Mismatch

The car screeched to a halt in front of the hotel. I hadn’t even realised when we had covered the forty minute drive. I got out of the car and an immediate pang of guilt hit hard because of what I was about to do. My mom smiled at me for encouragement but I ignored her and taking each step grudgingly, walked on.

I was not nervous, as any girl in my position would be. I was just feeling empty. The kind of feeling you have when you say that something isn’t bothering you and show it to others, but deep down you are constantly trying to convince yourself about that. As soon as we enter we see Mr. Tiwari sitting on the nearest table.

He greeted my Dad and immediately after greeting other relatives his eyes scanned through the small gathering until they found me half hidden behind my mom. He looked at me from top to bottom and grunted as if to say- passed with grace marks. In a normal situation the handy pepper spray bottle I usually keep in my bag would have the opportunity to prove its worth. But alas, this is no normal situation. Mr Tiwari is a match maker, who ran his agency by the name of “lighter” and whose punch line is “god makes matches, and I light them”.

Irrespective of the stupid name and tagline, he had proven to be very effective. In 2 days he had found a suitable match for me.

My bhabhi looked at me and straightened my hair- which she was doing for the umpteenth time. I found it very irritating and before I could say anything everybody stood up and my bhabhi excitedly squealed “look they have come”.

If I felt that I was nervous before then I was scared that everybody would hear my heart beating this loud. I made it a point to look at the floor as pleasantries were being exchanged. Even looking down I could feel 12 pairs of eyes screening my plain pink kurti and black jeans.

 A woman’s voice who I assumed to be the boy’s mother asks: “so how far have you studied beta?” As my mom and bhabhi answer, I could actually draw an image of the woman - who would be fat, laden with jewellery and wearing matching bindi, hairclip and heels. I easily lose track of the conversion and enter my happy place, where I was happy, where I was with him. The future I had imagined and not some stupid matchmaker…..

As if somebody had physically grabbed me from behind, my sister nudges me to stand up and I see a pair of black shoes get up right in front of me. Astonished that everything had finished so quickly and the boy’s side had already rejected me and decided to leave, I also notice that no black shoes or golden heels get up. And then my sister moves me to the next table and makes me sit on it and the black shoes follow. I start to panic when the blue and silver heels of my sister walk away and all I could see was a pair of black shoes and I realise that it is the worst part- where boy and girl talk alone to know each other better.

I sense that he is observing me and the next thing he does shocks me to the extent that I could bet my life that I was dreaming. Even realising Edward Cullen was sitting in front of me would have been less shocking than this. He says “atleast look at me, baby”.

Just five words and whole my world crashes down. This is the voice that I could recognise and respond to any situation, even if I was dead. I look up with shock and disbelief. The first thing I look at it as I raise my head is his brown chocolate melting eyes. They look at me with the same expression as they had whenever he held my hand. The eyes which I had looked at for more than 7 years before my family rejected “us”. The eyes that tell me that hope never dies,that love never dies. The eyes which seemed to tell me that dreams do come true. The eyes that told me that true love never fails, the eyes that tell me that it is not the happy ending but a happy beginning….a happy beginning with him.