Sundays were supposed to be the days for rest and laziness. But mine turned out to be anything but. The soft clicks of my keyboard provided a soothing rhythm, accompanied by the chilly embrace of the office air conditioning. It was an escape from the troubles outside, or so I thought. 

  

The solitude of the empty office was strangely comforting. As a fresh recruit, I found solace in the isolation, even though it often meant working extra hours. Perhaps it was just a distraction from the fact that my boss was exploiting me, piling on more work for me without fair compensation. But as a newcomer, I had to swallow my complaints and silently endure the situation. 

  

Life, at that moment, felt far from beautiful. I had been typing for what felt like an eternity when my phone's ringtone shattered the silence. I answered the call without looking, juggling an email to a potential job applicant. 

  

"What are you up to?" My elder brother's casual tone resonated through the line. 

  

I sensed something was amiss. Instinctively, I straightened up in my chair, my narrowed eyes ready to catch any nuances in his words. We had a history of trading jabs, so I knew when he was up to something. 

  

"What's going on?" I asked, striving to keep my tone composed and balanced. 

  

"Why would you assume something's up?" He feigned innocence. 

  

I could almost hear his mischievous grin. 

  

"It's Sunday," I countered. 

  

"Yes, congratulations. You've mastered the art of tracking days." 

  

He teased. 

  

"And calendars," I added dryly. 

  

"You never call on Sundays." 

  

Well, he wasn't wrong. But I had to correct the record. 

  

"Actually, you never call." 

  

"I do." 

  

"No, you don't." 

  

"I called you last month." 

  

"Because it was my birthday." 

  

"Oh, right. I remembered." 

  

I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn't see me. 

  

"Mummy told you to call me." 

  

His silence on the other end confirmed my suspicions. 

  

"How do you know that?" he asked. 

  

I let out an exasperated sigh. 

  

"Because I was sitting beside her when she asked you to call me. It was meant to be a joke, and we assumed you were in on it." 

  

"Oh." 

  

"Yeah." 

  

As I continued typing, I absentmindedly held the phone to my ear. 

  

"My shoulder is killing me, and I should get back to work," I informed him, putting my phone away. 

  

"No, wait!" The urgency in his voice made me pause. I glanced at my boss, emerging from her cabin with a surprised expression. As an intern, I strived to remain inconspicuous, but now all eyes were on me. I offered a tight but polite smile before hurrying into the break room. 

  

"What's the matter?" I asked, all my attention now focused on my brother. 

  

"Where are you right now?" he questioned. 

  

"I'm at the office." 

  

"On a Sunday?" 

  

"Yes, there's some extra work that came up." 

  

"I assumed you'd be at your PG so we could talk privately." 

  

I could feel a storm brewing. 

  

"What's going on?" I demanded. 

  

"There's a 'rishta' for you," he said, oddly composed. 

  

Well, this was a familiar song and dance. Ever since I turned eighteen, I'd been inundated with marriage proposals. It was a routine occurrence, so I brushed it off. 

  

"Daddy's been looking into it," he continued. 

  

Still not alarming. 

  

"Apparently, our horoscopes match." 

  

I suppressed a chuckle. What did celestial bodies know about compatibility? 

  

"He's agreed to it." 

  

Hold on a second. 

  

"WHAT?" 

  

I saw my boss looking at me from the corner of my eye. This was far from ideal. 

  

I lowered my voice, attempting to keep my composure. 

  

"How long has this been in motion?" 

  

"Not long, just around a month. Bua brought up the match." 

  

Of course, it was Bua. With her daughters away at hostels, who was left to meddle in my affairs? Yours truly. 

  

I couldn't help but feel a surge of anger beneath the surface. 

  

"Which Bua?" 

  

I probed cautiously. 

  

"Seema Bua." 

  

Ah, yes, Seema Bua. It had to be her. 

  

"Listen, you don't have a boyfriend, right?" he asked. 

  

I was incredulous. Amidst the chaos, was that really his main concern? 

  

"That's your primary concern in this situation?" 

  

I was bordering on shrill now. 

  

"You don't, right?" he pressed. 

  

I took a moment to breathe. So much was crashing down at once. It was hot outside, I hadn't eaten breakfast, I was working on a Sunday, and I was being prepped for marriage at 22. 

  

"Fine, you don't have to be so touchy about it." 

  

I was seething. 

  

"I'm not ready for marriage. I just finished my BTech. I want a job, a career, some financial independence before I'm shipped off." 

  

"Right," he said, a note of understanding in his voice. 

  

He paused and then made an unexpected admission. 

  

"That's what I was told, too." 

  

I struggled to keep my rage in check. 

  

"You discussed my marriage with your friend before even talking to me?" 

  

"Yeah." 

  

Oh, I was ready to explode. 

  

"I'm going to kill you." 

  

My declaration hung in the air. If I were going down, I'd take him down with me. 

  

"What did I do?" he protested, feigning innocence. 

  

"Nothing! That's the problem. You do nothing. I'm neither asked nor informed. You're told things. And yet..." 

  

I had to lower my voice as a colleague walked past. 

  

"You do nothing." 

  

Silence followed on the other end. 

  

"So, I take it you're saying no to everything?" 

  

"Congratulations on your stunning summary, smartass." 

  

I glanced at my colleague, who was out of earshot. 

  

"Okay, I'll let Daddy know." 

  

"Oh, will you? Well, thank you for your tremendous consideration." 

  

He hung up. 

  

I closed my eyes, trying to control the fury simmering within. I wished I were a domesticated male dog, free from these societal pressures. In a way, I already felt like a bitch—sometimes even in human form. 

  

"You have to be a bitch sometimes," my best friend echoed in my mind. Well, it seemed I had to be a bitch now. 

  

I re-entered my workspace, where my boss was waiting by her cabin. 

  

"Why are you red? Did you get a marriage proposal from your boyfriend?" she teased. 

  

"Something like that." 

  

I couldn't hide the dejection in my voice. 

  

She pointed to the door with a smile. 

  

"Go home. You've done enough for today. Take some time to think about the proposal." 

  

As much as I detested Sundays, I appreciated my boss's consideration. Who was I to disrespect her? 

  

My brother, always the brilliant strategist, sent me a link to my potential groom's Facebook profile. As if staring at his digital pictures would make everything clearer. 

  

It didn't. 

  

He was old—mid-thirties, at least. I could spot a bald patch even through the screen. But that wasn't what irked me. My cousins started balding in their early thirties and were decent folks. No, it was the rushed decision-making that rattled me. 

  

Balding? Sure. Older? Not an issue. But marriage? I wasn't ready. So, I texted my brother a resolute 'no' accompanied by the infamous middle finger emoji, then switched off my room's light. 

  

Helplessness washed over me. Tomorrow was Monday. Chandigarh's heat was unforgiving. I was underpaid at my internship. My parents had decided without my input. But I also had a job, my own space in a PG, wonderful friends, and a somewhat supportive brother. I was 22 and on the precipice of a new chapter. 

  

Life, despite its hurdles, still held promise. 

 

****** 

 

Bua: refers to aunt; sister of father’s. 

 

Rishta: matchmaking proposal  

 

 

If you or somebody you know is needs help to deal with the pressure of marriage, consider reaching our ‘Support’ and ‘Engage’ verticals for affordable and inclusive help! 

Like our content? Please show us some support by sharing and up voting!

Image Credits - Pexels.com