Mehenga Tohfa - Part 2

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.

The sudden meeting fueled my uneasiness. 'Was this arrangement made by dad? Was it another slap of failure? Why would she, the ever charming and courteous Mishti , even agree to this alliance?'

But that day , I realised that she was indeed a gem. No, it was not the achievements I was bitterly made aware of in my school years, not her helpful, mannerly nature showcased in get to gathers and not even her beauty.

It was HER, all of her , that held me captive. Above all , the smile she gave me that day. I felt alive again. Yes I was aware that I liked her since that day. She was an angel disguised who I thought would elevate the barriers of turmoil from my heart.

That day , when we had our first private talk on terrace , alone. We knew everything about each other. So , standing in front of her between numerous plants and pots, I voiced out my query. "Me hi kyu?" ("Why me?"). And she had replied with an astonished face , "Aur aap kyu nahi?" ("Why not you?") Till date I am unaware of her reason for choosing me. But that day , she brought a new wave of self-esteem, which I thought got lost in the demeaning comments of my previous female cohorts , flings and girlfriends.

Mishti is everything I asked for in my silent prayers. A month of courtship period, which had three dates of refreshing each others histories again and then marriage in October, had given me someone who readily 'seems' to have accepted me. We then shifted immediately in our new home , which I agreed to accept just for her comfort. As my salary might be enough for our survival, but couldn't burden the weight of the aspirations she probably has with this new phase.

Catching up with the missed working hours and expansion of our firm, I was left short of time to spend with the cute , chirpy lady at home who didn't even bat an eye in setting up the new flat , creating connections with the neighbours and getting back to her job. There were daily talks , a routine , Saturday delicacies , Sunday chores division and even warm hugs , cuddles and intimacy, but I could feel that there was a missing spice , like a desiderium.

Mishti had never once told me of my incompetence in any life department. Maybe it was just me who is feeling a void. Maybe it is my brain playing tricks!

Getting out of my reverie, I look at my phone when it chimed with a message.

10:30 am | Saturday

Mishti ❤️ : Pahuch gaye aap ghar ? (Did you reach home?)

Chashmish 🤓 : Hn g  (Yes)                                                                     Mishti ❤️ : Maine aapka dopahar ka khana fridge me rakha h. Heat kar lena plz.  (I have cooked your lunch and kept it in the fridge. Please do heat that.)

Chashmish 🤓: Aree! Mana kiya tha na mene. Me manage kar leta. (I told you not to right. I would have managed.)

Mishti ❤️ : Mere khane se sirf kuchh months me bore ho gaye hai kya aap? Ek din aur khalo. Fr khud bnana.  P.S. Don't eat kooda from outside.  (You got bored of my cooking in just a few months? Eat it for a day more. Then cook yourself.  P.S. Don't eat junk from outside.)

Chashmish 🤓 :  Mujhe nahi lagta me itni jaldi tumhare khane se bore hounga 😄. And plz kooda nahi hota hai vo. Pizza is life. (I doubt that I'll get bored of your cooking so easily. And please it's not junk. Pizza is life.)

Mishti ❤️ : Rytt 🙄 (Right)

Chashmish 🤓 : Galat aadtein seekh rahi ho tum. Aapne papa ke saamne mat karna ye sab , kahenge sahibzaade ne kya kya sikha Diya unki topper beti ko. (You are learning bad habits. Don't do it in front of your father or he'd say that 'sahidzaada' has taught all wong deeds to his topper daughter.)

There was a minute long pause from her side and then the words 'typing' appeared. I stretched my socks clad feet on the center table and waited for her message.

Mishti ❤️ : Will u stop saying that word? I hate it!

Chashmish 🤓 : I know 😅. Ttyl.  P.S. I'll heat it. Ty.

I heaved a sigh and turned off the screen without seeing her last message. 'Sahibzaada' ('young prince's) , that's what he (dad) calls me on occasions I greet him or in front of his close friends and relatives like Mishti's father. And she has heard him calling me that. I sardonically laugh at the self loath I felt when she first heard it on the day of 'Roka'.

I had never shown myself getting affected by it , when internally there was a storm rising , I remained nonchalant modern IT guy on the outside. But that day , I wasn't able to look her in the eye. Late at night , I had received a text from an unknown number "Achievements don't make you a king , character does." The profile name showed her name. I didn't know how she got my number , but that text stopped my endless chain of thoughts and I had slept peacefully. That's her , the rain in my barren land , ink in my dried pen , sunlight on a bleak day , the sugar to my bitter life , my Mishti.

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