Their love story would have made a brilliant clichéd Bollywood movie. She was from a moneyed family and he came from an ordinary middle-class background. She was beautiful, rich and well-dressed and he a poor journalist, dressed in ridiculous bell-bottomed pants and thick glasses. He had gate-crashed a party that she was attending and she had looked at him disdainfully ‘Another one of those geeky guys!’ They hardly exchanged a few words the first time. But cupid had struck.
They bumped into each other in a few more parties. He was drawn towards her innocence, her depth, her want to learn more, her naughty eyes, and the lovely person she was beneath the veneer of a superficial existence; and she was fascinated by his love for life, his intelligence, his interest in everything, his adventurous attitude and his profundity. Like all Bollywood movies, his parents were initially sceptical, but welcomed her with open arms. Her parents, like all mean-rich-parents-of-the-girl refused to accept the match. But she was adamant. What followed was two years of struggle. He left the city, got a new job and worked hard so he could be worthy of her. They wrote letters, most of his letters were intercepted by her mother and she never got them. It was a love difficult to sustain. Days of no-communication, uncertainty and depression. It was harder for her. She would give up the comfortable life that she had grown up in. She was sacrificing so much and she didn’t have her parents’ support. Her father was disappointed but her mother was infuriated. The two years came to an end and they were married in her parents’ huge house with her parents’ unwilling consent. On the day of her marriage, her mother told her that she would come running home in no time. ‘Your marriage will not last beyond a year.’ With that curse ringing her ears she stepped in the ceremony area to be wedded to the man she chosen to marry.
They’ve been married for almost twenty-eight years now and could put a newly married couple to shame. They quarrel like teenagers and they make up with a smile. She pulls his hair when he’s not paying her attention and he kisses her tenderly on her forehead when she expects it least. He gets her flowers and she gives him cards.
And they lived happily ever after…..
My parents.
They bumped into each other in a few more parties. He was drawn towards her innocence, her depth, her want to learn more, her naughty eyes, and the lovely person she was beneath the veneer of a superficial existence; and she was fascinated by his love for life, his intelligence, his interest in everything, his adventurous attitude and his profundity. Like all Bollywood movies, his parents were initially sceptical, but welcomed her with open arms. Her parents, like all mean-rich-parents-of-the-girl refused to accept the match. But she was adamant. What followed was two years of struggle. He left the city, got a new job and worked hard so he could be worthy of her. They wrote letters, most of his letters were intercepted by her mother and she never got them. It was a love difficult to sustain. Days of no-communication, uncertainty and depression. It was harder for her. She would give up the comfortable life that she had grown up in. She was sacrificing so much and she didn’t have her parents’ support. Her father was disappointed but her mother was infuriated. The two years came to an end and they were married in her parents’ huge house with her parents’ unwilling consent. On the day of her marriage, her mother told her that she would come running home in no time. ‘Your marriage will not last beyond a year.’ With that curse ringing her ears she stepped in the ceremony area to be wedded to the man she chosen to marry.
They’ve been married for almost twenty-eight years now and could put a newly married couple to shame. They quarrel like teenagers and they make up with a smile. She pulls his hair when he’s not paying her attention and he kisses her tenderly on her forehead when she expects it least. He gets her flowers and she gives him cards.
And they lived happily ever after…..
My parents.
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