Today was her wedding. A day about which she had been fantasizing since her childhood.
Being born in a Bengali family had its own improvisations on her. She had imagined her Prince Charming to carry her away in his arms to his wonderland. Suddenly she remembered Mr. Obhodro. Her Mr. Obhodro(in Bengali it means Mr. Rude). His thick black tuft of hair sometimes playing with the breeze fell on his forehead. His creaseless broad forehead, thick eyebrows, hazel eyes, Roman nose , thin lips and chiselled chin were among the many things about him that intimidated her.
Her mind flew into a haven of reminiscence. Their first meeting. She was walking on a heavily trafficked road with a bag of flour in her hands in such a manner that it almost clouded her vision. A man who was busy talking on his cell phone, presumably with his girlfriend, clashed into her. Then everything happened as if she were in a movie, only with the exception that the man looked nothing like her Prince Charming. The scene was a hilarious mess. The flour flew topsy turvy, falling like gentle flakes of snow on both of them. What followed next was their first heated argument.
"If you don't know how to walk, you shouldn't walk out of your home," she flared.
"If you don't have the etiquette to talk, you should keep shut," he retorted with equal force.
"Listen! It was a front facing accident. I didn't come and bump into your back."
"So you're saying that I wasn't keeping my eyes open and walking?!?"
"Yes! If you are so busy chatting with your girlfriend, how can you see something else?"
"Excuse me! I was not talking to my girlfriend. Anyways, the mistake was yours."
"It was a fifty fifty mistake." But after seeing his glare, she hesitated for a moment and said,"Ok. A fifty five - forty five mistake."
Then, fed up with her adamance, he turned around. Just before both of them took different paths, each shot a fiery wave of emotion with their eyes towards the other. Little did she know then that she would one day become his better half.