Arti Pov

As I sat by the window, lost in thought, a memory from my childhood came rushing back, one that always brought warmth to my heart even amidst the chaos around me. It was of Dadu, my grandfather, the one person who truly understood me.

From the moment I could crawl, I would find my way to him, drawn to the magical sound of his veena. He would sit in his favorite chair, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings, creating melodies that seemed to dance through the air. I’d sit beside him, mesmerized, my little fingers trying to mimic his movements.

"Dadu, aap yeh kaise karte ho?" I’d ask, my voice full of wonder.

(Dadu, how do you do this?)

He’d chuckle softly, his eyes sparkling with pride. "Yeh sirf practice ka jaadu nahi, Arti baccha. Yeh dil ka sangeet hai. Tumhare andar bhi yeh hai."

(This isn’t just the magic of practice, Aarti. This is music from the heart. It’s within you too.)

He was unlike anyone else in my family. While Amma and Babuji were busy with responsibilities and expectations, Dadu saw me. Truly saw me.When everyone wished to have a son in their home he would tell me

"Arti bacha, tumhare jaise ladki is khandaan mein pehli baar paida hui hai," he’d often remind me, his voice brimming with affection. "Main hamesha ek beti chahta tha, par mujhe sirf bete mile. Tum mere sapne ki tarah ho."

(Aarti, you’re the first girl born in this family. I always wished for a daughter, but I only had sons. You’re like a dream come true for me.)

He didn’t just teach me to play the veena,he taught me to feel it. He said it wasn’t just an instrument but an extension of my soul. I still remember the day I played my first full melody. His eyes glistened with tears as he clapped softly.

"Arti bacha, tum mein ek khaas rooh hai. Tumhari yeh pratibha tumhe ek din duniya ke samne le jaayegi," he said, cupping my face with his hands.

(Aarti, you have a special spirit. This talent of yours will one day take you far.)

But Dadu wasn’t here anymore. He had left us years ago, and with him, a piece of my heart had gone too.

Now, the veena sat covered in a dusty corner of my room, untouched for years. Whenever I looked at it, I felt the ache of his absence.

"Dadu, agar aap yahan hote, toh shayad meri zindagi kuch aur hoti," I whispered to myself, tears welling up in my eyes."

(Dadu, if you were here, maybe my life would have been different.)

He had always been my anchor, the only one who truly believed in me. Without him, I felt adrift in a sea of expectations that weren’t my own.

As I wiped away a stray tear, I realized how much I missed not just Dadu but the version of myself he believed in,the version that played the veena with joy and freedom, unburdened by the weight of the world.

I looked out of the window, watching the world go by. There was a certain stillness in the air, yet my thoughts raced. Everything around me seemed to be moving,preparations for my wedding, the expectations from my family, and the future that awaited me - but I was frozen, lost in the silent chaos of my mind.

"Yeh shaadi, yeh tayyariyaan, yeh sapne jo mujhe hamesha dikhaye gaye... kya yeh sach mein mere hain? Ya sirf ek aur farz, jo mujhe chhupchaap nibhana hai?"

(This marriage, these preparations, these dreams that were always shown to me... are they truly mine? Or just another duty I’m expected to silently fulfill?)

The thought lingered, heavy and unshakable, as I stared out at the world that seemed so sure of itself.

I could hear my mother’s voice from the other room, sharp and expectant.

“Arti, yeh kya? Bas yahi baith kar? Tumhe apne khala ke saath phoolon ki mala banane mein madad karni chahiye.”

(Arti, what is this? Sitting here like this? You should be helping your aunt with the garland.)

Her words stung, a reminder of my duties, my place. I sighed, the weight of her expectations pressing down on me. Was this really all I was meant to do?

I didn’t answer right away, the words stuck in my throat. I was expected to help, to conform, to carry out these duties without question.

"Ji Amma, abhi jaati hoon."

(Yes, Amma, I’ll go right now.)

Her voice carried the same weight as every other expectation I had to fulfill. It wasn’t her fault; it was simply the world I lived in. After she left, my father came in. His presence was always firm, but there was kindness in his eyes, though it didn’t quite reach my heart today.

"Arti, shaadi ka muhurat tay ho gaya hai. Tum tayaar ho jao, kal sab kuch naya shuru hoga."

(Arti, the wedding date is set. Get ready, tomorrow everything will begin anew.)

The words echoed in my mind. Everything would change tomorrow, but I had no say in it.

I nodded silently "Ji Babuji."

(Yes, father.)

There was nothing else to say. His words felt as if they were meant for someone else, someone more prepared for this life. As I thought about it, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped.

Later, Amma came in again, carrying bridal jewelry, her eyes shining with pride.

"Arti, dekho, yeh kitna sundar haar hai. Tum shaadi ke din bilkul chand ki tarah chamakogi."

(Arti, look at how beautiful this necklace is. You will shine like the moon on your wedding day.)

I didn’t feel like a shining moon; I felt like a shadow, quietly fading away beneath the weight of everything.

I stared at the jewelry, my voice barely a whisper

"Yeh sab... yeh mere liye nahi hai Amma. Main apne sapno ko kaise dhoondh paaungi?"

(This... this is not for me, Amma. How will I find my dreams?)

I didn’t voice this aloud. It was a thought that is too dangerous to speak. I had long since learned to keep my thoughts hidden.

As my father entered again, he gave me a smile that held warmth and pride, yet a part of me could only feel the distance between us.

"Arti, tum bahut sundar lag rahi ho. Tumhare pati tumpar garv karega."

(Arti, you look very beautiful. Your husband will be proud of you.)

I smiled, though the words felt foreign in my heart. I didn’t know who I was supposed to be for him, for this life.

I looking at my father, my heart heavy

"Ji Babuji."

(Yes, father.)

I had no answer beyond that. How could I explain to him that I was losing a part of myself with every passing day? The bride in front of me wasn’t me, it was a version of me created by expectations, by family, by tradition. It was someone I didn’t recognize.

Later, I sat in front of the mirror, the jasmine flowers woven into my hair. I stared at myself, but the woman I saw didn’t seem to belong to me.

I whispered to myself, almost as a prayer

"Kya main kabhi apne sapnon ko jeene ka mauka paaungi? Kya main kabhi apni veena ko phir se chhune ka sapna dekh sakti hoon?"

(Will I ever get a chance to live my dreams? Will I ever dream of touching my veena again?)

The question echoed in my mind, but it felt like a distant hope, one that would never be realized. Tomorrow, my life would change forever. But would it change for me, or for everyone else?

As I stood by the wedding mandap, I could see my to be husband waiting for me. His gaze met mine for a brief moment, and I thought I saw understanding in his eyes, but it quickly disappeared as the ceremony proceeded.

My mind again and again clouded with thoughts

"Main kiske liye je rahi hoon? Apne liye? Ya sabke liye?"

(For whom am I living? For myself? Or for everyone else?)

I wasn’t sure anymore. The path ahead seemed unclear, but I couldn’t help but wonder,was this my journey, or was I just playing a role in someone else’s story?

As the ceremony continued, I heard my father’s voice in the background, louder and more insistent.

"Arti, tumhein hamesha apne pati ki izzat karni hogi. Tumhari zindagi ka asli maza ghar mein hi chhupa hota hai."

(Arti, you must always respect your husband. The true joy of life is hidden within the home.)

The words felt like chains wrapping around me. How could I find joy in a life I hadn’t chosen?

This all feels so unfamiliar... will I ever hear my own voice?"

In that moment, everything around me blurred, and all I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat.