My Bachelorette Party

I never fancied a bachelorette party. I mean, I never even got the point really. If you’re looking for a reason to get out of the city or country with a bunch of your same gender friends to blow off some steam from all the pre-wedding jitters, have a blurry drunken night, maybe make out with someone, before you return and get married, and you want to tag that experience as a bachelorette party then it’s okay, I guess. But it isn’t a bachelorette party. It’s probably just a really good holiday?

A Bachelorette is, simply, defined as a young unmarried woman. You may be living with your parents throughout your bachelorette, or independently. Maybe you are earning, maybe not. Maybe you are dating, maybe single. Being a bachelorette means more than a 3 night 4 day trip to a tropical country with my closest friends, to me.


Being a bachelorette is a lifestyle.


For most of my bachelorette years, I have spent a lot of time earning, spending, trying to save money, setting up my home with furniture and articles to the best of my aesthetic and financial capabilities, experiencing things I would have never, ever experienced had I gotten married sooner. For most bachelorettes, while getting married, what pains them the most is leaving their home, the place that they’ve known all their life to be the most normal thing ever. For me, it’s my home.


I was washing vessels earlier today, on a cool Sunday morning, with BBC playing on the TV in the living room. There were a LOT of vessels, meaning there was a LOT of time for thoughts to wander. Once done with the vessels, I was going to apply oil to my hair and bask on the sofa with a book. For some reason, the TV wasn’t producing any sound for a bit of time. So I peeped from my kitchen to see what that was all about, taking care not to spill the dish washing foam dripping from my palms all over my floor.


As I peeped, a realisation hit me like a truck. I was going to miss this so bitterly.


I was going to miss washing my vessels while the TV played in the background and stopped producing sound because of some temporary glitch, also while my next door neighbours, whom I could see through my kitchen window, tended to their terrace garden with their 4 year old son, teaching him all about planting a seed. I was going to miss all my temporary glitches.

A few days ago, due to the effect of Cyclone Amphan, it poured heavily in Bangalore. The crazy winds made the rain dance and my windowsills overflowed with water. Not outside, like I would have liked, but inside, like God intended for a bachelorette. My bedroom had a nice little flood that I have learnt not to panic about.


I just moved all the little things that were in the way and allowed the water to flow in. Come, flow on my floor and stay there for a bit, and cool my room tonight. Why the need to panic? It’s just water, it will dry up before you want it.


Of course that wasn’t my reaction the first time water flowed in through the very same window during my first torrential rain at this home, five years ago. I had tried to stop the water from flowing in further with my spare bedsheets, two towels, and even a couple of jeans. Suffice to say, they weren’t sufficient. But this time, just the rain was enough.


I’m also going to miss my flatmate. The biggest house lizard who lives in the loft of my kitchen. Whom I had doused with more than half a bottle of my least favourite deodorant, hoping she would pass out and that would make her journey out of my home easier on both of us, when I first met her. Who was adamantly and clearly holding her breath the entire time I doused her because she never passed out and instead, I got a blinding migraine. Who was captured in a shoebox the next day with my house help’s assistance and the box sent flying out my balcony. Who returned a week later and had the guts to stare me down from the kitchen wall, as soon as I spotted her and realised she’s back. Who made me feel so guilty for having emptied my least favourite deodorant right in her face that I apologised to her and said that if she’s back, then she obviously has her own reasons. And that she can stay as long as she keeps her business hours from 10 PM to 6 AM. And I think saying all this out loud to her made all the difference. She got the point and now lives with her family in my kitchen loft. They are careful of my requirements and make no noise. Her toilet training could use some work but apart from that she’s a pretty cool flatmate. What was all that fuss about anyway? That’s right. I’m going to miss my flatmate, the biggest house lizard who lives in the loft of my kitchen.


I’m going to miss the heap of clothes on my floor that I fold once a month as an act of victory over my childhood memories of mom constantly bullying me to fold my clothes every half an hour. I am going to miss the breeze that flows in through all the four directions when I throw open the windows and balcony doors.


And so much more that words cannot explain. I’m going to miss an entire life.


I’m not trying to take anything away from the new experiences that lie ahead of me after I’m married. Sure, there’s an immensely beautiful take on life awaiting me in a few months. But until then, I am treating each day in my apartment, as my bachelorette party.


PS: Please feel free to throw yourself a bachelor / bachelorette party even if you aren't getting married. Celebrate!

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