The Bride

Roop sat in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection.

Anyone else who saw her would say that she looked ravishing.

Clad in a deep red lehenga, her makeup was done meticulously and her hair was pinned to absolute perfection.

Everyone around her was buzzing with excitement.

Roop’s grandmother gushed about how perfect the match was. Her aunts whispered amongst themselves about the gold ornaments she had received as gifts and her cousin’s darted in and out of the room, stealing sweets and flowers.

And Roop’s mother, she smiled through it all.

She carefully adjusted Roop’s dupatta over her head and swabbed a bit of kajal from her eye and put it behind Roop’s ear.

“It’s the perfect match Roop”, said her mother, resting her arms on her shoulders.

“Gaurav is rich, handsome and owns two apartments in the city. What more could you ask for? Girls are dying to marry a boy like him.”

Roop continued to stare at herself in the mirror, her eyes blank and empty, absolutely devoid of any emotion.

She felt like the eye of the storm, being absolutely still, untouched by the madness that surrounded her.

“I’ll go check on the baraat”, Roop’s mother said as she gently kissed her hair and walked out of the room.

As the door shut behind her, Roop finally moved. She yanked the heavy gold necklace off her neck and tore off the dupatta from her head.

She ran a hand through her hair, ruining the intricate bun that took hours to perfect.

She didn’t want any of this.

She didn’t want the rich husband, the precious jewels or to be someone’s ideal match.

She wanted to run.

So she moved quick.

She took the duffel bag hidden carefully under her bed, the one she had spent hours packing the night before.

She checked her documents – her passport, flight tickets to the States and her acceptance letter from Princeton, the result of countless nights she spent drowned in textbooks while her family slept. She remember taking the entire night drafting her personal essay, agonising over every statement as she attempted sum up years worth of dreams into a few hundred words.

She swung the duffel bag over her shoulder and snuck out of her room and ran.

The faint tinkling of her payal was drowned by the loud commotion of the baraats arrival.

As she snuck out of the backdoor of her house, a piece of paper fell on the ground.

Roop had almost ignored it.

But something compelled her to go back for it.

It was a family photograph.

Roop, her parents and her elder brother.

Suddenly a wave of guilt washed over her.

She remembered her father’s heart condition.

How he starts panting just after climbing a few flights of stairs.

What would happen if he discovered that his daughter was gone?

She imagined panic spreading over the entire house.

Her mother frantically searching every room.

Her grandmother unable to control her tears.

The whispers of relatives growing louder every passing minute.

Her brother trying to control Gaurav’s family.

And her father…

Her father clutching his chest as the gravity of the situation sank in.

Tears streamed down Roop’s face.

The duffel bag slipped and fell on the ground as she stared at the empty path that led to her freedom, to something she had spent her entire life manifesting, to something that would open up millions of opportunities for her.

A sob escaped her as she turned around, staring at her house, which was dolled up with lights and flowers.

* * *

Roop sat in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection.

Anyone else who saw her would still say that she looked ravishing.

But now her forehead was covered in sindoor, the crimson powder trailing down to the bridge of her nose. An elaborate mangalsutra rested carefully on her neck.

Somewhere in the background lay a Princeton acceptance letter, crumpled and discarded.

Hopefully in another life, she would have chosen herself.