The familiar scent of ‘aloo-gobhi’ enveloped the air in the homely comfort of a meal.
How much I had missed this?
My shoulders eased in comfort. The adrenaline finally crashed down after days. It felt like home.
Because, Ghar jaise safety kahi nahi milti. I shook my head almost in disbelief. The mind that was trained to scan rooms even in sleep—almost slept for an entire day.
Now, I sat on the mat. My ‘thaali’ was filled with simple sabzi and roti, yet it felt like a feast.
Even a simple one.
The fan hummed lazily above me barely providing any relief from the humid weather. But it felt familiar, as I joined my hand. A small gesture of gratitude. Before I finally started eating.
My mother walked out. She wiped out the sweat from her forehead. I shook my head.
She was always like this.
Despite my constant refusals. She was adamant on serving me freshly rolled rotis in this July heat.
Abhi jaldi se shek dete hain.
How easily she chose my comfort over hers.
My gaze shifted to my sister's plate. She had a half burned roti. The corners crisp, darkened at the edges.
I swallowed as I looked at my plate.
No one said to her to eat that half burned roti. Still, she ate it. Like it was the most obvious thing.
How easily they were conditioned to look after others, or maybe—it was their second nature.
My mother rolled out the fresh rotis, while constantly wiping out the sweat that tickled on her face—until it turned red.
She—my sister served me the perfect one while she had the half burned.
I tore a bite. The chapati melting on my tongue mingled with the spiciness of the sabzi. Yet I couldn't swallow it.
I exhaled maybe it was love or maybe it was compliance or maybe both.
I paused mid chewing as I heard my father's voice.
“kya socha hai?”
I looked up as I gulped down the bite with the help of water. The water did a little to calm the choked feeling of my throat.
My father raised his brows asking for answers which I didn't have.
I knew exactly what he was asking, yet I couldn't find the words that would convince him.
He pushed his plate aside. My sister's eyes flicked between us in confusion as she collected the empty utensils
The clink of the plates only sound in the room along with the hum of the ceiling fan that almost felt disturbing and before I could walk away.
My feet halted as my mother's voice reached my ear.
“Phone aya tha, unki taraf se haan hai.”
I sat down again. My gaze flicked to her plate, cold devoid of any warmth it carried a minute ago.
I cleared my throat as I looked at their questioning eyes. The clatter of utensils filled the air with the tap running inside the kitchen as my sister washed the dishes, humming something softly under her breath.
I blinked.
She agreed. How?
That day, it felt like she was least interested in this thing.
How could I say yes, when I was never ready to be in a relationship? The moment I wore the uniform.
My life was unpredictable.
Yet, from the moment I saw her. An unfamiliar fear gripped me. Unnamed.
My thoughts snapped as my father asked again this time. His voice was too calm.
“Bolo,”
I pressed my palm on the mat. The rough fabric biting my bruised skin but I barely paid attention. The sting felt grounding.
“I had said it earlier, you can look for someone. But I am still not ready.”
My mother immediately countered it as she pushed her plate aside, joining her head once.
“Toh kab hoge ready, you are already 27.”
She paused. Then added softly.
“Ghar toh basaana padta hai na, zindagi akele thodi kat-ti hai.”
I sighed. “Meri zindagi ka koi bharosa nahi hai.”
They needed to understand. My life was unpredictable. Aur Ghar unka basta hai jinka thikana ho.
I didn't want to ruin someone’s life just because of me.
My father walked out. Disappointed clear in his eyes. My mother got up carrying her plate. The mat carried the remnants of the warmth it had a minute ago.
Her voice echoed from the kitchen.
“Kisi ki zindagi ka bharosa nahi hota hai, log jeete hi umeed par hai.”
I got up as I exhaled sharply. Her face flashed in front of my eyes.
My hands worked as I folded the mat. I wanted to know her choice, first.
She agreed. It sounds absurd. The way she was uninterested that day. It told a different story.
Yet, I looked at my mother as I kept the mat on the table. She had hope, but what if I lived with acceptance that this was it.
And I liked it.
“Theek hai.” I replied—the words almost felt foreign on my tongue. Maybe this is what the arrangement looked like—confused.
Sounds funny. But my mother was already brimming with happiness. Ready to call her parents.
Her payals chimed with the excitement that only she could carry. She smiled as she looked at me.
“dheere dheere sab samajh aane lagta hai.”
Yes.
She was right.
But in what sense that life was considered stable, when a person was married.
The thought sounds absurd. I ran a hand over my face and I walked out to calm my racing thoughts.
🌷
The room hummed with the laughter and warmth of the tea that almost felt unreal at that moment.
Both the families sat together. Just after fifteen days of the proposal to fix the date. Anish had asked for time and so did Shriya needed it or they both were avoiding it.
But both didn't know that the deadline would end so soon and Anish would end up in the room ringing with the discussion of his birth chart—along with hers.
It would feel suffocating.
“Abhi aati hogi….school ki chutti ho hi gayi hogi.”
Her mother urged with a smile as she kept the tea-tray on the table.
His mother's brows furrowed in confusion as she bit her lips and before she could stop. The questions tumbled out.
“Acha…par humne toh pehle hi inform kar diya tha.”
Her father's hand paused mid-serve. Anish, no longer able to bear the smell of the samosa and chai, walked away to the entrance with the excuse of a phone call.
Though her mother's laugh still rang from behind as she waved it off.
“Bache hain, kaha maante hain.”
His father observed him. The way Anish's brows dipped. But he looked away. Anish ran a hand through his face as he looked at the empty road.
He sighed, But then he stopped in his tracks as he noticed her.
Her face glistened with the sweat, as she repeatedly swapped the bags from her left to right hand.
She walked in her own trance. But suddenly she stopped in her tracks, as she noticed the commotion in her house.
🌷
I froze as I noticed him, standing at the entrance of my house while I stood here with the sweat glistening in my hair.
So now I can't even walk into my own house. Own house. The words sound like a joke.
This was the sight I least expected when I smelled like a tired and over worked employee.
Wasn't he the one who asked for the time?
A gust of hot air hit my face. My wrist ached with the weight of the notebooks.
Yet he gets to stand there like he belonged there.
His white shirt was clean while my saree had the stains of sweat and remnants of scent that I used in the morning.
Still I couldn't bring myself to walk inside.
What if he agreed for this so-called settlement?
I blinked back as his scent reached me before he could. Ironic. The more I try to keep my distance.
I still manage to notice everything.
I observed his face. He was not looking at me. His gaze was set on my bags.
I shrugged. I was not in the mood to entertain him.
I walked past him. Only to encounter his family.
I closed my eyes once. He followed me closely.
His eyes were still fixed on my bags.
I inhaled sharply as I convinced myself.
Bas sabko namaste bol kar andar ghus jana, simple. Easy hai.
But before I could move. He took my bags.
Ugh. What's his problem?
I tried to take it back.
But he shifted it to his other hand. I couldn't help but ask as we walked inside.
“Kya kar rahe hain?”
His eyes softened as he looked at the bag.
“Baat, karne ki koshish.”
As I heard those words. My feet paused. I couldn't help but look at the smiles of my family members.
“Baat karne ko kuch bacha kaha hai.”
With that I took the bag from him and walked inside as I greeted his family members on the way.
My mother followed me from behind. I sat the bag on the table with the thud. Everything blurred in that moment as I chugged down the glass of cold water from the bedside table.
I stood there for a moment trying to make sense of everything.
My eyes shifted to my mother—who was taking out my dress.
The red Anarkali felt too bright. I squinted my eyes and the question finally made its way.
“Mummy kise puch ke haan kiya aapne?”
My mother didn't say anything, instead she handed me the Anarkali like the final verdict. The fabric felt suffocating in my palm. Her words echoed in my mind.
“Rishta acha ho toh haan kar dena chahiye, ache rishte baar baar nahi aate.”
I chuckled. Ache rishte nahi aate, par zindagi jeene ka mauka baar baar mil jata hoga shayad.
I hurried to the washroom as I heard my mother's voice.
“Kya soch Rahi ho, shaadi srif ek umar mein achi lagti hai….”
I shut the door not wanting to listen further.
I leaned against the wall as my vision turned glassy. The red anarkali blurred in my hands.
How could you question?
Jab pyaar ka sahara liya jata ho, aur chup kara diya jata ho.
To be continued...
Unedited.
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