The Last Karwa Chauth

A tradition started 12 years ago. At the cusp of adulthood, but while in school (class 12, to be precise); when romance novels were Where Rainbows End, Dear John, Message in a Bottle and P.S. I Love You; when promises were made and felt rather deeply by the heart (not that they aren't now) -- Karwa Chauth was taken up with a whimsical approach.

Karwa Chauth -- a day of fasting (without consuming even a drop of water post the sargi) usually undertaken by Indian married women every year post Dussehra and before Diwali (that's how I always remember it) -- assumed more importance thanks to Bollywood with its smattering of Karwa Chauth in many of the movies I grew up watching. Also, I found the north Indian rituals and festivals amusing as a South Indian (Keralite). For someone who witnessed wedding rituals lasting for not more than two minutes back home, the Big Fat Indian Wedding, popularised by Bollywood and stories by north Indian friends alike, fascinated me no end. 

While a lot changed over the years, the love for Karwa Chauth never really left. My younger sibling often jokes about how I may even have fasted for different crushes every year. Everything said and done, I have fond memories of fasting year after year. Once, Karwa Chauth was on the day I was appearing for my final Graduation examination. I felt weak but then there was some supreme energy conjured up thanks to my filmy imagination. And tada! It was an achievement in itself. 

Never someone to perform the puja accompanying the fasting (as half knowledge is dangerous), I instead looked at aunties starry-eyed. There was magic in their eyes and the jingling of their bangles might be the reason I found myself becoming a fan of bangles. My closest friends have often been victims of my constant pestering to get me bangles from their region. And of course, how can I forget the mehendi?

(As blurry as the world looked yesterday)

Years later, post marriage, my husband thought it weird that while I fasted for an entire day, his life went on, normally. While he did try persuading me otherwise, I stuck to the practice. 

The moon has been a constant friend of mine. I have always loved sighting the moon and have wondered how a seemingly tiny circle can glow so brightly and illuminate a dark night. However, on every Karwa Chauth, we have a tiff. It keeps the ladies waiting. 

Last night, the tiff seemed to get a little out of hand. While the timing for moonrise was 8.46 pm, the brother and husband had already made a trip to the terrace to go find my friend. With no luck, they returned. Meanwhile, I feebly called him to get me a glass of water as I could hear my body telling me that it was enough. The moment I drank it, all of it flew out with the same pace. 

I thought it was my body's tiff with me. A sweet and an orange followed. They too were rejected almost instantly. I almost collapsed. My husband, sensing the situation, thought it best to let Swiggy do the honours. While the plan of dinner at a nearby restaurant flew out of the window, my mom took charge. Immediately, I got a medicine thanks to the guys being quick with the bike and a medical shop that was almost closed. 

Half an hour later, kanji followed. The tiff got out of hand. All of it raced out. My mom knew it was time to find a hospital.

After a few calls, we rushed to the nearby hospital. While I stepped out, I saw the moon. I pointed it out to my husband. He said, "Happy? Now can we proceed?"

I limped with the remaining energy I had left with me. The doctor perused and said to my mom, "She'll have to be admitted immediately and kept under observation for 24-48 hours."

My mind raced. Having been a victim of dehydration and puking before, I knew a saline with the cocktail of medicines would do the trick. The almost empty hospital and the seemingly cold vibes immediately led me to say no to mom. To top it all, we had already heard of the fleecing business there.  

The first problem, however, was for the nurses to find a vein in my dehydrated body. After four failed attempts and me writhing painfully, they finally hit jackpot at the fifth attempt.  There was no saline drip as we didn't want to get admitted at that hour of the night with my sibling alone at home. Thankfully, the medicines finally found a route to enter inside. Guess my body had no strength left to fight any more. The tiff had ended, I hoped. Prescribed medicines and my favourite during such times -- ORS or the Oral Rehydration Solution-- later, we were back home. 

After due sanitisation and consumption of medicines post reaching home, I lay down. The past 12 years flashed in front of me. The women in red suddenly seemed tired and withdrawn to me. I witnessed my enthusiasm for the ritual ebbing away from me.

A quiet resolve was made. Karwa Chauth isn't my cup of tea, from here on. Thank you for teaching me patience and resilience. However, now is the time to listen to my body. Sleep caught up with me soon. 

Happy Karwa Chauth, folks! 

P.S. Thanks to the doctor and the nurses who, despite their cold vibes, made it possible for me to jot this down now.