Threads of Tradition: Tales Of Indian Arranged Marriages

1.

The days blur together in a monochrome haze of routines and responsibilities. Morning light filters through the dusty curtains of our home, casting long shadows across the room where I now spend my days. The once-vibrant space feels hollow, its warmth stripped away by the cold reality of my husband’s absence. It’s been a year since Vikram passed away, but the ache in my chest feels as fresh as the day I received the news.

I sit at my desk, surrounded by stacks of paperwork—an endless parade of invoices, contracts, and business reports. This was Vikram’s world, and now it’s mine. Each document is a reminder of the weight I carry, not just of our business but of our unspoken dreams and unfinished life together. I try to focus on the numbers, on the spreadsheets that need balancing, but my mind keeps wandering back to his absence.

“Good morning, Aaravi,” my mother’s voice calls out from the hallway, breaking the stillness of the room. Her cheerful tone feels out of place in the somber atmosphere of my life.

“Morning, Ma,” I reply, forcing a smile as I close the ledger in front of me.

She enters the room with the same practiced optimism she’s worn since Vikram’s death—a façade she uses to mask her concern for me. She sets a cup of tea on my desk, the fragrant steam rising in a thin plume. “I thought you could use a break. You’ve been working so hard lately.”

I nod appreciatively but don’t touch the tea. “I have a lot to get done, Ma. The new shipment is due soon, and we’re behind on the accounts.”

“Always the diligent worker,” she says, her eyes softening with a mix of admiration and worry. “But remember, Aaravi, you need to take care of yourself too.”

“I’m fine,” I assure her, though the truth is that I feel anything but fine. My life has become a relentless cycle of work and loneliness. I’ve grown accustomed to the silence that fills the spaces where Vikram’s laughter used to echo.

My mother hesitates, her eyes lingering on me as if she’s searching for something—perhaps the spark that once defined me. “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” she says finally, her voice dropping to a softer, more serious tone.

I look up from my desk, sensing the gravity of her words. “What is it?”

She takes a deep breath and sits down across from me, her hands clasped together in her lap. “Your father and I have been talking,” she begins cautiously. “And we’ve come to a decision.”

I raise an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. “About what?”

She hesitates, her gaze dropping to the floor before meeting mine again. “We think it’s time for you to move on, Aaravi.”

The words hit me like a cold wave, leaving me stunned. “Move on? What are you talking about?”

“Your father and I have been discussing your future,” she explains, her voice steady but gentle. “We believe it’s time for you to consider remarriage.”

I stare at her in shock, my heart pounding in my chest. “Remarriage? Ma, I’m not ready for that. I don’t even know if I’ll ever be ready.”

“I understand,” she says softly. “But we’ve found someone we think would be a good match for you. His name is Rohan Kulkarni. He’s a businessman like Vikram was.”

I feel a knot tighten in my stomach. “A businessman? What does that have to do with anything? I don’t want to marry just because it’s convenient.”

“It’s not just about convenience,” my mother says. “Rohan is a good man. He’s been through a lot, just like you. He’s a divorcee, but he understands what it means to face challenges.”

The news hits me like a sledgehammer. A divorcee. I’ve heard of Rohan Kulkarni before—he’s a prominent figure in the business world, known for his charm and success. But I never imagined I would be in a position to consider marrying him.

“This isn’t something I can just agree to, Ma,” I say, my voice trembling with emotion. “I need time to think about this.”

My mother nods, though her face betrays her disappointment. “I understand. Just know that we’re thinking of your future. We want what’s best for you.”

As she leaves the room, I sit in stunned silence. The weight of her words hangs heavily in the air, mingling with the scent of the tea she left behind. I feel a surge of anger and confusion, battling against the deep-seated grief that has become a constant companion. The thought of remarriage seems both alien and terrifying, a stark reminder of everything I’ve lost.

I stand up and walk to the window, staring out at the bustling street below. Life goes on outside these walls, but inside, I feel like I’m caught in a limbo—caught between the past I can’t let go of and a future that seems both uncertain and frightening.

The idea of marrying someone new feels like an impossible dream, a step too far from the life I once knew. Yet, as I look at the city moving forward, I can’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—there’s a way to find hope and healing in the midst of this chaos.