Married To My Sister's Husband

The last time Tara Sen had seen Neil Oberoi standing before a sacred fire, he had been marrying her sister.

She had been twelve then, dressed in a pale pink lehenga, her hair tied into two elaborate braids that her mother had insisted upon despite her protests. She remembered the flowers, the music, the endless procession of relatives, and Naina's laughter as Neil struggled to follow an instruction from the priest.

Most of all, she remembered the way he had looked at her sister.

As though, among the hundreds of people gathered to celebrate their wedding, Naina was the only person he had come to see. Fourteen years later, Tara sat beside that same man, dressed as a bride herself. Only this time, the bride was not Naina and the groom was not the man Tara loved.

The priest was speaking. Somewhere behind her, a woman was crying quietly. Tara could hear the crackling of the ceremonial fire and the occasional rustle of silk as relatives shifted in their seats.

Her wedding jewellery felt unbearably heavy.

She lowered her eyes to the unfamiliar hand resting beside hers. Long fingers, a broad palm, a beautifully made watch beneath the cuff of a white shirt. Neil's charcoal suit jacket had been removed for the ceremony, and the sleeves of his shirt were folded neatly at his wrists.

He sat perfectly still, Tara wondered whether he regretted what he had done. She wondered whether he was thinking about Naina. And then, with a suddenness that made her stomach contract, she wondered what Samar was doing at that very moment. Did he know she was getting married?

The priest addressed her, and Tara realised she had missed the instruction. Neil turned slightly. "Your hand," he said quietly. She looked at him, he extended his palm. For a moment, Tara could do nothing but stare. Then she placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers with a firmness that was neither intimate nor possessive. It was simply enough to steady her trembling hand.

The priest resumed the ceremony, Tara looked towards the entrance one final time. Samar wasn't there. Of course he wasn’t, he had already made his choice. And now, before a sacred fire, she was making hers.

-----

Neil Oberoi had come to the wedding as a guest. By midnight, his grandmother intended to make him the groom. And the extraordinary thing was that Vidya Oberoi, who had spent seventy-eight years getting her way, had not yet considered the possibility that her grandson might refuse.

Six hours earlier, however, marriage had been the furthest thing from Neil's mind.

He was standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows of his suite at The Opera Grand, looking over the evening traffic on Chowringhee Road, when his grandmother called for the third time.

He let the telephone ring twice before answering.

"Yes, Dadi."

"Where are you?"

"At the hotel."

"Doing what?"

"Working."

There was a short silence, followed by a sound of unmistakable disapproval.

"You have a wedding to attend."

"The reception doesn't begin until nine."

"And the wedding begins at seven-thirty. Vikram has been asking about you."

Neil rubbed his forehead. His grandmother possessed an extraordinary ability to distinguish between the things he had said and the things he had carefully avoided saying.

"Dadi, I'm coming."

"Then come downstairs. I've been sitting here for twenty minutes, and Kavita has already asked twice whether you're joining us."

"Fifteen minutes."

"Ten."

Neil almost smiled. "Goodbye, Dadi."

He ended the call before she could negotiate further.

At forty-two, Neil Oberoi had spent most of his adult life running businesses, negotiating acquisitions, and making decisions involving considerable sums of money. He employed thousands of people across the Oberoi Group's hotels and hospitality ventures. His instructions were rarely questioned, and his time was treated with an almost respect.

None of those privileges extended to his grandmother. He returned to his desk, signed the final document, and closed the leather folder.

The Opera Grand was one of the group's oldest properties, a landmark hotel that had belonged to the family for three generations. Neil had overseen its extensive restoration five years earlier, preserving the building's original colonial architecture while introducing the understated luxury for which the Oberoi properties had become known.

He had been in hotel since the afternoon, attending meetings concerning another proposed acquisition. He knew Tara Sen was getting married at Opera Grand and his grandmother had insisted that he attend.

Neil had initially declined.

He had not attended a Sen family celebration in ten years, his grandmother represented the Oberoi family at all. She had maintained her relationship with Vikram and Kavita Sen long after Neil had withdrawn from their lives.

It wasn't indifference.

He continued speaking to Vikram occasionally. There were birthday calls, conversations about business, and the occasional exchange of messages during festivals. The older man had never allowed the relationship to disappear entirely.

But visiting the Sen household was something else. There were too many memories there. Too many people who still looked at him as though they expected to find Naina standing beside him. Ten years had passed since his wife's death, and Neil had discovered that time did not erase certain absences. It merely taught a person how to arrange his life around them. His grandmother understood this better than anyone. She also refused to let him use it as an excuse indefinitely.

It's Tara's wedding, Neil, she had said when the invitation arrived. You remember Tara, don't you?           Of course he remembered Tara.

Naina's younger sister. A sixteen-year-old girl with a mass of untidy curls who had cried so inconsolably at the funeral that Kavita had eventually taken her upstairs. He remembered very little about her beyond that. Ten years was a long time, and his recollections of the Sen family belonged almost entirely to the years when Naina had been alive.

He looked at his watch. Seven-fifteen. With a quiet sigh, he picked up his jacket, his grandmother was waiting.

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