unwanted want

Beginning of the Beginning

As their families mingled, offering last-minute well-wishes and anecdotes to lighten the farewell, Aunt Priya sidled up to Meera with a knowing look. "Don't let these old rules stir too much melancholy. Times change, and so do the ways of love," she whispered, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

Riya, ever the spirited confidante, hugged Meera close. "You'll be busy with college, and he with his empire. Consider this the calm before the spectacular storm of wedding festivities."

Sarkar watched as Meera’s resilient figure diminished with distance, her family's caravan moving like a mirage against the hazy city outline. He turned to his own, where gentle reprimands and knowing looks reminded him of the unique challenge ahead.

"Two years of patience, Sarkar; it's a testament of love in our culture," his mother offered, her voice a blend of empathy and tradition, her hand resting upon his.

"Patience, indeed," Sarkar muttered, though the resolve in his posture spoke of his readiness to uphold the promise they’d made.

The days that followed saw Sarkar's estate returning to its habitual rhythm, but with an undeniable void—one that echoed Meera’s laughter and the rustle of her pink engagement gown. He found solace in his work, but the silence that her absence wrought was a constant companion.

In Hindaoura, Meera immersed herself in education, her mind a repository for knowledge that would someday accompany her into Sarkar’s world. Yet, in the quiet of her study, her thoughts often wandered to the man who had softly pledged eternal companionship.

Their separation was palpable, the lack of correspondence a hurdle as antiquated as it was daunting. But it was in this space that their memories grew both ripe and rich, each moment spent together a treasure to revisit during times of solitude.

With technology at their fingertips, their adherence to tradition became a poignant echo of the times they navigated—two souls bound by an untapped connection, amplified by the very silence they were consigned to maintain.

Riya often found Meera with a faraway look, a gentle smile curving her lips as she lost herself in thought. Sidling up to her sister with a consoling nudge, she'd tease, "Daydreaming of your prince in the city of dreams?"

Meera would shake off the reverie with a soft chuckle. "Just musing over a future chapter waiting to be written. And wondering how a certain businessman is managing without his best advisor by his side."

The repartee and jest were a salve to the pangs of separation—an affirmation of the support that Meera’s loved ones offered her. They crafted a narrative replete with laughter and optimism, weaving tales of an eventual reunion that would shimmer brighter than the stars that delayed it.

Back in Mumbai, as Sarkar signed documents and conducted meetings, he’d often pause, finding himself entranced by the Mumbai skyline—a horizon that promised to welcome Meera permanently into its fold.

His confidant, Heera, would occasionally prod him from his reverie. "Lost in thoughts, boss?"

Sarkar would then dive back into the realm of tangible tasks, his replies a blend of humor and sentiment. "Just strategizing for the future. Our empire will need to be worthy of its new queen."

The constraints of their situation posed a unique challenge, but neither Sarkar nor Meera allowed the absence to become an absence of feeling. Instead, they nurtured the bond through the memories they cherished—a shared glance, a tentative touch, a chorus of laughter from the engagement night.

Time crept on, with each sun’s rising and setting a marker of their pledge. The distance became a silent guardian of their burgeoning bond, each day spent apart a testament to their shared tomorrow.

And as Meera marked each day on her calendar, drawing ever nearer to the age of eighteen, it was with a growing excitement that rivaled the endless optimism of youth. In quiet moments, enveloped in the affectionate teasing of her family, she allowed herself to dream—a grand wedding, a lifetime with Sarkar, and an infinite number of sunsets where they could stand side by side, unburdened by culturally imposed distance.

So, as the first year waned and Mumbai's monsoon clouds gathered in the symphony of seasons, the resolve of the heart deepened — a testament to the commitment to honor tradition and love in its purest, most patient form.

Two years traversed the calendar in a quiet march, a silent voyage marked by the moon's waxing and waning and the sun's relentless pursuit of the horizon. For Sarkar and Meera, these were times of solitary growth, their lives progressing parallel but apart, bound by a traditional edict that forbade their meeting or speaking until their union was sanctioned under the auspicious vedic rites of matrimony.

In these years, Sarkar had seen kingdoms of commerce rise and amalgamate under his diligent watch, each success and setback etching a deeper resolve within him. Meera, on the other hand, flourished within the scholarly walls, her intellect honed and her soul nurtured by the pursuit of wisdom. But in the quiet nights, their thoughts reached across the distances, seeking the solace of unspoken conversations known only to them.

Fast-forward to three days before their marriage when the anticipation that had been building for twenty-four long months reached its crescendo. Sarkar's entourage rolled into the quaint energy of Hindaoura with all the pomp and ceremony befitting an occasion as grand as this. Sarkar, weary from the journey but electrified with an uncontainable eagerness, was greeted by the teasing of his friends, who found endless humor in his uncharacteristically distracted demeanor.

"Sarkar, you've conquered boardrooms and marketplaces, but look at you now, undone by the mere thought of a maiden!" they would jest, their laughter echoing through the vibrant chaos of the venue.

Meera, ensconced in the warmth of her home now teeming with relatives from near and far, was not spared either. Her sisters playfully toyed with her emotions, drawing out blushes and bashful smiles with their ceaseless humor.

"Prepare yourself for a life where 'Sarkar' isn't just a name but your decree," they giggled, twirling in a dance of mirth around her.

And so it was, with each side—ladkewalas and ladkiwalas—jovially boasting and bantering in a loving duel of traditions, with songs sung loud and laughter shared against a backdrop of marigolds and mango leaves.

Finally, at an evening gathering designed for the families to mingle, Sarkar caught sight of Meera. She was the epitome of grace, wrapped in the elegance of her lehenga that told tales of ancient craftsmanship. But it wasn't just her attire that captured Sarkar's gaze; it was the the realization of her transformation from the girl he remembered to the woman before him. Meera stood amidst a flurry of her kin, yet she radiated a tranquility that seemed to rise above the celebratory clamor around her. It was as if she were the very axis upon which the festivities spun, composed and resolute, her beauty unmatched by any other, her spirit a gulag jamun for sure.

Acknowledged, let's infuse the narrative with a touch of authentic banter and culturally appropriate details. As Sarkar's and Meera's families come together in Hindaoura, the atmosphere brims with excitement and a playful competitive spirit between the groom's side (ladkewalas) and the bride's side (ladkiwalas). The air is suffused with the scents of vegetarian delicacies as they prepare for the festivities.

The courtyard of Meera's family home, vibrant and full of guests. Sarkar's friends sidle up to him, smirking.

salman: "Look at the mighty Sarkar, the man who would trade fifty board meetings for just one glimpse of his bride. If love had stock value, you'd have the market cornered, my friend!"

Sarkar smirks, his usual retort softened by the truth in salman's teasing.

Sarkar: "And yet, none of it compares to the wealth I find in Meera's eyes. I'd happily liquidate all assets for that treasure."

Across the yard, Meera's sisters weave threads of flowers, laughter punctuating the air.

Pooja (Meera's cousin Sister): "Remember Meera, just two days ago you were mastering macroeconomics, and now you're about to govern 'Sarkar Industries'!"

Meera rolls her eyes playfully, her hands busy with the delicate petals.

Meera: "I think I'll stick to managing our home economy—the returns on love and happiness are far more sustainable!"

The banter between the families reflects the joyous occasion, each side rallying with affectionate jests.

Heera (to priya): "I hope you've prepared the sweetest laddoos and the spiciest samosas to welcome us properly. Our Sarkar deserves a feast fit for a king!"

priya: "Trust us, the only spice you'll need is for the stories you ladkewalas will tell once our Meera outshines your Sarkar in every debate!"

To be continued