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Coming to Manipur was an impulsive decision to gain some sanity.
I didn’t know the devil of arranged marriage would follow me up there, where the phone caught signal once every 10 minutes. I was trying to call my bestie from Manipur, and was haggling with the intermittent network, when I saw my phone beeping: "Papa calling."It sent chills down my spine, but as a matter of family rules, I answered the call.
My social networks were rife with images of my vacations, friends and family, and he was completely absent from Google. He called Papa and only said, "Thank you, uncle."Papa was a little confused and asked, "Thank you for what? I want to marry her."Next day we were off to his training center in Mussoorie to carry out a small, formal family tradition of "roka."My heart thumped heavily on those curvy, snaky uphill roads. A sharp nose, petite eyes and a broad jaw primarily defined his facial features.
Behind those glasses, I could see purity in his eyes. Now that we are happily and crazily married (we fight 10 times in a week), I can see how an arranged marriage system came to my rescue when I was failing at taking charge of my life.
What I heard from the other end was more than enough to spoil my vacation.
Papa had given my number to a prospective match who might call me anytime.
As a thoughtful reply, I wrote to him in detail that I was a spontaneous and happy-go-lucky girl who was seeking love, chemistry, mutual understanding and a spark.
This probably didn’t answer his questions, so he called me the next day."I sent you an email but you didn’t reply," he questioned."I did.