Despite all the clashes, misunderstandings, and arguments, we were still holding on—to each other, to hope, and to the dream of becoming one. The journey from engagement to the wedding day spanned over nine months, and though our love continued to blossom, something subtle had begun to shift. It was like walking on a path filled with both blooming flowers and hidden thorns.
We were still performing the remedies advised by the pandit ji, trying to keep our bond sacred and our path smooth. Things seemed to be going fine until one day, our fathers coincidentally met at a temple. Their casual meeting soon turned into a serious discussion to finalize the wedding date. After consulting with the same pandit ji, they agreed upon 1st February 2014 as the auspicious day. Alongside this happy decision, came another conversation—one that planted another seed of discomfort.
Talks began about the scale of the wedding, the arrangements, and then came the topic of dowry. My father-in-law, while appearing generous, made a subtle demand, saying, “We aren’t asking for dowry... but during Milni, at least 11 gold rings should be there.” Milni, being a traditional ritual where male relatives from both sides greet each other, was now being monetized. When my father asked for clarification, he was told clearly—11 gold rings.
My father, trying to avoid any immediate confrontation, simply nodded and said, “We’ll discuss it later.” But Raman’s father took that as a yes, setting expectations that were never agreed upon. Though my father was a respected doctor, we came from a modest background. Eleven gold rings were a big deal for us—not just financially, but ethically too.
Amidst all this, one day, Raman and I planned to meet at a restaurant. Wanting to impress him, I chose to wear a modern western outfit. But as he stepped out of the house, his mother suddenly decided to accompany him. When they arrived and saw me, her silence said everything. In their traditional family, my attire was not acceptable. She didn’t say anything at that moment, but the awkwardness filled the air. Raman and I wrapped up quickly and left.
Later that day, Raman called me. There had been an argument at home. Although he didn’t directly express it, he told me gently to avoid wearing such clothes in the future. It hurt, but for the sake of peace—and for Raman—I agreed.
Time passed. In December, wedding planning resumed in Raman’s household. During a family conversation, the topic of Milni and the 11 gold rings resurfaced. They discussed it as if it was already confirmed. Raman, being aware of my nature and our family’s principles, had a doubt. He called me, confused and concerned. When I asked my father about it, he clarified everything. “I never agreed to it,” he said. “This is not a promise—it’s a demand.” He also expressed his growing doubts about the hidden greed in my in-laws’ hearts.
Without any delay, I requested my father to talk directly to Raman’s father and clarify that we were not comfortable with such expectations. He did, firmly yet respectfully.
But what followed wasn’t peace. Instead, it added another dent in my image within Raman’s family. They began to see me as someone who would challenge their rituals and question their traditions. For them, I was a girl who wouldn’t stand for their “respect.” For me, I was only standing by the values I had grown up with.
This incident didn’t just stay between the elders—it came between me and Raman too. He didn’t express it openly, but I could feel a shift in his tone, a hesitation in his words. The excitement of our union had begun to be shadowed by expectations, societal burdens, and ego clashes. And so, yet another seed of misunderstanding found soil in the middle of our love story.
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