It began with the sound of the conch shell. Faint, but unmistakable—a signal that something momentous was about to happen. I was sitting on the porch, nibbling on roasted peanuts, when Ma's voice pierced the air like a temple bell.
"Eshan! Come inside. There's good news!" she called out. Good news. That phrase had become a trigger for me lately. In our household, it usually translated to something like a neighbor's daughter getting married, a bumper harvest, or—worst of all—me being handed unsolicited life advice by distant relatives.
"Coming, Ma!" I sighed, reluctantly setting my peanuts aside.
As I entered, the room was buzzing. Disha sat quietly in the corner, her face pale as if she'd seen a ghost. Baba was grinning ear to ear, his betel-stained teeth on full display. Ma, on the other hand, looked like she'd been gifted a diamond necklace.
"Disha's rishta has come!" Ma announced, clasping her hands together in a prayer-like pose.
Ah, of course. The "good news" wasn't mine to celebrate.
---
Our house was modest, like most homes in the village. The walls were painted a faded yellow, and the roof tiles threatened to collapse every monsoon. Yet, today, it felt more alive than ever. From our small window, I could see neighbors peeking in, whispering to each other. Gossip spread faster here than wildfire in a dry field.
Inside, the air was thick with the aroma of turmeric and incense—Ma's go-to combination for any auspicious occasion. She had already pulled out the best steel plates, the ones reserved for guests, and was preparing tea with extra sugar. Baba's dhoti was neatly pressed, a rare sight that only appeared when he was truly excited.
And then there was Disha—silent, still, like a doll on display.
---
"Why do girls always have to sit quietly during these things?" my inner voice piped up. "It's like society has a mute button just for them. If Disha's lips moved, would the sky fall?"
I stifled a chuckle. Not the time to get caught talking to myself.
---
"The boy is from Jaipur," Ma continued, her voice laced with pride. "A government job, no less! And they're not even asking for dowry!"
At this, Baba nodded approvingly, as if the absence of dowry demands was the pinnacle of modern progressiveness.
"They're coming to meet us next week," she added, looking at Disha expectantly.
But Disha didn't say a word.
"Say something, beti," Baba urged.
Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I… I need some time to think."
This was a bombshell in our family. Girls don't "think" about marriage proposals; they accept them with folded hands and a forced smile. Ma's expression shifted from excitement to confusion. Baba scratched his head, clearly unsure of how to react.
---
Later that night, as the house settled into its usual quiet, I found Disha sitting by the well in our backyard. The moonlight reflected off her tear-streaked face.
"I don't want to get married, Bhai," she said, her voice trembling.
I sat down beside her, letting the silence stretch. I had learned that sometimes, people just need someone to listen.
"I want to teach kids," she continued, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I've been saving for a course in Jaipur. But Ma and Baba… they won't understand."
Her words struck a chord. Disha had dreams—real, tangible dreams—but they were being crushed under the weight of societal expectations.
---
"Isn't it ironic?" my inner voice mused. "The same parents who tell you to dream big when you're a kid suddenly want you to settle for less as an adult. Hypocrisy much?"
---
Looking at her, I saw a reflection of my own struggles. But Disha was braver than me. She had the courage to voice her desires, while I had spent years silently conforming.
"You don't have to do this," I told her, my voice firm. "If teaching is what you want, I'll stand by you. We'll find a way."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "But how? Ma and Baba—"
"Leave them to me," I interrupted, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
---
The next morning, I walked into the living room, where Ma and Baba were discussing wedding arrangements. The steel plates had been polished to a blinding shine, and Ma was already planning the menu for the guests.
"I need to talk to you," I said, standing in the doorway.
Baba looked up from his newspaper, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"I've decided to move to the city," I announced, my voice steady. "I want to find a job."
The room fell silent. Ma froze, her ladle hovering mid-air. Baba put down his newspaper, his expression unreadable.
"What nonsense is this?" Ma finally said, her tone sharp. "You have a perfectly good life here. What will people say?"
"And what about Disha?" I countered, my voice rising. "Why should she give up her dreams for what people will say?"
---
"Smooth move, Eshan," my inner voice quipped. "Nothing like dropping a double bombshell to start the day."
---
Baba sighed, his shoulders slumping. "You think life in the city is easy? You'll struggle. And what if you fail?"
"I'd rather fail trying than live with regret," I replied, meeting his gaze.
---
The conversation ended with Ma storming into the kitchen and Baba retreating to the veranda. But I knew this was just the beginning. Disha and I had taken the first step toward changing our lives, but the road ahead would be anything but easy.
As I walked back to my room, I couldn't help but feel a mix of fear and excitement. For the first time, I was choosing my own path.
Little did I know, this decision would change everything.