Love Short Story – My Girlfriend’s Marriage
Photo credit: earl53 from morguefile.com
I almost spent my teenage in those old government colonies built in the outskirts of the city. My father worked with Indian Railways. I always wondered who designed Indian trains and such colonies, probably the same person, as one could hardly differentiate such government quarters and train bogies. Those quarters included a vast coverage of bare land at the front of the quarter, which you’re supposed to convert into a beautiful kitchen garden otherwise wild bushes would grow up and extensively be used by snakes and other dangerous reptiles to hide. In addition, the shared stairs with your neighbours to reach the gigantic roof from a huge common backyard were at the stake of privacy. The living space was hardly 20 % of the entire constellation. The toilet was of course outside the house.
It was of no motivation to live there till I saw her first time. That day, my mother sent me to place wet Papads (home made Indian snacks) on the roof. I didn’t dare to deny her for any nature of work at home because of her threat of complaining it to my angry, frustrated and drunk father from work late evening.
I ascended the stairs holding those Papads as she was descending gently.
I smiled and said “Hi” for which she replied with a cute smile. In today’s times, it is just a great start, but for a small town boy from a Hindi medium boy’s school in 1995, it was a moment of a lifetime. I rushed to see her father’s name plate to check which caste she came from. She belonged to Brahmin (Priest) and I was Baniye (Trader). Though I was hardly aware of the hierarchy of Indian caste system but it seemed to be not that difficult to arrange this marriage. Her father’s professional status was alike my father though he seemed a bit more frustrated. We hardly knew about them as they just moved in.
That night I couldn’t see a single dream but designed one with opened eyes. The goal was to get married to her. The plan was broadly of 5 years and consisted of several significant stages.
Some Intermediate Explanation:- (Who thinks of marriage at the age of 16 ? One senses it right ! No one does now. But what else you expect from the times of 1995 in a small town ? You can’t meet girls because you study in the government hindi medium schools and school administration either makes two separate shifts for boys and girls or if you are a bit lucky, the girls can study in your shift but definitely in a separate section. The younger girls in your neighbourhood call you Bhaiya (Brother) and you have to address Didi (Sister) to every elder girl you meet. Even then you get a girl, you can’t date her because of CCE (Close Circuited Eyes) all around the town. There, everyone knows somebody who knows someone in your family. This chain can spread anything. Difficult times ! )
Next day, I returned from the school and saw her entering my house with a fat woman. I hesitated to step ahead. It took me 15 minutes to enter my own house.
“Son, she is Sharma aunty and her daughter Neha. They are our first neighbours. Neha didi is studying in BA I year.” My mother introduced them to me.
Oh damn ! Neha didi ? Why should I call her didi ? Why did I enter my house that day ? I cursed Indian pledge that says “All Indians are my brothers and sisters, though I never uttered that line in my entire life. I decided not to call her didi.
My mother almost destroyed my plan in less than 24 hours. Then she came to me and asked ” Which class do you study?”
Was it real ? Was she talking to me ? I replied ” Class XI, Science Maths”. I was overexcited hence over-answered. She smiled and left.
In the next months, we exchanged some more smiles and short messages. Thanks to 1980’s hindi movies that enlightened us with an idea of hiding messages in the books because exchanging books were no crime.
I even exchanged a rose on her birthday. In return gift, I expected her to say “I love you”.
With her continuous denials and my constant efforts, she agreed to say “I love you”. But the question was where to say it ? I had an idea. It was a fool proof plan.
I sent a message ” You have to give single tone missed call on our landline phone when there is no one around at your home. If I send back the same single tone missed call, it’s safe to call me.”
We were not privileged with mobile phones.
After consistent trials, we managed to get a green zone. Her mother was sitting with my mother in our common backyard.
She rang and said “I love you. Now happy ?” She hung up the phone.
I was on top of the world. My mother called me and asked ” Whose phone was that ?”
I replied anxiously ” It was a blank call”
My mother annoyingly said to Neha’s mother ” Bhabhiji, we are getting too much blank calls these days.”
Her mother agreed ” Hmmm. We too bhabhiji.”
Both cursed the blank callers and BSNL. I escaped the place.
It took me another several months to convince her to kiss me. She sent a message ” You meant on hand na ?”
I replied “Kisses are always on lips. Understood ?”
My father got a transfer letter few days later.
I directed her “If you love me, you have to kiss me before I leave the city. Otherwise this love story ends now.”
She agreed after several refusals. It was the night before we planned to leave the city with our stuff. I kissed her on our common roof. I blessed the architect of the railway colony who designed the shared staircase to reach common roof. With tears in her eyes, she said “Good Bye” and left immediately. My lips, tongue and throat got dried. My first kiss was not wet and juicy, like the one shown in Bollywood movies. My glucose levels were low and heartbeats were high. Before I could handle myself I was called downstairs.
Next day, we left the city.
3 years later …………………….
We received her wedding card. Neha weds Banwari Lal Sharma. Though my parents ignored the invitation, I was determined to attend the wedding. I reached there. Our eyes met. She ignored me.
Her uncle asked me ” Son, your parents didn’t come ? But it’s good you are here to attend your sister’s marriage. Now you have to work a lot in next two days.”
I passed a fake smile showing my disagreeing agreement.
He continued ” Son, could you arrange the chairs first and then serve Thandai (Indian beverage) to Baraatis (Groom’s family) and most importantly to your jiyaji (Brother-in-law, Husband of my girlfriend). They are staying in the guest house.”
I agreed with a fake smile. I met the groom and cursed Neha’s decision to marry a fat guy. I cursed myself too that I didn’t act on my 5 years plan to marry her.
I worked like a bride’s brother. It was a general impression among Baraatis that I was among the main brothers of the bride. That’s the reason I skipped the Fera Rasm (Important Ritual of Indian marriage), because they would have forced me to pursue Kanyadaan (Important Ritual of Fera Rasm which brother of the bride performs) of my first love. My girlfriend was married that evening.
I wished her good luck and left. What else I could do ?
I never dared to visit her later in life. Probably if I had visited her, her kids would have called me
“Mama”(Maternal Uncle). I couldn’t have handled it.
–END–
