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“Look! The baraat has arrived,” a girl squeals. You peep out of the window. He looks dapper in his sherwani. The sehra covers his face, but you know his eyes search for you.
The guests arrive, one by one. The mellifluous notes from the shehnai waft into your room. The butterflies in your stomach flutter at a frenzied pace. But that doesn’t bother you. This is the day you have been waiting for.
You hark back to the day he sauntered into your life. Oxford Bookstore, Park Street. You had just picked up Ulysses. You were leafing through its pages when you froze. Someone was behind you. Your heart skipped a beat as you turned around. He smiled at you, and you went weak in the knees. But it was his line that drew you instantly towards him. I thought I was the only relic who relished this.
Over countless cups of coffee in Barista, you discussed Marxism with him. You felt like the center of his universe when he called you his Bengali biplobi. You loved how the tomato sauce oozed down his lips, caressing his stubble, as he bit into that juicy mutton roll at a noisy Nizam’s. When he put his arm around your shoulder, laughing at your silly jokes, your heartbeats reached a crescendo. You wanted more. When he kissed you at your doorstep, you responded with equal fervour.
You smile as you think of your trips. Nestled against him in the hotel bed, you knew he was special.
A drop of tear trickles down your eye. Baba didn’t speak to you for a month. It was maa who asked you to follow your heart. And you did. When he proposed to you in his kitchen, you giggled. Who says I do while stirring the maacher jhol? You did.
Somewhere you hear baba doling out instructions to the caterer. It’s been six months since Bijoyadashami, but it seems like only yesterday. After bidding adieu to the Goddess, he hugged you. I want to meet him, he winked at you.
They adored him. His Punjabi swag, coupled with a promise to cook butter chicken for them, bowled them over. You wished you could do the same to his parents. But you had to be patient.
“Look! The baraat has arrived,” a girl squeals. You peep out of the window. He looks dapper in his sherwani. The sehra covers his face, but you know his eyes search for you. A lump forms in your throat when you see his parents dancing in a way so unlike the boisterous Punjabis. How you wish they could accept you with genuine happiness. It is then he looks up.
You know he will be with you in happy times. He will hold your hand as you cross the hurdles one by one. You wave at him and amble to the mirror. It’s your day, you whisper. You hear your name being called out. You run your hand over your beard. Adjusting the pleats of your silk dhoti one last time, you exit the room.
Glossary: Biplobi – Revolutionary Nizam’s – Eatery dating back to 1937, probably one of the original sources of kathi rolls Macher Jhol – Bengali style fish curry Bijoyadashami – Last day of Durga Puja Baraat – Celebratory wedding procession accompanying the groom Sehra – Headdress worn by grooms
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I am an IT professional, lost in the monotonous world of Excel. So, I seek refuge in Word, pun intended. I write for various literary platforms and have quite a few anthologies to my credit. read more...
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Neena was the sole caregiver of Amma and though one would think that Amma was dependent on her, Neena felt otherwise.
Neena inhaled the aroma that emanated from the pan and took a deep breath. The aroma of cumin interspersed with butter transported her back to the modest kitchen in her native village. She could picture her father standing in the kitchen wearing his white crisp kurta as he made delectable concoctions for his only daughter.
Neena grew up in a home where both her parents worked together in tandem to keep the house up and running. She had a blissful childhood in her modest two-room house. The house was small but every nook and cranny gave her memories of a lifetime. Neena’s young heart imagined that her life would follow the same cheerful course. But how wrong she was!
When she was sixteen, the catastrophic clutches of destiny snatched away her parents. They passed away in a road accident and Neena was devastated. Relatives thronged her now gloomy house and soon it was decided that she should be married off.
Women today don’t want to be in a partnership that complicates their lives further. They need an equal partner with whom they can figure out life as a team, playing by each other’s strengths.
We all are familiar with that one annoying aunty who is more interested in our marital status than in the dessert counter at a wedding. But these aunties have somehow become obsolete now. Now they are replaced by men we have in our lives. Friends, family, and even work colleagues. It’s the men who are worried about why we are not saying yes to one among their clans. What is wrong with us? Aren’t we scared of dying alone? Like them?
A recent interaction with a guy friend of mine turned sour when he lectured me about how I would regret not getting married at the right time. He lectured that every event in our lives needs to be completed within a certain timeframe set by society else we are doomed. I wasn’t angry. I was just disappointed to realize that annoying aunties are rapidly doubling in our society. And they don’t just appear at weddings or family functions anymore. They are everywhere. They are the real pandemic.
Let’s examine this a little closer.
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