Tickets to our world

I heard the tinkling of the bells hanging in the shape of W above the curtains and my heart started beating faster. She was entering into the main hall from the kitchen with a tray held in her hands. I had seen her photos on Facebook but she looked prettier in person.Her hair was left open and she was wearing a pink coloured salwaar kameez. A pink coloured bindi was placed perfectly on her forehead, spaced proportionately between her dark eyebrows. Her bangles made soft sounds when her grip grew tighter on the edges of the tray. She scanned me from top to bottom and placed the tray on the table. Her scanning look made me nervous.

“My lovely daughter Roshni” her mom said with great admiration. Mrs Varma and Mr Varma, Roshni’s parents, were sitting across on a black sofa. I smiled when Mrs.Varma made that lovely daughter comment. Roshnipicked a cup of tea and offered to me saying, “Chai”

I thanked her and took it, praying that she didn’t notice my trembling hands. She offered two cups of tea to her parents and they accepted it happily.

“Roshni pursues to become a writer” her mom said proudly when Roshni sat on a chair beside me. “She has started working on her first book!”

I looked towards her but she kept looking down. Her fingers were entwined together on her lap.

“You are a software engineer right?” Roshni’s Dad asked me, looking at me as if he was the principal and caught me red-handed while bunking lectures.

“Yes I am” I replied, giving him a proper eye contact, “right now I am working in Kolkata.”

From the corner of my eye I saw Roshni looking at me blankly.

“Oh, that’s nice!” her mom exclaimed, nudging her husband and giving him ‘he-is-the-right-guy’ look, “Roshni loves Pussar silk sarees.”

“It’s Tussar silk sarees mom” Roshni corrected her.

“Well” I interjected and Roshni’s mom looked at me expectantly. Her dad’s expression was however blank.

“If you all don’t mind, can I talk to Roshni in private?”

Roshni was now staring at me and her dad didn’t say anything. Her mom suddenly stood up, as if a spring was attached on the sofa’s surface and said brightly, “Why not?”

Roshni stood up and left the room. Her mom gestured me to follow her and I did. Roshniwas now in her room, sitting cross-legged on the bed and looking outside the window. I guessed it was her room because I saw her childhood photos on the walls and a type-writer on her desk. The room gave me a warm and positive feeling.

I sat beside her on the bed and in order to strike up a conversation, I said, “Nice room”

“Thank You” she muttered, still looking outside the window.

I took a deep breath and slowly started telling her about my hobbies and interests. I tried to tell her everything which she should know about me. She kept quiet and listened. But didn’t utter a single word.

Finally I said, “Do you want to share anything with me?”

Now she looked at me and I looked back in her eyes. Her jet black eyes weren’t happy.

“Look” she said, turning towards me with her cross-legged position, “I can’t marry you”

I was a bit surprised but told myself to be patient. She continued, “I read your entire profile when you sent me a request on Facebook. We have no similarities in common. You like Hollywood movies and I like Bollywood. You watch thriller movies and I like to watch romantic-comedy. You don’t like much of reading and for me, reading is my passion. Our horoscopes match but not our personalities. Then how can I marry you?”

I tried to interrupt but again she continued in a mournful voice, “I was always in favour of love marriages. At least we have the privilege of not marrying strangers! But my parents forced me to do arrange marriage. My life is in ruins now!”

I listened patiently to her ‘arrange marriages suck!’ theory and said after she kept quiet , “I want some time to think. Can I meet you tomorrow?”

She nodded, not looking at me. I got up from her bed and went.

 

I was kneeling in front of her and she looked at me in surprise. We were in her bedroom and she was wearing a maroon coloured salwaar kameez today. I took her right hand and said slowly, looking into her jet black eyes, “My heart consists of seven continents. They are films, hobbies, jobs, books, automobiles, future homes and love. My ideas in these seven continents represent the population in each. Unfortunately, the population is quite low. But if I am lucky enough to fetch your ideas and mix those with mine, then the population would be on a tremendous increase. More population means more opinions, more opinions mean more development, and more development would lead to growth and finally a successful life of mine. So do you want me to book your tickets for exploring my seven continents? Do you want to have a world tour with me that would last for our entire lifetime?”

After saying this I looked down for a second and then looked up. She was beaming at me and tears were running down her cheeks. I panicked and was about to say sorry but she hushed me and said, “I am obliged to join a world tour, beginning with a cup of coffee at CCD. Would you like to join me?”

I stood up and my legs were paining a bit. Now I was holding both her hands and smiled. “Of course I would”

She wiped the tears from her cheeks and gestured me to move forward. We were holding hands and after we left her house she said sweetly, “Actually, the world tour is going to encompass fourteen continents.”