Three nights before my wedding day, my aunt-in-law-to-be sashayed into my home, looked around with benign disinterest, uttered false compliments on the wedding decor and presented me with a velveteen satchel, tied up in gold string, knotted with glistening tassels.
'It's been part of the family for generations,' she said, as though presenting a coronation crown studded with the Kohinoor diamond. 'Well, one generation. And it's customary for one of the most respected seniors in the family to pass it onto the new bride. My aunt gave it to me and now I give it to you.'
I opened the gift and a string of pearls landed on my lap. Over the years, I've realised that the present inside a beautifully wrapped package rarely lives up to the expectation. This was no exception. A string of pigeon egg-sized black pearls, interrupted by small diamonds and rubies lay on my thigh like a snake coiled around a tree trunk. It was quite possibly the most hideous thing I'd ever seen.
It was so loud and vulgar, it looked like rejected costume jewellery from the $10-store. And yet it was exceptionally expensive and laboriously heavy, and the look of anticipation in the wicked woman's eyes - that I should react with heart-clutching surprise and joy - was all too clear.
The gift not only came with a seven-figure price tag, it also carried a life-time of guilt. There I was, the only daughter of a middle-class family, a bride-to-be moving into a wealthy family. I essayed the role of the blushing bride with an Oscar-winning performance. 'I love it,' I said. 'Thank you so much. I don't know when and where I'd wear it ...'
Just as the words spilled out, I knew I'd live to regret them. I had no idea just how quickly. 'Why you must wear it on your wedding day, of course, my child! You're wearing a red outfit? See how the rubies will match your sari?'