Neeti
was 18 now. Every elder in her family got married before this age. It wasn’t
like that her family didn’t approach her earlier for marriage, but her brother always said let her study more, let her get
mature. But now that she was 18, there was no denying the fact that she has to
marry.
In that era, a government job and a government babu
was considered more than enough to be the most eligible bachelor. But this
was not true to be a fact. Guryog Singh, was the most eligible bachelor,
keeping in mind that he was in government service for more than 12 years, he
belonged to the same district, was of the same caste, had only a brother as his
family, who too was married and living separate. That certified – No family
drama. The only thing which wasn’t in his favor, he wasn’t fair. Namar Singh,
Neeti’s father had been introduced to Guryog Singh through a common acquaintance,
or the middle-man. He liked him since he was a babu. Apparently he was perturbed over a couple of things. Firstly,
he was way too older than his daughter and secondly, if he is so old, why isn’t
he married yet? But the fact that he was a government servant for the last 12
years eclipsed everything else. So now this job
guarantee was the lone star in his profile, despite the fact that he was an
eligible bachelor 10 years back too, when he had joined his job. But no one
gave a thought to this.
Marriage
was fixed. Neeti didn’t with whom she would spend the next part of her life.
Nobody cared to tell her about her soon-to be husband. About his job, his
personality, his likes dislikes? Does he smoke, or drink? About his lifestyle,
no one told Neeti. Nobody cared to tell her who he was? The rituals started on
both sides separately. The date was fixed for the last Sunday of July as Mr.
Groom didn’t want to miss a single day from his office. The day kept coming
closer and closer, preparations and rituals going on their full flow. Her
curiosity to be in the arms of someone she didn’t know. The anticipation, the
anxiety, the feeling to be in that blood-red dress, emotions were at their
peak. She was sad and baffled. She had never ever seen her soon to be husband.
She was happy and flurried. She was getting married.
It was the day. Her wedding day.
Everything was beautiful, the lighting, the flowers, the new carpets, the draped
chairs, and the bride. Everyone looked busy to receive the baarat. Namar Sing was the zamindar, and he prepared for a grand
reception for the grander baarat. Sun
was over the head. A yellow-black taxi stopped just outside the main entrance.
It honked again and again. Namar Singh and others came outside. A man stepped
out of the back seat, with a turban on his head. It wasn’t the usual turban,
but much more grandeur and decorated. It wasn’t the turban. It was the sehra. And he wasn’t just the man. He was
the groom.
Two more men
stepped out, completing the baarat. Neeti
was called and the wedding ceremony started. Neeti was seated alongside a
40-something man, a thousand shades darker than her and her would be husband, so she thought. She was scared, and angry and
sad. She was crying. She was crying when circling the fire with him, completing
her feraas. She was crying when her
forehead was reddened with sindoor. She
was crying when the mangalsutra choked
her throat. She was crying walking out the door with him. She was crying
sitting alongside him in the back seat of the taxi. She was crying waving
goodbye to her family. She cried for the last time thinking she has to cry all
her life.
No comments:
Post a Comment