The “Not so Perfect” Groom

“Are you a virgin?”

“Do you have scars anywhere?”

“Can you walk, so we may see your figure?”

She smiled through all of this. After all, this was the right way to the Mr. perfect. Generations before, people had found “love” this way. According to everyone, this was the right path to live your life. This was what ‘the good’ girls did.

In those rushed moments of desperation, her electric spirit was often fatigued. But, throughout those preliminary meets, the parents meeting parents, forced dates and the unseen groping by the “prospective”, her smile was constant, yet flattering. After all, She was about to meet her perfect groom.

She had never allowed herself to fall in love even when, his smile made her heart stop. Even when his touch, made her believe that there was only one in the world and even when, he stood at her door with his heart in his hands and tears in his eyes. After all, what was love but the sinful lust of the loins? After all she was to be clean. Her verity was in her virginity. She had to be perfectly clean for her perfect groom.

Pictures after pictures, meets after meets, her schedule was always packed with appointments. One in the morning, one in the evening, she searched for her happiness. She searched for that familiar rush. She forced herself to feel. Looking for those familiar brown eyes that crinkled, that twitching of nose when amused and the strongest pair of hands she could hold on to in the storms. But, why was she searching familiarity when she was to meet a stranger? After all, she had left her heart out in the open ready for demonstration, ready for parading and finally, ready to fall for her perfect groom.

And when they found him. There were questions like, “Did you ever have a boyfriend?” The first words he ever asked her. Her parents were bedazzled. But, he was of a good breed, they said. They never asked her for her opinion, because for them, he was the perfect groom.

It was the perfect romantic marriage ceremony. As they chanted prayers, as they recited promises she tried to forget him. How she wished the hand that was leading her around that pyre was the warm comforting touch to which she belonged. Finally, the moment arrived for her to leave her maternal house. And while they cried, she couldn’t make herself feel anything. She was numb. Her tears had dried up long ago. She was bemused, why were they crying? Was it because the project was over? The forced gaiety, the pomp and splendor were done? They should be happy at least, even if she wasn’t. After all, for them, he was the perfect groom.

The first night was the night of new beginnings. The stark white satin ugly sheets. Those gaudy tacky flowers spread all around the bed. The forcing of the strange unfamiliar touch recoiled her. She had to accept it, willingly, dutifully. After all, this was the perfect groom. But, she never bled. Mr. Perfect was disappointed, insulted even. She was bruised, battered and made to bleed. But, she took it and everything thereafter. The perfect groom was not so perfect after all.