Expression is not easy! A feeling that is born in a person’s heart can not be necessarily translate to words. But that is not the case here. There are gems with a beautiful gift of ornamenting their feelings with jewels to make it aesthetic and beautiful. I have one such gem in my life and she is my friend Vijayata Chauhan!!! She wants to share the best feeling a woman has: her marriage. A piece of art that truly carves the deep hidden feeling. Here she goes:

She is all sparkling. From top to bottom… Her red Indian dulhan dress with golden  embroidery, as if the fireflies are glowing in the red darken sofnight, the bangles in her hands clinging and ringing as if the laughter of a new-born child, the curvaceous floral design of henna maroon maybe a shade darker, along with a tint of its familiar peculiar smell… Her nail paint.. So smooth.. So red… Like blood… The ethereal scent of  a peculiar feminine perfume, all lilies….. Strongly magnetic…. The black kajal lining her lids highlighting her large beautiful eyes.. mmm .. Maybe a bit stressed and puffy, but this doesn’t loosen their vigour, her small curved lips, pulpy painted
red again, as the red fleshy petals of freshly plucked rose with dew drops on them.. Her red bindi added a tinge to her tiny beautiful, well carved face, which looked a bit more matured than her age, but her expressions all that of a 16-year-old girl.. Who just entered her puberty. Blossoming like the nature…. Mother nature… She sits in the arm-chair in the veranda at the higher floor of a two-storied house, with sloping roof top looking down at the street.. Waiting…. As if in a deeply lost in her dreams…. Her perfectly shaped eyebrows raise a bit, like a sudden life enters a body as she hears the sound of drums flutes shehnaai, orchestra.. With bangs of crackers… People all in their colorful outfits.. Dancing to the beats and tunes completely drawn in the aura of celebration.. Heading the procession is a man of almost her age sitting on a white dashing horse
galloping in joy.. The man is young.. All in a cream sherwaani with a collar neck slightly
embroidered with pearls and gold enthread.. The kurta reaches till his knees the salwar making lots of rings around and near his ankle… His shoes, typical marvari mojdees… His perfectly trimmed long moustache… A well-groomed beard. Wearing a pink and dark green bandhani turban with shades of rich red whose end is loosely but proudly supported in his arm, as his hand hold along sword stiffly adding a fervor of alacrity to his personality.. Yes the groom…
On seeing the approaching site… A sudden glorious smile spreads on her lips she is blushing with all blood rushing her face giving it the rarest glow…fiery glow… Her eyes sparkling with the lights of colorful crackers… Her heart pounding crazily, as if she was born for this time… This moment, the motion picture gets larger and larger and larger, and the sound gets clearer and louder and more cleared, and so her dreams.. Her visions, every cell in her body is dancing to the tune, giving Goosebumps to her skin.. Her happiness, her emotions, a victory of loosing herself to someone, a guilt of dishonor to self for the sake of the approaching man.. Pride of dissolving herself, her complete being in the arms of the beloved, her fascinations and fantasies spike up suddenly…………. He holds her soft hand righteously as if will never let them go, as the pandit
chants the hindu hymns for a divine and sacred ritual of marriage, reciting the promises the couple makes for their married life in the presence of sacred lord agni which burns the evil, the inauspicious promising a wonderful new creation… As the ceremony completes he smiles at her promising a wonderful life and life long loving companionship…. Both enter in their room, with flowers spread everywhere.. He slowly closes the doors behind…. He looks at her, straight in to her eyes as if he could see every part of her, each and every. She looks down.. Shying away from him.. Smiling, afraid, bit angry, cramping, loosing… She wants to hide herself… Wearing everything she feels naked….But.. She is proud of this nakedness…. Maybe her feminism was gifted by the
god for this specific moment…. He grabs her closer, kisses her warmly on her forehead.. Then slowly moving down her lips.. The air between them getting warmer and warmer.. She let herself loose.. Complete surrender… And then from her lips he trials further down.. exploring her with his warm sweaty hands….. And moist lips.. She smiles and closes her eyes wanting to feel him… Want him live for him die for him,win for him loose for him… Want him… Inside her… Drop of tear is about to fall at the corner of her eyes.. And BANG BANG.. There’s a sudden knock at the
She opens her eyes moist…. The tear just fell off….. The procession just passed by…leaving her behind.. Fading in the darkness of nights… The sound appeared to be noisy now…The joyous crowd seemed wild…… The moment passed…. Away and away anD away…and just disappeared from sight…somewhere in the nights of a prostitution street…. She stands up opened the doors and there stood a man in his 60s…. Eyes red…Dressed just like the groom he saw.. But the colors were of all khadi… A politician, staring her from top to bottom… His eyes filled with greed… His lips
drooling with the red saliva of beetle leaves.. She got ashamed of her feminism….. He comes in… Door closes.. Light goes off…… Ccomplete darkness!

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