In pursuit of a Prince (Chapter 1)

Ever since she could remember, she always figured her husband would be like one of those guys you see in American movies. Charming, suave, well spoken, well groomed, tall. Handsome wasn’t necessarily on the list but well-groomed, well-spoken and charming trumps good looking any day. She’d daydream about him brewing coffee in the morning; making breakfast on weekends, even cooking on weekdays sometimes. An Indian girl’s American dream! Oh wow! More than anything else, it was the cooking she really looked forward to. It wasn’t as if she was a bad cook or an inexperienced one, quite the contrary but she just liked the idea of being cooked for. A dream of sorts for her, we could say. So she dreamed and dreamed and dreamed about her perfect man and his amazing cooking skills or atleast the idea of him. After all, a girl can dream, can’t she?

As it is in all Indian households, when she was old enough (atleast by their perception) to get married, her parents began looking for alliances. They weren’t closed minded people, oh no they most certainly were not! They, in fact kept asking her if she had a special someone in her life. She kept responding “No yet”. She said she was waiting..waiting for ‘The One’. She told them that she wasn’t going to go looking for him but she would sit back and let him find her. She was convinced that match making activities and online marriage portals wont lead her to him. He was going to carve the path that would lead to her. She had convinced herself that this was how it was meant to be. But you can’t really explain concepts such as these to Indian parents, can you? So what do you do? You give in and you hope that they inadvertently end up creating the bridge that will lead Him to find you.

Being caring and loving parents that they were they listened to her entire monologue on finding The One. They contemplated and subsequently confirmed that she did in fact want to get married, but her reassurances just confused them more. But she said, she wanted somebody who could cook. Parents being parents, they didn’t think it was as critical a criterion while selecting a possible husband for their precious darling. And I mean come on! What are you even supposed to say? “Our daughter won’t marry you unless you cook?” That would just sound like our daughter can’t cook. People will just think we didn’t teach her anything. She will come across as spoilt. We can’t risk that! Oh no no no!

So they searched and they met and they introduced their darling to several lovely boys, but she didn’t show too much interest. She returned from each meeting with a new deal breaker every time. The first one was too obsessed with his work; the next one was too obsessed with his looks. The third one seemed to love boys more than girls, and the fourth one smelt funny. The fifth, sixth and seventh were either too educated, too laidback or still connected to his parents with an umbilical cord of sorts. No! No! No! This was not working and she did not want to do it anymore. None of them were right and none of them were Mr.Right. The one she was looking for was just lost, needle in a haystack…you think? Her parents thought it best for her to find somebody on her own. Disappointment turned into sadness and soon depression, and bordered on thoughts like maybe she was being way too picky than was acceptable, maybe she didn’t know what it meant to recognize somebody for their inner beauty? Maybe she didn’t even know what went into deciding what was right for her in terms of a partner? Nobody trained her on the art of selecting a life partner, so how could she possibly be expected to know? There needs to be a rule book on things like this!! Ugh..!! But even amongst all these depressing thoughts, there was one underlining feeling, actually more of a faith now that you think of it. Faith that made her believe, that she was going to find him. He’s literally right around the corner, and when she finally meets him, she’ll recognize him for who he is: The One.

To be continued…

 

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Symphony of a troubled mind (An Original)

As the name suggests, it’s an “original”. I first wrote this on August 12, 2011 at 1:02am. I haven’t changed it much, just a few words here or there.

I can’t explain what I was going through at the time, that prompted me to write this. Suffice to say, I’d just come out of a dark and twisty place filled with self pity and guilt. It’s a black whole where your confidence goes to die.

But I came out of it, I don’t know how and I don’t know if I can ever do it again, but I do know one thing, I maybe gullible, naive even stupid, but I am not weak, and when I am, My Lord will come to rescue me!

Symphony of a troubled mind

These ugly scars won’t let me forget,

The web of lies, the fisherman’s net.

My halo is gone, my dress is torn,

And all around are Ashes and bones.

I tried so hard to make the change,

But things, always seemed out of range.

My angel wings were broken and restrained,

I was disgraced and my Lord was pained.

I wanted to walk into the light,

Drop down, from the greatest of heights.

To cleanse my regrets I needed to see,

The pain I had caused, the misery.

A web of lives intertwined,

They alter your decisions every time.

The circle of life takes a full turn,

All those you hurt come back to watch you burn.

It’s the truth of life, it’s the only way,

You must erase your sins and pay.

And when on the path of virtue,

The demons will come to swallow you.

My Lord forgave me right then,

And promised to walk beside me again.

The tedious path tired me,

Numbed my mind and made me see.

In my failures I found my strength,

To correct my wrongs, I’d go any lengths.

The path of virtue led me far,

And slowly faded my pink ribbon scars.

I knew I had hope, it seemed around,

Yet I was alone with not a soul or sound.

I concluded my journey on a mountain high,

My wings were whole and I could fly

Over the skies, away I flew,

To my Lord, my savior my truth.

 

I hope you enjoyed reading that. Feel free to add your comments and give me your feedback. I’d love to read what you have to say about my writing.

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