Threads of Tradition: Tales Of Indian Arranged Marriages

2.

The wedding day arrived with all the splendour and grandeur befitting the union of two prominent families. The Shekhawat residence had been transformed into a glittering palace of lights and flowers, while the Malhotras, dressed in their finest, mingled with the throngs of guests. Laughter, music, and the sound of rituals echoed in the air, but amidst the vibrant celebration, Ahaan and Kaira stood like distant figures, lost in their own worlds.

Kaira, adorned in an intricately embroidered red and gold lehenga, looked every bit the part of a perfect bride. Her face was a picture of serene beauty, but her eyes reflected the storm brewing beneath. Surrounded by family and friends, she smiled for the cameras, posed when asked, and followed each instruction with grace, but there was a hollowness behind every gesture. The weight of her decision to marry Ahaan, despite the lingering fears and emotional scars, felt heavier than the bridal jewellery she wore.

Ahaan, dressed in a classic ivory sherwani, looked every inch the dignified groom, but his heart wasn’t in the moment. He moved through the rituals mechanically, exchanging pleasantries with relatives, but his thoughts were elsewhere. As the priest recited mantras and the sacred fire crackled before them, he glanced at Kaira briefly, but their eyes didn’t meet. Instead, there was an unspoken distance, as if they were both in the same room but living in separate worlds.

The pheras—the sacred rounds around the fire—marked the formal sealing of their union. Ahaan led the way, Kaira following closely behind, but there was a stiffness in their movements. Each step they took felt like a reminder of the emotional chasm between them. Their families watched in delight, oblivious to the undercurrents of unease running through both their hearts.

When it was time for the sindoor, Ahaan’s hand hovered for a moment longer than necessary before he placed the vermilion in Kaira’s hairline. His touch was careful, but the significance of the moment didn’t hit him the way it should have. It felt ceremonial, a necessary formality rather than a promise of commitment. Kaira, too, felt a pang as the ritual was completed—this act symbolized trust, but trust was the very thing she feared most.

The ceremony dragged on, with the two of them exchanging garlands, hands brushing briefly, but their interactions remained devoid of any real warmth. Kaira could feel the weight of everyone’s expectations on her—her family, Ahaan’s family, and society itself. She wanted to appear strong, composed, and the perfect bride, but inside, her heart was a maze of confusion and doubt. She had imagined her wedding day to be different once, full of love and promise, but those dreams had shattered long ago.

As the evening descended and the final rituals concluded, Ahaan and Kaira were seated together on the wedding stage. Guests approached them with blessings and congratulations, but the distance between them was apparent. They smiled for the photographs, posed side by side, but even the photographer could sense the lack of connection between the couple. The glitz and glamour of the event couldn’t mask the emotional distance that hung between them like an invisible barrier.

When the time came for Kaira’s bidaai, the farewell ritual, it felt as though the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders. She clung to her mother for a moment longer than usual, tears welling up in her eyes. Ahaan stood a few steps behind, watching the scene unfold. He had seen many brides leave their homes in tears before, but watching Kaira say goodbye to her family stirred something inside him. It wasn’t a deep emotion, but it was a faint recognition that this wasn’t just a formal agreement—they were bound now, in more ways than one.

The drive to Ahaan’s house was silent. The lavishly decorated car carrying them felt like a gilded cage. Both stared out of their respective windows, lost in thought, unsure of how to bridge the growing gap between them. Kaira’s mind raced with worries about the future, about whether she could ever find peace in this new chapter of her life. Ahaan, on the other hand, was quietly wrestling with his own emotions. He hadn’t wanted this—he hadn’t wanted to be vulnerable again.

As they reached Ahaan’s home, another wave of rituals awaited them. The Malhotra family welcomed Kaira with open arms, and she performed the traditional grihapravesh—her first steps into her new home. The house was grand and imposing, filled with love and warmth from his family, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Ahaan stood next to her during the ceremony, his face unreadable, his mind a million miles away.

That night, they sat across from each other in their new bedroom, both too exhausted to speak. The room was decorated beautifully, but the silence between them was louder than anything else. Kaira changed out of her wedding attire, her movements slow and deliberate, as if stalling the inevitable conversation. Ahaan sat on the edge of the bed, loosening the buttons of his sherwani, not quite knowing what to say.

“We’ve done what was expected of us,” Ahaan finally spoke, his voice quiet, almost resigned.

Kaira looked at him, searching for any sign of warmth or connection, but his words felt cold as if they were confirming what she already knew—that this was a marriage in name, not in spirit.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt a lump in her throat, but she swallowed it down. There was no use hoping for more, not yet.

As they settled into their separate corners of the room, both Ahaan and Kaira were left with the same thought: they had gone through the motions and fulfilled the expectations, but the road ahead felt uncertain, fraught with the emotional walls they had built around themselves. Their wedding was over, but their journey was just beginning—one that neither of them was fully prepared for.