Luv (Un)Arranged (Luv Shuv #3)

Chapter 1

1

Song: Woh Ladki Hai Kahan

- Kavita Subrahmanyam and Shaan

Kriti

M arriage might not be all bad, but the journey to marriage was slowly ruining my life, one arranged meeting at a time. Like the one I was getting ready for.

“Stop making that face, Kriti. You look like we’re forcing you to get married.” Maa carried three dupattas draped over her arm as she entered my room. She gently laid them on the bed and handed me one after the other, looking to see which suited my salwar kameez the best.

“You’re clearly forcing me to meet this guy today. I told you I had to go to Meera’s place. She needs me.” I draped the bright pink dupatta with thin golden lace along the edges over my shoulder. Usually, I didn’t mind these arranged marriage meetings, but my best friend, Meera, needed me today. She was finally paying off the loan shark who had been hounding her for years, and I had promised to stand by her side.

Maa came behind me and pinned the dupatta to my light pink kameez. She tied the string at the back of my kurta and muttered, “If you follow the diet I tell you to, you could lose more weight. But no. No one listens to me in the house.”

I wasn’t the slim-and-trim girl that was the most common requirement of all the men and their moms in the arranged marriage market. Most of my clothes came from the large section, and I didn’t mind it. The only one who had a problem with it was my mother. The moment I turned twenty-one, Maa had been trying to put me on a diet. Whether it was sending me bland tomatoes and cucumbers for lunch or putting less sugar in my chai, she never missed an opportunity. But the more she insisted on her ridiculous antics, the more Pappa snuck my favorite foods to me.

So I didn’t concern myself with her complaints. I’d been hearing them for over five years now. “Maa, if a guy doesn't like me, he’s free to reject me. I don’t need the pressure and negativity.”

“Rashmi told me they’re coming to the village just for the day. And the boy’s biodata seems good. Rashmi even messaged me his picture. His father was born in our village too. You know, Meera’s father was a friend of their family.”

Rashmi is my mother’s point of contact for all the gossip in town as well as my self-appointed matchmaker. Maa kept going on and on with her list of reasons the guy would be a great match, like she did every time, while I applied some light makeup, barely paying attention to her spiel. Just because I wasn’t in the mood to meet this guy today didn’t mean I wanted to look unprepared. I expected a guy to bring his best to these meetings. After all, we didn’t get more than three to four meetings before making the final decision.

First impressions were everything.

Maa was still going on about the guy’s family when the doorbell rang. I turned to her in shock, thinking that the guy and his family had arrived already. Maa shook her head. “It’s your pappa. I’d sent him to get some snacks. His hands must be full.”

She shouted, “Rati, Kartik, open the door. Now.”

Maa and I were in my bedroom upstairs. But within a few seconds, hearing the excited chatter of my sixteen-year-old siblings had me itching to go downstairs. Pappa would’ve gotten some good snacks.

Maa was arranging the bangle combinations, which could easily be done downstairs. I checked my kajal, put a small bindi on my forehead, and I was good to go. “Let’s go downstairs, Maa. You can arrange the bangles at the dining table too. I want to eat something before everyone arrives.”

Maa complained a little about the inconvenience of carrying all the bangles downstairs, but I quickly plucked her bangle pouch and ran to join the others. Her shout followed me all the way to the kitchen.

Opened newspaper packaging covered the kitchen countertop. I opened each package wider to find aloo samosa in one, kachori in the next, and fafda with shaved papaya chutney in the last one. My stomach rumbled, and I picked up a plate from the drying rack near the sink and started filling it up.

“Didi, can you please bring the packages to the dining table?” Kartik asked, his words jumbled because of the food in his mouth. Didi is a proper form of address for an older sister.

Before I could agree, Maa entered the kitchen. “We have guests coming soon. We don’t have time to sit and have snacks. Your brother can eat more with the guests. You can eat while you make chai. And don’t forget to add some ginger to the chai.”

Before I could argue and convince her to make the chai and let me eat in peace, she gave me the classic “mom stare.” She only had to turn her unblinking eyes at me to get no arguments. I sighed, took a big bite of kachori, and started preparing the chai.

Seeing things were in control, Maa left the kitchen and went to sit at the dining table. I poured the coriander chutney and tamarind chutney into my samosa and kachori. With my attention on the boiling chai and my one hand busy eating, I opened the biodata of today’s guy that Maa had sent me. Biodata is just another word for résumé but for the marriage market.

BIODATA

Name: Aakar Mishra

Height: 6’ 0”

Birth Date: 28 December 1993

Birth Place: Ahmedabad

Birth Time: 7:12 a.m.

Religion: Hindu

Caste: Brahmin

Education:

Master of Business Administration (MBA) in Product Management from L.D. College of Engineering

Bachelor in Textile Engineering (B. Tech) from L.D. College of Engineering

Work : Manager at Mishra he was here to help Meera out. Ria, on the other hand, usually came along with me and Maa to these meetings.

Maa scrolled through her phone. “Look at her photo.”

And before I could protest, she handed me her phone.

I looked at the phone and stilled. If only for a moment.

“Her name’s Kriti,” Maa piped in.

She was beautiful. Her dark brown hair was lush, and her full lips were curved in a soft smile. But her eyes had me transfixed. Bold and lined with thick kohl, her gaze was fixated on the camera, challenging me to look away. I couldn’t.

Maa continued, “She’s a teacher in the local government school and has been teaching for the past five years. I know she’s not very young or slim, but Aakar, you gave me only a week’s notice.”

No wonder her eyes posed such boldness and authority but also warmth. Of course, she was a teacher.

“I didn’t give you any notice. I informed you I was going to the village.” I didn’t know why I was arguing about that when I couldn’t take my eyes off the picture. Yes, she wasn’t slim like all the women I’d seen until now.

She had curves men only dreamed of.

“I’m not exactly young either,” Ria said, teasing my mother.

Maa looked at Ria. “You’re a little older than Aakar, beta. Maybe you should start looking at arranged marriage prospects yourself.”

I couldn’t stop the chuckle. “Yes, Ria. When was the last time you went to see a guy? Aren’t you missing the delightful conversations you have with the guys? Are you ready to cook and clean for your in-laws before leaving for work and serve them dinner after you return home?”

Ria poked her tongue out. “I’d rather die single.”

Maa gasped and started praying, making us laugh.

I turned to my phone, and after a moment’s hesitation—or perhaps excitement—I opened Kriti’s biodata. I might as well check it out.

BIODATA

Name: Kriti Pandya

Height: 5’ 6”

Birth Date: 12th March 1996

Birth Place: Laxminagar

Birth Time: 9:30 p.m.

Religion: Hindu

Caste: Brahmin

Education: Bachelor of Science (B.Sc), Bachelor of Education (B. Ed) from Sarangpur Teacher’s College

Career: Teacher at Laxminagar Secondary and Higher Secondary School

About

I’m an easygoing person who knows basic housework. I love my work, especially when I can convince a family to let their daughters continue their education. My life’s goal is to educate as many girls as I possibly can. I value and respect our culture but do not lead my life solely based on them. I wish to bring friendship, companionship, and, hopefully, happiness to my future husband and his family.

Family Background

Father: Saurabh Pandya, Business

Mother: Reshma Pandya, Housewife

Expectations:

A loving, kind partner with a sense of responsibility toward his family. Independent and career-oriented with a sense of humor. Someone who wants a wife to be his partner and a friend. Last, someone who is patient and willing to learn more about me.

That was one long biodata. It wasn’t often that I came across biodata where the woman stated her expectations. Usually, it was a list of generic terms laid out by the family: a guy with a government job, nondrinker, nonsmoker, vegetarian, a minimum salary requirement, and a family man. But this one was a little more interesting. It still had the generic terms, but it read like something she wanted for her own. It made me want to know her more.

As we neared Kriti’s house, Maa pulled out her compact from her purse and dabbed some powder on her cheeks. “Aakar, be good. Smile a little at the girl. Do not make her nervous. And when we send you to talk in private, please talk for at least fifteen minutes, even if you’re not interested. It’s rude if you return in five minutes.”

“What am I supposed to talk about if the girl only answers in one or two words? It’s not like I have many questions.”

Maa glared at me as she stuffed her compact in her purse. “We are looking for your future wife. You must have questions. Are you even taking this seriously?”

God, I was so done with this same conversation. It took every effort not to roll my eyes at her. “Maa, I wouldn’t be meeting so many women if I wasn't serious. And I’m tired of getting the same answers every time I ask them what they want from me as a husband or from the marriage. But I’m trying. Okay?”

Maa nodded and muttered, “We’re almost there. Look happy.”

Abhi snorted from the front, helping me relax. Leave it to Maa to ruin my perfectly good mood and then expect me to revert to a happy face. I unlocked my phone to Kriti’s biodata, and her face popped into my mind. I almost smiled. I wasn’t going to ask Maa to forward me her picture. Absolutely not. She’d make a big deal out of it.

I was just going to meet the woman, talk about her job and interests, have some chai, and be on my way to Meera’s place. This was just like every other meeting.

Then why did my hands shake as I combed my hair?

And did I just comb my hair? For a meeting?

I quickly put the mini-comb back in my pocket and looked up at the house where we parked the car.

Control. I was in total control as I stepped out of the car.

And I would keep repeating that mantra until my heart stopped pounding.