I glanced at the saree that Maa had neatly folded and kept on my bed. No doubt it was gorgeous-a deep red fabric with golden embroidery shimmering under the soft light of my room. But as beautiful as it was, it seemed like a cruel joke.
This saree wasn't made for me.
Height hi kaha hai meri?
Sarees are for women with tall, graceful figures and slim silhouettes, not for someone like me-short, awkward, and with a body marred by scars that screamed louder than my insecurities.
Lost in my thoughts, I jolted when I felt a pair of arms wrap around me from behind. My best friend, Garima, giggled as she pulled me into a hug. She's my rock-one year older, married to her long-time boyfriend, and glowing with the happiness I've always dreamt of having.
"Kitni lucky hai na yeh?" I thought, stealing a glance at her radiant smile. Kash mein Garima jaise hoti-lambi, gori, slim... But not everyone gets to live the fairytale.
"Kya soch rahi hai? Zara humein bhi toh bataiye, hmm?" she teased, her voice as playful as ever.
I shook my head, holding up the saree. "Kitni baar bola Maa ko ki aisi saree mat do mujhe, par sunti kahan hai meri baat? Yeh saree mere upar bilkul achi nahi lagti."
Garima flicked my forehead gently. "Kisne kaha tujhe yeh? Main bol rahi hoon, tu bohot achi lagegi iss saree mein."
I smiled, but it was laced with sadness. "Joker lagti hoon saree mein... Aur isliye toh paanch ladke already reject kar chuke hain mujhe. Nati jo hoon main."
Her expression softened, and she pulled me into her embrace, rubbing soothing circles on my back. "Acha kiya unhone tujhe reject kar diya, because you deserve better. Woh log tere laayak hi nahi the. Those idiots doesn't deserve you my queen "
Tears welled up in my eyes as her words tried to mend my broken spirit.
"Tu nati nahi hai, Saina. You're perfect just as you are. Tu toh meri pyari si doll hai... my chotu sa cutie pie," she said, wiping my tears away.
Then, leaning closer, she whispered conspiratorially, "Aur tu jaanti hai? Main lambi zaroor hoon, lekin sarees curvy bodies pe zyada suit karti hain. Sexy jo lagti hain."
Her giggles were infectious, coaxing a smile out of me despite the weight in my chest.
But even as I laughed, a voice inside whispered, Agar main perfect hoon toh sab log meri mazaak kyun udaate hain aj bhi?
Before I could dwell on it further, Garima clapped her hands. "Chal ab jaldi kar. Ladke wale aa rahe hain tujhe dekhne. Ready ho jaa jaldi... aaj tujhe aise taiyaar karungi na, woh dekhte hi reh jayenge!"
But deep down, I already knew how this would end. Rejection had become a familiar companion.
I walked into the washroom and changed into the blouse and petticoat. My reflection stared back at me, the ugly scar running from my chest down to just above my belly a harsh reminder of my surgery.
This is why I avoid wearing round-neck blouses, but there was no escaping it today. I secured the blouse with extra pins, trying to cover as much of the scar as possible.
Coming out, Garima helped me drape the saree. She added light jewelry and a touch of makeup, her enthusiasm undeterred.
But I couldn't help thinking, Kya matlab iss makeup ka? Reject toh waise bhi kar karenge.
Flashback:-
My hands trembled as I carried the tray of steaming tea cups. My mother had instructed me to serve it to the boy's family, who had come to see me for a potential match.
I was wearing a beautiful green saree, paired with high heels in a desperate attempt to appear taller. I hoped they wouldn't notice the insecurities as I carried with every step.
As I approached the boy and his family, my heart pounded in my chest. I placed the tray carefully on the table and picked up a cup to serve him first.
But as I handed it over, I was startled by the boy's chuckle.
Confused, I looked at him, silently questioning what was so funny.
With a smirk, he said, "Bura mat maana, par kya tumne kabhi bachpan mein complan nahi piya kya?"
His words stung like a slap, the mocking laughter from his family amplifying my humiliation.
I clutched the end of my saree, willing myself not to cry. Instead, I forced a smile, a brittle facade that barely held together.
Agar mein lambi nahi ho payi toh meri kya galti hain isme??
Flashback ends.
Garima woh log aa chuke hain, Saina ko leke aaja niche- my maa shouts from downstairs.
My heart pounded getting ready for another embaressment and heartbreak.
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