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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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UP Boards Topper Prachi Nigam was trolled on social media for her facial hair; our obsession with appearance is harsh on young minds.
Prachi Nigam’s photo has been doing the rounds on social media for the right reasons. Well, scratch that- I wish the above statement were true. This 15-year-old girl should ideally be revelling in her spectacular achievement of scoring a whopping 98.05% and topping her tenth-grade boards. But oddly enough, along with her marks, it’s something else that garners more attention – her facial hair.
While the trolls are driving themselves giddy by mocking this girl who hasn’t even completed her school yet, the ones who are taking her side are going one step ahead – they are sharing her photoshopped pictures, sans the facial hair, looking nothing less than a celebrity with captions saying – “Prachi Nigam, ten years later”.
Doctors have already diagnosed her with PCOD in their comments, based on photographic evidence. While we have names for people shamed for their weight – body shaming, for their skin colour- racism, for their age- age shaming, for being a female- sexism, this category of shaming where one faces criticism for their appearance has no name. With that, it also has zero shame attached to it.
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