The Verdict of Bikini

The Verdict of Bikini – Social Short Story
Photo credit: lucasmalta from morguefile.com

On this special Sunday evening of Anurag and Krishna’s wedding Chowmahalla Palace looked magnificent as always. Adorned in its white, glistening marble surrounded by refreshing fountains and vivacious palm trees and bushes, like oasis it saved the city of Hyderabad from busy markets, aggressive vendors and shabby buildings. There, white wedding chairs were leisurely dwelling on the lush, green lawn as if longing to welcome the guests – ladies in beauteous sarees, gentlemen in imperial kurtas – who would majestically arrive at the place, then gracefully sit and contemplate the splendid view and later pamper themselves with the refined feast.

Sabina didn’t notice any of it. She didn’t see the palace or its beauty, she didn’t care about the solemn occasion, she didn’t know who was getting married. Along with three other blonde, fair looking Western girls she had hurriedly entered the venue and had now started her work where she served picky and spoiled guests in their expensive outfits; that’s what she saw. Moreover, she was angry at her manager Karthik who as always had been wrong about the timing and had brought the girls to the venue late from their previous work – shooting at the swimming pool in Ramoji Film City. Still in wet bikinis the four girls had hastily put on black, elegant dresses to turn into pretty, charming ladies. Supposedly…

“No time, no time. We have to be there at 6,” Karthik commanded as the girls had just finished the last scene at the swimming pool and now wanted to change.

“But you said, it was 7 o’clock,” Sabina remembered. She was already seemingly nervous. This didn’t happen for the first time.

“No, now it’s 6, the car is there,” he said as if there was nothing wrong with the change and immediately started walking towards the car pushing the girls to follow. The relatively short man in his forties moved as quickly as a shuttle with his comfortable, round shape tummy happily enfolded in Pepe Jeans T-shirt and cheerfully jumping up and down as Karthik walked faster and faster.

“Karthik, what is this? We need to change at least!” Sabina requested.

“Car is there, you will change in the car,” Karthik insisted.

Also the other girls started complaining, but realized they can’t do anything, they obediently followed to the car. Exhausted, tired, frustrated and hungry.

Karthik wasn’t responsible. Always picking up the girls late, getting them back to home late, last minute notices, changes. Yes that was Karthik; a complete opposite to Sabina’s German punctuality.

“Eat now. At the wedding no time, work is there immediately,” he carelessly threw four packs of Chicken bryani to the backseat of the car where the four foreigners had hardly managed to squeeze in. My last time, this is really my last time I am doing this, Sabina muttered to herself as she was putting on the black, subtle dress.

Soon after Sabina was standing by the salad stall with four columns of plates on it ready to be given to people. Her work had begun: having put on a mask with a happy, shiny face she was pleasing the merry wedding guests.

Her blue eyes saw nothing but the vigorous, hungry hands excited to take the circular dishes. Sometimes if the guests were nice she forced herself to look into those joyful faces and murmur the usual, out-warn phrases “Here you are, welcome, sir,” but as the next hands approached her, she blenched.

Her blue eyes saw nothing but the contented tummies which sometimes came prior to the face of a person and seemed as if it was the fat belly requesting for a plate.

“Give me one plate, a?”

“Here you have, sir.”

“Spoon, spoon, give me a spoon,” the belly demanded.

“No more spoons,” Sabina said it for the forty seventh time, with no interest, no concern about the problem.

“No spoons? Eh?? How are we going to eat?”

“You have to wait for some time,” she said.

“Wait? How long do I need to wait? Call your manager!”

“I called already. Spoons are coming.”

“Coming when?” the insistent Indian man seemed to be really hungry.

“I don’t know. Coming any time,” Sabina said faintly for the forty seventh time as she was already taking the other plate, unwrapping it from the transparent polyethylene and passing to the next guest, seemingly less worried about eating with hands.

The wedding went as usual: boring procedures, long and burdensome standing, Chammak Challo yelling in Sabina’s ears. She tried not to think about those food mountains the guests surmounted as small hills. Jumping from biryani to fried rice, paneer, dal, chapatti, Chinese and finally topping it up with luscious, butterscotch ice-cream. Though Sabina knew she could have some food from the leftovers once the wedding was over, she was already dead tired at that moment willing to get home as soon as possible. After all, the next day she had her day job – she worked as an assistant at a private company. The salary wasn’t enough to enjoy her days in India – go out, travel, not worry about money. That’s why she went for these foreigner jobs. She thought to earn some extra money, but wedding by wedding she realized she got tired and couldn’t be productive for either of her jobs. She didn’t go out, didn’t spend time with friends, and didn’t travel.

But because of those three seconds when her manager reluctantly took out from his pocket the well deserved, lucent and desired banknotes of Indian rupees, she was still serving at the weddings. Because of these three seconds longing to arrive sooner she was biting her teeth to be patient and pulling her body to look statuesque and brisk. And because of those three seconds she easily broke her promise of doing this job for the last time as the next offer fell into her hands.

Sabina would never imagine that this wedding could lead her to change. The last crowd, she thought to herself as many new guests were gathering around her demanding for the same as everyone – her happy face put on a clean plate. Obediently fulfilling her task, she suddenly started feeling loose in her black dress. As she was giving the plates, she didn’t have time to pay attention to it, but when she noticed more and more Indian eyes staring at her and silently giggling, she finally looked at herself. Her black dress had been untied and ripped from the back and now exposed her pink colour bikini to the eyes of everyone.

“AAAA,” Sabina could say nothing but scream causing even more attention. She left everything and started a panic race. She tried to save her dress, but half of it was tore and her pink bikini was no longer hidden.

“Karthik, Karthik,” she yelled. “Where are you?” Her mind was stuck as in a jam. She didn’t know what to do: find a bush and hide? Call Karthik? Call the other girls? Where are they? Where is everyone suddenly? Where are my clothes? She just kept running but couldn’t do anything to her pink bikini that did the job. It had uncovered her pale white skin and perfectly slim body with long legs moving her rump forward and hands trying to maintain one small piece of the black clothing on her bosom.

The tight, pink Ceylon bikini on her skin had brightened the ceremony better than those enchanting sarees worn by ladies; it had tasted better than the butterscotch ice cream to the hungry eyes of Indian men. Now they could not only lick their lips but also their eyes fully satisfied with the pleasant scenery – better than the magnificent Chowmahalla Palace, better than those food mountains and luxuriously decorated venue. Hey lovely! Where are you running, sweetie? Come to me! She tried to ignore those taunts left behind her.

Everyone had enjoyed the show except for Sabina. Defeated, humiliated, despaired she had been found by her manager. All in tears, trembling, utterly destroyed.

“I am sorry Sabina, we will try to find that bustard who ripped your dress. We will not leave it like that.”

“Who cares now?” the girl sobbed with no energy left. Not even enough to blame her manager, this job, everyone in the wedding, to scream, shout or explode. Nothing mattered any more. Not even those banknotes that used to be her three-second joy despite of everything and that manager now gave her as casually as always. They will never make her happy again.

She put on her clothes Karthik had brought her and let the taxi driver bring her home. This WAS my last time! Sabina said to herself decidedly.

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