Mehenga Tohfa - Part 2

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Song : 'Silence' by Marshmello 

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First Person P.O.V (Male)

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Parking the car in its designated spot outside our flat, I exhale a deep breath. Travelling on Delhi roads is a challenge in itself. I climb the two stories to reach home and pull out the key from my pocket to open the door. The living room greets me with a heavy silence and I am already regretting the decision of sending her home. I am aware that I have gotten used to her presence near me and that's why I was dubious with the idea of her being away from home for ten days.

Nearing 30 , the pressure and questions your family faces by the watchful eyes of your relatives becomes unbearable. The so-called 'Log' ('people') who might not look after you in times of need , but would come knocking at your doorstep when they'll get the whiff of your engineer , employed son being single even when he was getting many proposals of potential brides.  'Kya baat hai Sunaina ji , Mukul ko koi aur pasand hai kya? Kab shaadi karega aapka beta umar nikali jaa rahi hai uski. Ladka sheher me reh raha h nazar rakhiyega! Samay bada kharab hai! Agar bahar ki hawa lag gayi to?' (' What's the matter Sunaina ji , does Mukul like someone else? When is your son planning to get married , he is getting older. He's living alone in the city! Do keep an eye on him. Time is very bad.') For past 5 years these questions have haunted me.

But no one asked my rationale for remaining a bachelor till now. There is not a hard and fast rule to get married at a particular age. I waited because I could never connect to someone the way I wanted. I am not a complicated man , I believe, I have just set up some fundamentals for life.

 A 5"9' dusky , spectacled man with an average physique. Born and brought up in Delhi by parents who were Professor and Assistant Professor in DU , might have given me a fortunate childhood , but with it came expectations , which are always scary. 

I was an average student in school with no expectational feat in sports or academics as compared to my elder brother who is a Math wizard , teaching currently in DU itself at the age of 33. My choice of subject in 11th and 12th , made my father, Rajesh Arora , hopeful for great accomplishments from my side. But I was able to scrap a decent percentage in my finals to get admitted in NSUT, Delhi in CSE branch. And then bagged a decent job in IT sector.

It was always me, my small social group and a bunch of games in phone. I lived life the way it came even before and now too. This created a feud between my father and me who wanted me to try my luck in government job. He believed I was under passionate. But this is the life I wanted and I created it and now I am living it. Being an engineer was a passion for me and I did become one, with average grades , but that never bothered me. I am doing what I want and what I can do and didn't want to try luck with something I didn't want and couldn't do. I loved my life. Couldn't he see that?

But I was a child and this tiff created insecurities I didn't want to explore. It also became the reason for some failed relationships who considered me a 'prude'. I wasn't perfect. I was self-aware. But the self-doubts never ceased. 

So, when my mother called me seven months ago , telling me about the potential 'kanya'. I was hesitant. I was not hostile with the idea of arranged marriage but rejections can be scary. Not being enough for someone can top it all. But I didn't want to disappoint my father again. The child in me begged for his love , but the adult me was stubborn enough to not even talk to him on phone. So, I readily agreed to meet the 'kanya'. 

Meeting the said 'kanya' was a shocker in itself. Our social circle's 'Miss perfectionist' , Mishti Gupta! The girl whom I had met countless times in festive gatherings. The girl I was respectful to but avoided talking to. She was a gem. And everyone was aware of it. Both our fathers worked together, but her father took early retirement after settling both his elder children and has a cozy home in Pathankot amongst his relatives.

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