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  • Writer's pictureThe Feminist Times


Tamannah was late, hurrying up clad in her hefty embroidered pink lehenga. The silver zari work on her lehenga and blouse matched too well with the silver boondi at the edge of her net dupatta. It was heavy; all she could think of at that moment was to get rid of the burdensome dupatta lying on her head, the massive necklace and the all so annoying nath she had to wear.

She had her sister by her side, who, she recollected, had signed a similar pact with Aadesh’s elder brother years back. And there

she found herself in a fix if it would be the right thing to sign, if she could say “I do”.

That was the day, Tamannah wore the best of her jewels, yet she thought if she could get away from it. How she wondered she advised her friends to have their say; and there she found herself hapless at the registrar’s desk.

She saw herself signing at the govt. stamped paper while all she could imagine was getting up and raising her voice against her family’s will. Never had she thought she would give up so easy. A tear rolled down her left cheek.

"Good morning," she heard her father say.

Shaken, she was staring at her father with the nightmare hanging over her head. Wrapped in a furry white blanket, she realised it was the morning of 15th August.

- Shikha Nangru

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