Her Question...

She sent me a poem. A poem that I took as a sign of her cursing 'fate'. I told her not to do so. I told her that, we, being young and passionate are more than likely to commit mistakes. I told her that I was a living example - having planned and failed.

I repeated to her the quote around which my life now revolves: "Man proposes, God disposes".

I told her about my wedding dress, that now lies in cupboard, folded neatly in a box. The elegant red and gold box, I love. The one box, I would hate to see tattered and dust-ridden. The box that contains my most prized possession - the pink and grey dress I chose the embroidery for...
She thought I was being materialistic and she replied: "I don't want a dress! I just want to be his wife!"

That's when I told her of the significance of that dress. To me, that dress meant a wedding. A lawful wedding, that would make him mine for the years to come. The dress that meant I would be his wife, that I would belong to him, that I would wake up next to him, that I would smell and breathe in his scent every night...

Ik Nazm...

Garr titliyaa'n ye pyaari,

Karein gardishein tumhari,

Tou kahen shookhiyan ye saari,

Baazi ye dil ki haari...!!

Ye aadatein humari,

Jo lagen hain tumko pyaari,

Bigrri hain tumse saari,

Phir bhi hai tumse yaari...!!