Asha was in the final year of her post graduation. She was studying in a prestigious college in Delhi, and would soon be a full fledged journalist in a few monthsâ€™ time. She is the only daughter of her parents who are working in two different cities ever since she could remember. Born into a traditional family, in spite of the fact that her parents had a slightly â€˜modernâ€™ approach to life, her extended family was way too traditional. They even had a problem and had raised a few voices when Ashaâ€™s mother had wanted to work after her marriage.
Asha was all of 23 years, and was at the best of her potential, she wanted to go out and create revolutions, change the way the country worked, cleanse the dirty politics in her country, and she was hoping to fly high and achieving these backed by her degree in journalism and her passion to fight for justice. The last time they met, Ashaâ€™s parents had casually mentioned that she was coming of the right age to get married and that they would soon start looking for good boys who would suit their social status and background. She had dismissed her parentsâ€™ words with a wave of her hand and had asked them to carry on with their plans, she was too engrossed in planning out her career post her education â€“ which newspaper she would join, she did not wanted to be a part of the new generation tv channels that were always conducting sting operations; rather she wanted to be a part of the nationsâ€™ leading daily newspaper. She had always wanted to write, and that was what she planned she would do.
Holi was fast approaching and she knew she would meet her parents for the festival of colours, but what she did not know was that her parents were bringing her a Holi gift, the photo of a very eligible boy â€“ an engineer, who was now settled in the U.S.- whom they had chosen for Asha. They only needed her to look at the boyâ€™s photograph – giggle, blush and run away into her room, as is expected of a demure Indian girl.
Was she ready for a marriage, rest the fact that the one in question is an arranged one. She was not in love with anyone, but that didnâ€™t mean she would marry just about anyone her parents chose, she wanted a say in what kind of a man she would marry.Â
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Writing to me is therapy, it frightens and comforts at the same time. Liberates like nothing else. A book in my own name is a dream, but a bigger dream would be to write something that haunts the reader even after the last page is turned and the book is shut. I enjoy reading and music, spending time with family whilst battling my social awkwardness.