your delicate shoes and kick them under a table. By this point I think my friend worked out what I was staring at and so tried to get me to also dance a little closer to where you were. In the end my shyness took a hold of me and I disappeared.

Royalty in blue silks with gold embroidery

You are tall with a beautiful build and have a sharply defined face so unique, I am stunned to silence. You are similar height to me at a guess, maybe taller given I was wearing heels, so around 5 ft 5. You have short hair which was styled to perfection, not a hair out of place, well actually I think you have a cow’s lick around the back of your hair, which is very cute. You oozed confidence as you wore clothes that were not necessarily typical feminine or masculine south Asian clothing. From what a friend was saying, it looked as though you were wearing royal blue pure silk with such carefully designed embroidery. No doubt you were showered with compliments for such a uniquely designed outfit on such a gorgeous person. I mean you looked like royalty.

I spotted you from the moment you ran into the wedding with your friend. I think you thought you were late, but perhaps forgot to set your watch to ethnic timing. You grabbed a juice and found a place to sit. I was curious so moved seats to catch another glimpse of you. After a while all the noises, bright lights, dramas of people running in all directions for the wedding just went quiet, each time I looked over to you. 

Every time I looked up during the wedding ceremony, you were surrounded by aunties and grannies, who could not let you go. They seem to be drawn to you like all aunties and uncles with Indian and Pakistani mangos. You seemed to be giving up your chair a lot during this extended translated version of an Indian wedding. You moved at least 5 times by which point I was starting to feel sorry for you and was tempted to offer you my chair, so I could stop trying to find you in a sea of colours. At one point I was certain you were looking in my direction, unless my sense of direction was not only me with maps but also reading people, or perhaps you were looking for an exit from a very cliché wedding.

I don’t really have a shopping list for you to meet, I simply am curious about you and would welcome a chance to meet and speak. I guess the most important thing would be that you are kind and patient, but I can tell from the wedding you are that.

I tried to get close to your space without making it obvious. Hoping we would catch nazar at the same time. I made up a lavish story with friends, getting them laughing to see if it might have caught your attraction. It didn’t stop there, I was the one that moved with a group of 4 around tables fussing over where to sit, whilst keeping an eye on where you might have sat. You were completely in your element with the deserts. I was amazed at your sweet tooth, gulab jamun, jalebi, and barfi, all before the ‘traditional cake cutting’ (not).

I lost you to a sea of people who were now ready to burn off the Indian feast and hit the dance floor. Me included.

In the end, what was I thinking, this was a very straight setting. I went onto the dancefloor and thought maybe you would make your way on it. The music consumed me, it was nostalgic, songs reminding me of dancing with my Ba, the lights and glitter were just props in my own Bollywood number. One where I can move to the music and not to please anyone but myself. I kicked off my shoes but when I turned around you were nowhere to be seen. I tried to look for you, hoping we could at least say hi. It’s been a week and you are still on my mind, but I can’t help but wonder whether you noticed me. Regardless, I noticed you and hope that you might have noticed me.

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I am a queer South Asian woman. I work full-time as a tax consultant. Over the years, I have been making up stories for the kids in my life. I am now starting my journey in creative writing and seek to focus on personal experiences over the years of being the 'other'.

@reshmajohar