She had a decision to take, it was her's alone to take.
She got up, opened the door, walked into a very silent wedding hall. Going up to the groom's parents, she asked them to leave.
There was a collective gasp from the hall.
She heard her parent's tears.
She: "My parents are never going to hand over their house deed to your son. They have given enough dowry to satisfy your ego".
"If their house is a pre-condition to continue with the marriage ceremony, it will never happen so long as I am alive."
She asked them to leave.
"As always she was ready with her parents to conduct another intervention. Why do they keep targeting me?" I thought to myself.
She stopped the train of my thoughts by asking "Are you going to stop or not?"
I carelessly replied "I am not going to change, I am a man, your Husband, God and Master"
On listening to that, her family remained mute whereas she began to cry.
"I felt no guilt defending debauchery, gambling and irresponsibility because that is how this society works" I thought to myself. .
The marriage ceremony had begun. The guests had arrived. The stage was set and the bride was about to walk in. But she was sitting with folded hands, looking down and thinking whether to tie the knot or not. She was vacillating.
The groom entered and asked, "What are you thinking girl?"
The girl kept mum and took off the ring. She had made her decision. .
As the autumnal sun's rays descended over the horizon, she decided to steal a nap before any new enthusiastic customer arrived in the raucous wedding household.
"Draw henna on her feet, don't sleep!", an elderly woman barked at her, just then.
As she shot a glance at the bride, she was flooded with memories of her own "marriage". The henna on the nervous bride's hands, like her callow visage, was replete with dolor.
If only she could tell the girl to run away.
If only she had done the same.
Twelve, afterall, wasn't the age to marry.
Mixed feeling, mixed emotions and loads of happiness. Finally the day has arrived, which I always dreamt of. I am indeed happy. Everything around is like a fairy tale, typical shaadi music all the time, aroma of sweets and of course my Mehndi.
In spite of my every wish coming true, there is some emptiness. My every tear is turning dry, feels like no one to hear. Yes, I am missing her. The one because of whom I exists. Giving me a beautiful life where did she escape? I still feel the same pain with all the happiness.
I miss you mom..
D-Day was drawing near. They had been in touch through skype, yet it was undeniably an arranged affair. He seemed to belong to a liberal family, that's what it looked like in the surface.
Decked up in her wedding finery, she entered her marital home. Soon she was so absorbed in the daily grind, leaving no time for herself.
Is this the kind of life, she wished for, a life of lifelong servitude or one which sought companionship?.
Her friends enjoyed the bachlorette life, with no silent pauses, why did she had to rush into things, she pondered..
"Supriya the color of mehendi shows my deep love for you."
"Oh Sanjay, my dear, I am sorry, I will not be able to make it.
"No No No"
"Don't say that."
"This mehendi belongs to someone else"
"Oh lord not again", I screamed in deep pain,
I found myself on my bed and a Whatsapp message read "o my love I am so exited just can't wait! For our wedding tomorrow."
When I saw my sister in the bridal wear I dreamed of my M-Day. Today I was happy because I was going to marry my love. But destiny had something else for me just before I would tie the knot I got the worst news that my would be husband has met with the accident. Here I am praying to you lord with my hands folded, with mehndi designed by my friends, orange sari, a blessing from my mother, bring my love to life otherwise the myth of marrying a manglik girl will come true..
Princeton orange colored sari and the beautiful dark mehendi made Kaavya look a little younger today. Her eight year old had assisted in applying nail enamel too. The old imitation ring still looks new. The one he slid down the finger proposing her in twelfth standard.
It is her decennial today. Every year she dolls up as a bride, celebrates the love and rejoices in pain. Salutes her young Colonel and plays his persona. Not the emptiness but the bare finger spaces are filled as she completes the nuptial knot, as she holds her hand, herself.
The hesitation, profound as kaajal, smearing under her eyes, her fingertips counting the strangers, who addressing her as â€œNew Mammaâ€, although she had learnt about concept of marriage through her friends, Two bodiesâ€”one soul. Her gullible friends might have forgotten to count the kids i.e. five bodies and One soul?
With empty eyes, her shaking breath, searching for the person she tied knot with, past night. Here she could only find the bare room suffocated with some whispering utterance, â€œSecond-Wifeâ€. She was smiling at their stupidity because those experienced people couldnâ€™t even determine who the second one is..
The stage was set, a gala ceremony in progress. Fancy faces wearing fancy dresses surrounded me, as I sat cross legged waiting for Him. Fire engulfed offerings and wiped tears off. A part of me was happy.
He walked the aisle amidst loud cheers. Many congratulated the groom and appreciated my fatherâ€™s selection of birthday present.
A pair of fingers kissed my lower chin. I looked up to meet his wrinkled face. His grey hair sparkled as he whispered Happy Sixteenth Birthday to me.
I shyly glanced down as tears trickled down on to my mehendi-decorated fingers.
I waited for long to discover him as a friend who touched my feelings, caressed me, guided my thoughts and action. I adored him, but don't recollect when I started loving him.
I have only limited breaths to take, well known to him too. I thought few relations could remain unnamed but he never wanted to cross social and ethical boundaries.
I am dressed up for THE night. Innumerable thoughts sweep across my mind. Why is social signature required for upholding piousness of a relation?
I am unsure if it is a conditional love or an act of salvation. .