Luv (Un)Arranged (Luv Shuv #3)

Chapter 7

7

Song: Nazdeekiyaan

- Nikhil Paul George and Neeti Mohan

Aakar

I was almost done with my work when I got a text from my school friend inviting me to an impromptu gathering at his place. I texted him that I’d be there soon, shut down my computer, and locked up the basement. I checked the two floors of the office, ensuring everything was secure before locking the doors. It was eight o’clock, and all the employees had already left. My father and uncles had gone about two hours earlier.

I got in my car, turned on the AC, and started the drive to my friend’s house, blasting the latest Bollywood jams on the radio. I let out a breath, feeling the stress of the day begin to dissipate.

I had a bit of a drive ahead of me, which I welcomed. I loved driving—whether in a car, on a motorcycle, or a bike. I enjoyed watching the world pass by—the lights, the vehicles, the buildings, people racing through their lives. Everyone was going somewhere—some in a rush, some just enjoying the journey. At every red light, I looked around. I saw a family arguing in their car, a woman embracing her lover on a bike, and poor children rushing to beg, tapping on the windows of cars and two-wheelers. Some shooed them away like bugs, while others handed them a few coins.

As one of the beggar kids banged on my closed window, I grabbed the pack of Parle-G biscuits I kept in the dashboard for these purposes. I opened the window and gave him one. Seeing that, other kids rushed to my car, and I handed out the rest of the pack. I tried not to give them cash because you never knew if the kids got to keep it or what they ended up buying.

Soon, I pulled up outside my friend’s house. A few vehicles were parked near the gate. As I opened the metal gate, the main door swung open, and my friend Varun stood at the entrance. I quickly jogged up the steps and gave him a quick handshake and a hug.

“How was the drive? Any traffic?” he asked.

“Same as always. Am I the last to arrive?”

He chuckled as I removed my shoes in the foyer. “Yeah, man. Everyone’s here.”

Varun was one of my few friends who didn’t live with his family, so most of our gatherings were at his place.

“Pizza and drinks are in the dining room. Grab some,” Varun said, going toward the living room where everyone had gathered. I lived in a dry state, but people always found a way to arrange some alcohol, especially for house parties.

As I grabbed a paper plate, my phone buzzed with a notification. Quickly—because I was pretty sure I knew who was texting me—I pulled out my phone and opened the message.

Kriti: What’s up? How was your day?

Would I ever not smile when I got her message?

Me: Nothing much. At my friend’s place. Day was fine. The usual. Yours?

I quickly pressed send and grabbed three slices of pizza. I was famished. Before joining the rest, I clicked a picture of my plate and sent it to Kriti. I grabbed a soda—because I needed to drive—and went to the living room.

We were a group of five friends, three of whom were already married. Varun had a love marriage, while our friends, Soham and Nitesh, had an arranged marriage. Zayan and I were the only single ones in the group. Varun sat on the floor near the coffee table, his back against the sofa where his wife, Komal, sat. The rest were spread around the three sofas. Not wanting to sit in the middle spot, I sat down on the floor across from Varun, put my plate and soda on the coffee table, and dug in.

As everyone talked about random things and family updates, Soham’s wife, Rashmi, got up, took the empty plate from his hand, and went to the kitchen. She returned with a glass of drink for him and took a seat beside him. Soon after, Varun stood and got himself another slice of pizza and refilled Komal’s drink.

I wondered if Soham, who had an arranged marriage, would have done the same for his wife. What was it about an arranged marriage that always seemed to give men the upper hand, the privilege to be served by the wife? And why did it seem that there was always a little more affection, a little more openness between couples in a love marriage? Or was it just my assumption that every arranged marriage had a little less love, openness, and happiness?

Right then, I got a message from Kriti. I wiped my hands with a tissue and opened the message.

Kriti: Wow. Now, I’ll have to order some pizza soon. And is it a bad time right now? We can chat later.

I looked around and found everyone busy in conversation.

Me: Keep talking. I meet them often enough.

I got up and disposed of the paper plate in the dustbin under the kitchen sink. After washing my hands, I saw Kriti’s message.

Kriti: So, what do you want to talk about?

I joined the rest of them and sat back on the floor, leaning against the sofa. I wondered for a second about whether I should ask her what I was thinking earlier.

Me: Do you think people in love marriages are happier than the ones in arranged marriages?

I saw the blue ticks that indicated that Kriti had read my message. Kriti is typing showed up on the screen, and my heart started to beat faster, almost afraid of the answer. I didn’t know what I wanted her to say. A minute passed, then two. She was still typing. I tried to appear more engaged in conversation with my friends, but I had no idea what they were talking about. My entire focus was on my screen, waiting for Kriti’s message to pop up.

After what felt like hours, her message appeared.

Kriti: I do think so, yes.

Me: That’s it? How come it took you so long to reply with four words? And why do you think so?

Kriti: It’s based on what I’ve seen. Like if I see Meera and Luke, they certainly seem happier than my own parents.

Me: Maybe it’s a generation thing?

Kriti: I guess so. Maybe it depends on the people involved. It depends on what they want out of their marriage. And I wouldn’t say it is just the man’s or just the woman’s job to bring happiness and love in an arranged marriage. So many men out there just want a wife to take care of them and make them happy. Have you ever heard a man say that he wants a wife because he wants to care for someone, support someone, love someone? It is always the other way around. And we women are always taught that it’s our job to support our husbands, take care of them, do what makes them happy. There is always a power imbalance when it comes to most arranged marriages.

That was a very long message for her. I read it again. I looked at Varun and Komal, noticing the ease with which they sat close to each other and how Varun’s arm casually hung over Komal’s knee. In contrast, Soham and his wife sat a foot apart, his wife holding the empty glass of the drink that Soham had handed to her.

It hurt my heart to imagine myself in a relationship like Soham’s. Did I truly want that? No. We all wanted the relationship that Varun had. That casual and honest comfort between two people. The secret smiles. The unconscious touches.

Kriti: ????

Shit. I’d totally forgotten to reply.

Me: Sorry, I got to thinking. That was powerful. And true. I need to leave and go home. Text you later?

Because I honestly had no words. If I wanted a marriage full of love like Varun and Komal, why was I going through the arranged marriage process?

“Aakar, you with us?” Komal asked.

I tuned back in to the conversation, and apparently, I’d missed a lot. “Sorry. I was thinking. What were you saying?”

She laughed. “I was saying, if you’ve not found any woman through an arranged marriage, I can set you up with my friend. I have two in mind.”

She wiggled her eyebrows as if that would entice me.

I chuckled and joined my hands. “Please don’t. My mother is enough. Don’t you start now.”

Everyone laughed, and before they could get into asking me about arranged marriage or actually set me up with someone, I got up. I stretched my arms and legs and said, “Okay, guys, I’m taking leave.”

After dodging a few protests, I quickly ran out the door. I was wearing my shoes when Zayan turned up in the foyer, loudly saying bye to everyone.

At my raised eyebrows, he said, “The moment you ran, they were onto me with the marriage talks. It’s like a crime to be single in a group these days.”

I waited for him as he wore his sandals, and we were out the door.

“You want to go for some chai?” I asked, knowing I needed someone to talk to. Zayan was one of my best friends, and I valued his opinion.

“Sure. Meet you at High on Chai near S.G. Highway?”

“You got it.”

We quickly got in our cars and arrived in a few minutes. After grabbing a table, I placed an order of two chai as Zayan got out of his stuffy suit jacket and folded his sleeves to his elbows.

“So what’s up?” he asked, getting straight to the point. That’s what I liked about him. He rarely beat around the bush, always targeting the heart of the matter.

“So I met a girl through an arranged marriage meeting.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Okay…”

My stomach churned with nerves at having to put my feelings out there. “Well, usually when I meet women through these meetings, it’s been a simple no, you know. It’s just that this girl, though. I couldn’t, for the life of me, say no.”

His jaw dropped in surprise. “You said yes to her?”

“No, no. Not yet. We’ve been talking behind our parents’ backs. I wanted to get to know her more but without all that parental pressure.”

“And?” He leaned forward in his seat as if my premarital journey was the juiciest story he ever heard.

“And I’m fucking confused. You see Soham and his wife. Varun and his wife. Fuck. I don’t want a marriage like Soham. I’m terrified of what my life would be like if I went through with an arranged marriage. It’s not like I have too many great examples of an arranged marriage.”

“And how does the girl you met through one of these meetings come into play?”

I rubbed my hand along my forehead. “She’s the first girl who I genuinely enjoyed talking to. So much so that I drove back to Laxminagar and took her on a date.”

Zayan pursed his lips in thought. “If you’re enjoying talking to her, does it really matter how you met her?”

I took a sip from my chai. “But I did meet her through our parents. There is a certain time limit within which we need to decide. There’s only so much you can know about a person in a limited time. And there are so many more expectations from our families when they actually arrange it.”

“Man, forget about all of that. If you met this girl through someone else, if there were no families and their time limits and expectations, if it were just the two of you, would you be interested in dating her?”

There was only one answer to that question. “Hell fucking yeah. She’s the dream girl.”

He slapped me on my arm with all of his excitement. “That’s my boy. Then go date her. Focus on the two of you and see where it goes. It’s not like you need to make a decision right away.”

“I’m trying to drag it out as long as possible.”

“You’ll figure it out. Just treat this as a regular dating experience. Forget about how you met.”

I nodded, and we sipped our chai in silence for the next few minutes. We bid goodbye, and I promised to keep him posted about my relationship status.

Once back home, I quickly turned on the AC in my room, locked my bedroom door, and went to the attached bathroom for a quick shower. As soon as I got into my bed, I picked up the phone, reread Kriti’s message, and sent her a reply.

Me: Can I be honest?

It didn’t take her long to reply.

Kriti: Please.

Me: I have never aspired for the kind of relationship I usually see in arranged marriages.

Kriti: Has anyone ever?

Me: Yet we’re both looking for a partner through an arranged marriage.

Kriti: I am. Life revolves around hope. And I hope to find love in an arranged marriage. I’m not opposed to a love marriage, but I haven’t yet met anyone outside arranged marriage meetings.

Me: Like you said in your previous message, it’s about what you want in an arranged marriage.

Kriti: What do you want from your future partner? From your arranged marriage?

I thought about it. I thought about what Kriti said about why arranged marriages end up how they do. The thoughts and expectations men have from arranged marriages. And how I desperately did not want that. I did not want what my parents had, what my uncles and aunts had, or what Soham and his wife had.

Me: I don’t know. But I definitely want someone to love.

Kriti: :) Guess that’s all anyone needs. Good night, Aakar.

Me: Good night, Kriti.