The Sleeper Bus: A Diwali Journey chapter 1

📸 The First Shoot: Haldi Ceremony
The next morning, Nivedita and her crew arrived at our house. We were starting with the Haldi ceremony photoshoot. I felt an incredible surge of happiness; this was more than just a photo shoot—it was our actual, unofficial wedding celebration.
Nivedita had transformed our living room into a set, draped with yellow and white fabric and adorned with marigolds. Sam looked handsome in a simple white kurta. I was given a gorgeous yellow saree. As Nivedita's makeup artist, Riya, finished my look, I looked at myself in the mirror. I truly saw Aditi Sam Malhotra—a woman about to be covered in turmeric paste by her husband.
Sam came in, and he couldn't take his eyes off me. He just held my hand and said, "You look so beautiful, my wife."
The whole process felt so real. The photographer, a young woman named Meera, guided us perfectly. We laughed as Sam pretended to smear my face with turmeric and I tried to fight back. The smell of the fresh marigolds, the yellow light everywhere, and the feeling of Sam’s hands on me—it was overwhelming. When we had to pose as if we were feeding each other sweets, Sam’s gaze was so deep and loving that I actually felt my cheeks flush.
The day flew by in a blur of excitement, camera flashes, and joy. Seeing the raw pictures on the camera screen was breathtaking. We looked like a genuinely happy, newly married couple.
As the crew packed up for the day, Nivedita smiled at us. "Tomorrow, we do the big one—the Maharashtrian wedding."
Great. Here is the description of the Maharashtrian wedding photoshoot, incorporating the traditional elements and the emotional weight of the moment:
👰 The Maharashtrian Wedding: Official Wife
The next day felt even more significant. Nivedita and her team returned, and this time, the transformation of the house was stunning. We were doing the Maharashtrian wedding ceremony, known for its vibrant colors and rich traditions.
Riya, the makeup artist, spent over two hours getting me ready. I was dressed in a traditional green and red Nauvari saree—the nine-yard drape tucked in the Maharashtrian style. My hair was pulled back into a neat bun adorned with a gajra, and Riya painstakingly applied the chandra kor (a crescent-shaped bindi) on my forehead. When I finally looked in the mirror, Aditi was gone; only a traditional Marathi bride remained.
Sam was equally striking in a cream-colored silk kurta, a vibrant pheta (turban) tied around his head, and a matching shawl draped over his shoulder.
The entire shoot was choreographed to mimic the actual ceremony. We exchanged garlands, and the photographer captured us holding the antara pat (the silk cloth separating the bride and groom) before it was dropped. When it finally fell, and our eyes met, the smile on Sam’s face was utterly genuine.
The Saptapadi (seven steps) felt the most profound. We walked around a small, symbolic fire set up by the crew. As we took those steps, mimicking the vows of a lifetime, I felt a deep, almost spiritual connection. It was just a performance for the camera, yet in my heart, I was committing myself entirely to him, just as his official wife.
When the shoot wrapped, I was emotionally exhausted but ecstatic. Sam didn't let me change out of the saree immediately. He just held me tightly and whispered, "Mrs. Aditi Sam Malhotra, you are beautiful." It was the first time he'd used the full name out loud, and it solidified everything.
This is a fantastic request, combining the two outdoor shoots into a single eventful day captures the thrilling momentum of their relationship.
Here is the combined narrative, with grammatical corrections and maintaining the contrasting themes of the two ceremonies:
🕌 From Film City to ISKCON: A Day of Dual Identity
The next morning was the most ambitious of the schedule: the outdoor shoots. We started early, driving out to Film City for the Sikh family wedding theme.
The Gurudwara set was peaceful and beautiful. For this look, I wore a heavy, embroidered lehenga in deep burgundy, and Sam was in a cream sherwani with a vibrant red turban. The emotional weight of this ceremony, known as the Anand Karaj (Blissful Union), was palpable. The photographer, Meera, focused on capturing the solemnity of the Laavan—the four spiritual rounds taken around the symbolic holy book. Even though it was a set, the atmosphere was deeply respectful. Standing beside Sam, holding his palla (a decorated cloth extension of his shawl), as we circled, felt like another true vow. We were two souls walking as one, guided by the music and the moment.
After a quick change and an energetic drive back into the city, we headed to the ISKCON temple for the Bangalore-style South Indian look. This shoot required quick, stealthy work because, as Nivedita explained, photography was heavily restricted inside.
The shift in mood was immediate: from the solemn, stately Gurudwara to the vibrant, spiritual energy of the temple. I was dressed in a simple, elegant Kanjivaram saree in a bright colour, draped in the traditional South Indian style, complete with a jasmine garland in my hair. Sam wore a white dhoti and angavastram (shawl).
We posed quickly on the outer steps and near the elaborate carvings. The feeling here wasn't about a grand ceremony, but about being a modern, spiritual couple. I linked my arm through Sam’s as we walked, our traditional attire contrasting with the rush of city life around us. The last shot was perfect: we were standing, looking up at the temple's soaring golden dome, our hands lightly brushing—a final picture of Aditi Sam Malhotra, a woman rooted in her new life in Bangalore, side-by-side with her husband.
As the sun set, Nivedita beamed at us. "That's a wrap! Four weddings in three days. You two are incredible."
Emotionally and physically drained, but buzzing with joy, Sam and I knew these photos were far more than just a shoot. They were the documented
This is a powerful and sudden turn in the story, shifting from a staged shoot to an actual ceremony. Here is the revised text with grammatical corrections and enhanced clarity, while maintaining the dramatic, emotional confusion, and ultimate acceptance of the characters:
🙏 A Secret Marriage Before God
After all the photoshoots were over, Sam took my hand, and we went inside the temple. A priest was waiting for us. He took the flowers and offerings from our hands, went inside, and returned with two flower garlands, which he gave to us. Then, he asked Sam to tie a mangalsutra on my neck. After that, he gave Sam some sindoor to fill my hair parting (mang).
I was in complete shock. What was happening here?. We came out side of mian temple I asked sam. " Sam we just wanted a wedding photoshoot, but you made me your official, legal, and spiritual wife, and now we are married with God as our witness! We didn't decide this! I am married; I already have a daughter. I can't leave my family.
Sam calmly took my hand. We sat down in a quiet area near the temple.
Aditi, I really love you," he began. "You have taken such good care of me and my house; I can't deny it. Yes, you are right, you are married, but see, your wife recently delivered a baby. She hasn't fully recovered yet to have sex with you, nor can she stay with you alone, do household chores, and handle this small baby. So, she still needs at least two to three years to stay at her parents' house. I suggest that for these two years, you will be my wife, and we will live together as a couple. After two years, we will get a divorce if you want. Please don't ask for alimony in return now."
I punched his shoulder, my confusion mixing with reluctant acceptance. He was right; my wife needed time to recover from the post-pregnancy phase; she couldn't be here. So, for the time being, I could live this life.
Feeling more relaxed now, I asked Sam to stand up. He did as I said. I bent down and touched his feet. "Sam, I am considering you my husband," I affirmed.
He smiled. "We don't call the husband by his name in Sikhism. You're a Sikh's wife now, so give respect and always say 'Suniye Ji' from now on."
I said, "Okay, 'Suniye Ji, ghar chalein abhi? Mujhe khana bhi banana hai' (Suniye Ji, shall we go home now? I need to make dinner too)."