As my mother rips open the rich cotton curtains I burst into sudden consciousness. The sudden dread of my certain future hits me like a train and this is clear through my facial expression. Mother casts a glare of judgment and orders me to begin my transformation from a free soul to a shackled housewife.
The team of my mother's partially trained friends make their presence well known by the sound of childish laughter. I bring myself to rise from the covers and drag my body to the gold-plated dresser that belongs to the 5-star hotel my father insisted on purchasing for the 'big day'. A mixture of chemicals is thrown onto my face to cover up my fear of marrying a man I've never even been informed about his name. The tradition of my ancestors looms over me with its severe threat or disappointment .
My mother begins to enlighten me with the history of her romance with my father in a desperate attempt to change my feelings about this situation. She does this by informing me for the thousandth time that she also dreaded her arranged marriage and how it bloomed into what it is today. I can no longer bear this lecture so I bellow for the strongest liquor that is socially acceptable for 8:30 in the morning.
Now three and a half tall glasses in I am pestered with a flock of mouse-like, high-pitched voices to view the "well-needed restoration" as my mother kindly worded. The vibrant crimson and sky-blue Lengha shocked me with its sheer beauty. Now filled with a high dosage of self-confidence it powers me to begin my descent to the ceremony.
My father persists in altering my sehra (my rather elegant veil) before he tightly grasps my arm. "Are you ready my dear?" he asks knowing full well that being ready is the one thing I am not feeling. The music begins to play and edge closer to my future life picked by my parents with no other value than wealth.
The feeling of rage and pure hatred surges my body instead of the blissful harmonious feeling I am told I should feel. I am aware I should not detest the man I am seconds away from legally accepting into my life but the lack of control and true passion takes control of my body. My cousin who also happens to be my maid of honour (also decided for me) stands eagerly with a pitched grin. She bares the garlands of fresh Roses, Jasmin and Mary golds prepared for the ceremony.
Still, just moments away from my future husband I catch a glimpse of his over-muscled body. My inner thoughts begin to battle as my morals and my joyous thoughts collide. I am fully aware that looks do not make love and do not equal a happy marriage. But then the soft, proud eyes of my parents burn into me filling me with the certainty of disappointment.
He turns around to view his bride revealing my face. His eyes begin to glow yet I also see the fear within. The second the priest begins to bless our forced romance I get a new emotion.
Clarity...
My body rushes into action before consulting my mind and throwing me onto a chair. Guests begin to gasp and glare in horror as I disrupt one of the most harmonious gatherings of our religion. " Do I follow the tradition of Hindu women or do I live a life true to me? Love is not forced or made and should not be expected to grow after time, it is formed between two people who truly matter to one another. This is why I can not marry this man". As the words leave my mouth my mother can not bear to look at me, my father then begins to shout judgment on my actions. I flee the scene onto the terrace looking at view of this alien city. All I wish is to be at home with the ones I chose to love.
Some time passes and the door shakes as some uninvited guest attempts to make entry yet fails due to the chair firmly pressed against the door knob. "Let me in" I hear through the pains or crystal glass panels of the French doors. The door swings open as I remove the chair and a man enters. My husband to be is stood over me not in anger, but in regret. "I am sorry for the way our first encounter began. I wish to know you before we marry and the fact I did not get to know you inside and out pains me". "Sorry !" I loudly blurt at him as it echoes the marble fixtures. " There will be no marriage and there will be no us". This is where his anger begins to catch through the barrier of Emotion and he starts to rudley inform me of my duties as a woman.
After a lengthy 45 minutes pass I bring a halt to the discussion. A strong rush of uncertainty yet again hits me. His leadership and passion spark an attraction to the man not only due to his appearance. I can not carry on the pathetic night so I leave my room passing all 125 guests and rushing past my mother wishing to gain information on my outburst. The sturdy steel doors of the lift are jammed with a handbag and my mother makes a desperate attempt to comfort yet scold me. I have no escape and am forced to listen to the endless preaching of my wrongdoing and the benefits of blind commitment. Feelings of love and not only hate come to mind and then the thought hits me.
I do love..... like him.
Due to the embarrassment I can not venture near my closest family and not-so-close friends, I stay determined on my journey to my bed. Yet despite the blatant rejection, I seize the opportunity to still win his love. I do this by ordering the largest arrangments of fresh fruit to his room with a card that reads " I believe not all hope is lost, if you agree call me at 07674392319
YOU ARE READING
Two hearts no love
Short StoryA young Hindu woman is torn between the heart and the fear of disappointing her traditional parents. In an attempt to please them an arranged marriage is agreed Upon by both parties. Yet this was the not path she chose and Insisted on living her own...
