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My fiftyish aunt asks my mom “Your daughter isn't getting married any soon? I have someone in mind for her. I’m sure they’ll make a perfect couple!” As soon as I turn 22, you can find a minimum of fifteen guys in the family circle with whom I make a perfect match! Fifteen.

I keep wondering how that number came up so suddenly. Every uncle and aunt, with whom I’ve barely even spoken, suddenly knows what’s my type, what’s best for me, and who would be my perfect match!

 They hug me and tell me to check out that prince-on-white-horse they have in mind. I manage to go with them and introduce myself to the guy. 

He says, “I am an Engineer from NITK. I topped my batch. I worked for XYZ Company for about two years, and I plan to fly abroad to do my Masters. It’s so really tough to survive in the Corporate without a Masters Degree. You cannot really say what it expects from you, you know… And so much so….” .

“Err… Sorry, I didn’t get your name..”  I interrupt.

Really!? You don’t tell me your name, you don’t tell me where you live, and you don’t tell me what you like doing. You are in love with your certificates and the whitewashed walls, glass doors and AC in your cabin!?

Yeah. May be I seem a little judgmental here. But what else do I think? I am entitled to a first impression. Guys who purely intend on a temporary romantic expedition and start out with that’s-a-nice-weather are far better than guys who intend on a lifetime bonding and start out with I-earn-this-much.

First question- How does anybody know what I want?

This list of ‘anybody’ surprisingly, includes parents too. They once tried to convince me that all my relatives who boast about prospective bridegrooms for me, wish for my own happiness.

“They just want to get you married to a family that will keep you happy!” they said.

“Not really. They just want a wedding. I want a marriage! There is a difference.” I said.  

It’s true what people say. Parents know best. Parents know what’s good for us and what’s not. Mine bear with me day in and day out, and they are pretty sure that it’s what the groom has to do too, more or less. But that’s just theory!

Practically, what I am depends on whom I’m with.The person I’m going to be, with my future husband, is so clearly different from what I am with my parents now. Ask different people to describe me. They have hundred different adjectives and hundred more versions of those adjectives. So, back in square one, how is that going to work, really?

Second question- Don’t you think I should decide for myself?

Of course you do. You just don’t say it aloud! But you know 

what? You are forgiven!

So, now comes the list of all other questions that I ask myself about my marriage.

What if we turn out to be two really different people who cannot bear with each other?

What if we want different things from life and from each other?

What if we misunderstand and assume each other’s words and silence?

What if we cannot get each other’s sense of humor?

What if we cannot picture and make sense out of each other’s dreams?

What if love means different things to us?

What if we get bored with each other?

So many questions rain down on me. Well, I wouldn’t know the answers right away, would I?

Questions like these get stronger when people start saying it’s time, and specially when I have never been involved with anyone romantically. Never being in a relationship gives me the pinch sometimes, it would be better if I had some prior experience or at least familiarity.

 I shrug with tight lips, fixed eyes, raised eyebrows, and then get into a deep philosophical thought of what marriage is!

Gambling- my mind says!

“What!? Is this the same girl who wrote a hundred hopelessly romantic poems!?” my best friend yells at me when I say so.

“That’s hormones! Let’s get real!” I say.

“Ugh! You and your reality, logic and practicality! Shut up now!” she says and picks up the nearest pillow.

We start a pillow-fight and giggle at each other’s fighting skills.  

Meddling with mistakes

       To err is as likely as a rain, or a favorite movie on the television. It is as frequent as meals and at the same time, as rare as leap years. We commit mistakes, but whether they really are, depends on how we define them. And whether we correct ourselves, is secondary.

       I wonder how many mistakes our normal routine consists of. Yelling at mom for late breakfast, shouting at dad because we have no money, quarrelling with siblings because we broke up, not giving time for our pets, misplacing things and messing up the room, searching lame excuses for reaching home unacceptably late, not returning things to our friends in time, stealing someone else’s idea boasting it to be our own, not being considerate to friends, not returning really important calls, not keeping up our promises and defending ourselves dishonestly, hurting our loved ones in various ways, intentionally or unintentionally,…………

The list goes on and on and on.

 What makes us commit such repetitive mistakes, in the first place?

 Is it because we opine that they are not at all mistakes?

 Is it our ego that we are feeding? 

Are we unwilling to accept our mistakes?

Are we taking people for granted?

Or is it just that we are lazy??

When I ask myself these questions, my answers to them are a ‘yes’ at different situations. And with that comes another explanation to it…..

We are not perfect!!

Our imperfection is our identity. Our mistakes define us. They segregate us from each other. They make us different. They make us unique. And they make us what we actually are. Don’t they??

Committing mistakes is something which is compulsory for every human being to survive. To live. To exist!

And as we commit them, we grow. In different ways, in different dimensions. We flourish. We enrich ourselves in various ways.  Our emotional, practical and psychological upbringing happens because of our mistakes.

And as we learn from them, we tend to rediscover ourselves, with a new air, new experience and new zeal. And that’s what shapes us, into individuals.

Looking at mistakes in a positive way, they are the life-givers for us, when we learn from them. And they can also turn out to be killers when we don’t. Mistakes complete us. Meddling with them is fun. Learning from them is an experience. And living with them is life…..!!

Good times give us real happiness when they follow the bad ones. Dawn’s freshness and light is noticed only after a dark night. And so speaking with the same simile, our correctness is more meaningful when we commit mistakes.

Committing mistakes is a recurring never ending process.

The way we use them, the people we become….!!

ONE MORE CHANCE - Chapter 3

She tapped on the door. A lady, in her mid fifties, opened the door for her. She was fair, bright, and definitely belonged to the list of the most noticed women of her age.

“Come on in!” she invited her.

“You sent for me. I had decided against this, but still, here I am. I don’t know what more is left unsaid.”

“Many things, darling. Many things. Tea?”

“Sure.”

The woman walked over to the kitchen and was back with two hot cups of tea in a few minutes. They settled on the couch, and she became ready for whatever was for her that she had to listen to. The woman started the conversation.

“I have seen him sad for years when his dad passed away, and just when he was getting over it, he met you. And as you came into his life, you brought his smile back. He is a good man. And being his mother, I know him better than you do. He loves you. And I know that you love him too.”

“Not anymore. Not after knowing what he is.”

“Whom are you fooling kid? I know both of you. You still love him, don’t you? Say it on my face that you don’t!”

“It doesn’t matter, ma. It’s over! I saw him trading the duplicate for a huge sum of money. I saw it with my own eyes. I saw him take the money. What else can be a feasible explanation? Please don’t defend him just because he is your son. He has done something illegal. And you, knowing it, should be talking to him right now, bringing him out of the gutter. Instead, you try to convince me that he is innocent. This is great!” she said sarcastically, with tears welled up in her eyes.

The woman abruptly stood up, walked inside and came back with a painting, covered with satin sheets. She gently pulled the cloth to expose the painting. It was the portrait of a girl. She was flawlessly beautiful, and so was her portrait.

“Who is she?”

“She is the truth, my dear. She is the answer to all your questions. She is the key to his innocence.”