Selections are the most difficult part in one’s life. For
me, selections were always another set of exams, which I had to clear. But,
this time it was different, actually very different.
Since morning, my mother was wandering from here and there
in order to clean the house as if Prime Minister himself is coming to our home
and in case if he will find a speck of dirt, he would sue my parents for
violating Swacchh Bharat Abhiyan.
I, in order to impress an unknown person was decked up with
so much make up as if I have a fan following outside my room and if I go
outside without make up, people would actually
know, how ugly I look in reality.
I always fail to understand, why Indian arranged marriages are
so fake? Why people get so worried when a girl turns 25? Why people start
treating their daughter as a mannequin?
Finally, the Jury (Ladka wala’s) arrived for my
selection. Clad in a blue saree, I made
my way to them with a fake shy expressions and a tray full of tea (which I
actually didn’t even know how to make).
The first person which caught my attention was boy. I
examined him from head to toe and noticed he was in normal clothes with no
makeup. I wondered why I am the one who has to be decked up and placed like a
showcase. When he can be normal, why can’t I?
I addressed everyone with a namaste and sat down. With bizzare expression,
my mom tried telling me to serve tea which I didn’t get. So, her expression
finally broke into genteel words- Beta, serve everyone tea. I looked everyone
for few minutes and thought- why? aren’t they big enough to serve and feed
themselves?
Well, this is what Indian marriage custom demands. So, I did as I was
told.
After going through some weird questions, our family suggested
us to go upstairs and talk in private. I mean, Really! This is something new
which has started in Indian arranged marriages, where parents actually expect a
boy and a girl to know each other in 2 minutes conversation. As if we are Maggi
that we will be ready for the marriage in 2 minutes.
As suggested, we went upstairs. He kept looking at the
ceiling as if he is figuring out who was the architect of my home? And I kept
looking at the floor like just in case I will find a treasure hidden beneath those white
marbles.
Finally, I broke the silence- “Do you like me?”
My direct question startled him and he took a minute to
grasp it. Finally, he replied- Yeah. You are fine.
A wicked smile played on my lips. “Ok.”, I said. Then, out
of nowhere, I removed my 4 inches heels
and asked again… “Now?”
He looked at me from head to toe with wide open eyes assuring me that he finally realized
Burj Khalifa is no more the tallest building in the world.
“Wha…Wha…What’s your height?,” He stammered.
“5.1.” I replied.
“What….”
“…and I am duskier than I look.” I interrupted and completed
the sentence.
Without uttering a single word, he left.
For the first time in my life, I was rejected in a
selection. Frankly, I didn’t feel bad because when he couldn’t bear the single
truth I told him, obviously he was not the one for me. For the first time in my life, I smiled because I was rejected.
Every day in India, so many girls are rejected on the basis
of their looks. Not one time, two time but umpteenth times. Who are we to
reject a girl? Who are we to judge them?
When for our whole life, we, as a parent, pamper and love
our daughter as a princess irrespective of the skin she wears. Then, what
happens, when she turns 25+? Why we expect her to put make up, wear high heels
in order to impress a flicking family? Why we place her like a showcase in
front of others, so they can mend and blend her whenever and whichever shape
they want?
So many girls fall in depression due to these rejections.
They lose their confidence, charm. They start criticising God for making them
this way.
Please, arrange a marriage with a boy who would feel proud
because your daughter is walking besides him. Remember, every girl is beautiful
in her own way.
Image Credit: Pixabay.com
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The Indelible nib- It is not just a blog but a diary of untold stories. We believe everyone of us has a story to tell and it must be put in words. If you have such stories, please mail us at prerikakanchan@gmail.com.
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