She was ridiculed once again. Pointed glances of aunties bore into her navel that she had shown off under the translucence of her net saree. She could almost hear the Krishna Krishna and the gossip wheels turning.


At 27, she was an outcast. Yet to be married, she was attending her 23 year old cousin’s wedding.
As she posed for photographs, she watched everyone on stage complain about the heat. She silently smiled and ran her fingers through her chin long hair. She was considered a rebel for cutting off her waist long hair that her mother had worked on for 26 years, just because she felt like it.


What no one understood was that inspite of all the whispering and taunting, she felt free. She felt free because she hadn’t succumbed to her parents’ wishes and married the son of one of their family friends. She felt free because she had chosen to study even after graduation. She felt free because she was going to wait till the perfect one came and not give in to an imperfect one to have the pomp and splendour every wedding has.

Everyone considered her the black sheep of the family. She took pride in that statement. She wasn’t going to go by her genes, but by her will.


She loved her family to bits for understanding that she needed her space. She was not looking for her Prince Charming but someone who would understand her decisions.


She walked towards the dessert corner for her favourite Gulab Jamun. A sudden tap on her shoulder made her turn. “I thought I should tell you that your hair stands out in this hall full of jasmine flowers and plaited hair.”


As she nearly ripped his head out, he took a step backwards and said, “No, I think it looks amazing. Okay, bye.”
As he scuttled away, she realised that there was hope for her after all.


She smiled, “Bhaiya, give me three Gulab Jamuns. After all, I am the bride’s sister.”



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