An Auspicious Union -1

 Disclaimer : This story is purely fictional and it has inspiration from many stories that i have read over period of time.

My name is Harinath, and I’m 24 years old, from Guntur in Andhra Pradesh. Today is a very special day for me—I’ve officially completed my Company Secretary (CS) course, and I couldn’t be happier.

I come from a close-knit and loving family. My father, Satyam, works as an accounting clerk in the transport office. My mother, Uma, is a homemaker who has always been the emotional backbone of our family. I also have a sister, Shivani, who recently got married and moved to Bangalore. She holds degrees in B.Sc and B.Ed, and before her marriage, she worked as a school teacher. Since moving to Bangalore, she has taken on the full-time role of a homemaker.

While Shivani’s wedding was a joyous occasion, it brought with it a heavy financial burden. We spent generously, hoping to make it a memorable event for her—and we also believed that income from our ancestral agricultural land would help us manage the expenses. Unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned.

Due to poor rainfall and unexpected legal disputes over the ancestral land among extended family members, the returns we had counted on never materialized. In the end, our family’s share came to only around ₹3 lakhs—nowhere near enough to cover the wedding expenses. As a result, we are now burdened with a debt of around ₹45 lakhs.

Despite these challenges, I remain hopeful. Completing my CS course feels like a major step forward, and I am determined to work hard and support my family through this difficult phase. My parents have made many sacrifices for me, and now it's my turn to give back.

Despite the setbacks, I try to remain optimistic. Completing my Company Secretary course is a significant milestone, and I’m determined to do whatever it takes to help lift my family out of this difficult situation. My parents have sacrificed so much for me—it’s now my responsibility to stand by them.

As I walked home, my mind was filled with thoughts about how to repay this debt. One option is to start looking for a job now that I’m a certified Company Secretary. The starting salary may only be around ₹20,000 to ₹30,000 per month, but it’s a start. The other option—though not something I’m entirely comfortable with—is to consider marriage. If dowry comes into the picture, it could help ease our financial burden. While I don’t personally believe in accepting dowry, the reality we are facing makes it hard to turn it down if offered.

As for me—I’m around 5'4" to 5'5" tall, with very fair skin and shoulder-length hair. I'm quite thin, with a delicate frame and features that some might describe as slightly feminine. In fact, when seen from behind, I’ve been mistaken for a woman with short hair. It doesn’t bother me much—I’ve always believed that what truly matters is what we do and how we carry ourselves, especially in tough times like these.

The moment I stepped into the house, I was warmly welcomed by my mother, who greeted me with sweets, her face beaming with pride. Within minutes, my father arrived home—also carrying sweets—and joined in the small celebration. Soon after, I received a congratulatory call from my sister, which made the moment even more special. It truly felt like a day of joy and gratitude.

With all these emotions unfolding, I decided to visit the Durga Devi temple to thank the goddess for her blessings. Standing there, I felt a renewed sense of hope and began thinking positively about the future—especially about preparing my CV and figuring out what to include to attract good interview calls.

Just then, my father called me aside and shared some unexpected but wonderful news: his company had agreed to offer me a position as a Company Secretary, with a starting salary of ₹18,000 per month. Given our current situation, this was a huge opportunity. Without a second thought, I accepted the job.

Now, it has been almost six months since I started working. I feel I’ve learned a lot and am gradually becoming a valuable part of the company. More importantly, I’ve also begun contributing to my family. Every month, I set aside ₹10,000 specifically for loan repayment. It’s a small step, but it feels like a meaningful beginning toward a more stable future.

A few months later, as a token of appreciation for my performance, I received a bonus of ₹50,000 from my company. To make the most of it, I added another ₹50,000 from my savings, making it a total of ₹1,00,000. I decided to use this amount to repay a portion of our loan at the State Bank of India (SBI), where part of our total debt is held. My goal was to reduce at least the monthly interest burden.

As expected, the SBI branch was crowded—it was a Friday afternoon, after all. I took a token and waited for my turn. Though I could have simply deposited a cheque, I preferred to pay in person. I also wanted to inquire if there was a way to lower the interest rate or possibly consolidate our other loans by shifting them to this branch. Having everything in one place would make tracking and managing the repayments much easier. ( Below is AI Image)

 

 When my number was finally called, the officer at the counter took my documents and then walked into the branch manager's cabin. From where I stood, I could see the officer answering several questions while standing. Inside the cabin, another person was seated. He looked quite young—perhaps in his mid twenties—and carried himself with a sense of quiet confidence. Judging by his appearance, he seemed to come from an influential or well-connected background.

A few minutes later, the officer returned holding a set of forms. He asked me to fill them out, explaining that they required detailed information about all existing loans taken from banks. However, he clarified that loans from private lenders, especially those based on promissory notes, would not be considered.

Luckily, a good portion of our total loan—nearly ₹22 lakhs, which accounts for about 50%—was covered under bank loans, making us eligible for the scheme. He also mentioned that if we consolidated all our bank loans into a single account, the interest rate could be reduced by 1%, which would significantly ease our repayment burden.

I collected all the papers and started walking home, a smile spreading across my face. For the first time, I felt like I was truly contributing to my family—I had just paid off ₹1 lakh of our loan. It felt like a small but meaningful step toward lifting the financial burden, and I was already thinking ahead, planning how to repay the rest of our family’s debts as soon as possible.

Time flew by, and before I knew it, I had completed one and half year at my job. That’s when the thought started creeping in—maybe it was time to look for a new opportunity. I wanted to join an MNC, to grow in my career and secure a better future for myself and my family.

I discussed the idea with my parents, and they were supportive, especially since my sister Shivani was already living in Bangalore. When I told her about my plans, she was thrilled and immediately offered to let me stay with her. But I hesitated as I didn’t want to intrude on their space. I told her, “Let’s see how things go once I get the job.”

So I began applying.Within a few weeks, I received a call from a media company in Bangalore for a virtual interview. Thankfully, my experience at my current company helped, and I cleared it smoothly. They then invited me for a face-to-face round at their Bangalore office.

With a mix of excitement and nerves, I travelled to Bangalore. I stayed at my sister’s house, freshened up, and headed to the interview. It was with the company’s CFO, a man in his mid-50s. The interview lasted about 70 to 80 minutes, and I felt it went quite well. We covered everything from work experience to future goals.

Towards the end, he looked at me and asked with a smile, “Why have you kept your hair so long?”

I laughed and replied, “I didn’t really have a reason to cut it—and no reason to grow it either. It just kept growing, and I let it be.”

He burst out laughing, and just like that, we ended the interview on a lighter, more personal note. It felt like a positive sign.

It took nearly 15 days to hear back from the company in Bangalore—but thankfully, the wait was worth it. I was selected for the role, and my salary jumped from ₹18,000 to ₹50,000 per month. It felt like a huge leap forward—not just financially, but in terms of where my career was heading.

Since my sister’s house was quite far from the office, I started looking for a place of my own. I got incredibly lucky. I found a 1BHK apartment just a short distance from work, and as it turned out, the house belonged to the company’s facilities manager. He offered it to me at a very reasonable rent of ₹7,500 per month. Though it was a bit expensive for me at the time, I felt confident I could manage it with my new salary—and more importantly, it gave me independence and peace of mind.

With this new financial stability, I also decided to increase my monthly EMI payments toward the bank loan. My father, meanwhile, focused on clearing the loans he had taken from private lenders. It felt good to share the responsibility and lighten his burden, even if just a little.

But despite all our efforts, the reality was sobering—it might still take us another 15 years to clear all the remaining loans. It was a long road ahead. Still, for the first time in a while, it felt like we were walking it with purpose, one step at a time.

I had truly started enjoying my new job. The work was fulfilling, and I was receiving genuine appreciation—not just from my immediate team, but even from the board members. My documentation during meetings and the way I handled communication with banks were particularly well-received. In fact, my CFO personally praised me during a team meeting, which was both encouraging and motivating.

Amidst this professional high, my parents began searching for marriage alliances. Although I was still not mentally prepared for marriage, I went along with the process out of respect for them. Deep down, I wasn’t in favor of dowry—but at the same time, I found myself passively okay with it if the girl's side voluntarily offered it. It was a confusing space to be in, emotionally and ethically.

As proposals started coming in, rejections became part of the process. Some were turned down by my sister after meeting the families, and a few were rejected by the girls' families as well

There was one meeting that left a lasting impression—though not for the best reasons.

The girl I met seemed polite at first, but within a few minutes, she bluntly said, "You remind me a lot of my girlfriend."

I was taken aback. Confused, I asked what she meant.

She casually replied, "It’s just your overall look—long hair, no mustache, smooth skin... even your nose is delicate, and your wrists are so slim. Honestly, your body structure—especially your hips—reminds me more of a girl than a guy."

I didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t say it with cruelty, but it still hit hard.

It wasn’t the first time someone had pointed out these features—my sharp nose, small wrists, soft facial features, and slightly broader hips. These were things I had lived with all my life.

So, I brushed it off. Her comments didn’t say anything about me—they only reflected her narrow view of what a man should be

 

This back-and-forth over marriage alliances continued for nearly two months. Some conversations were hopeful, others frustrating, and many just emotionally draining. I had started to take it all in stride, without getting too invested.

Then, one fine day, during a casual phone call with my mom, she mentioned that a new proposal had come in—from Bangalore. She said, “They’re very interested… and they’re even willing to offer a significant amount, if you agree.”

That caught my attention. I asked her, “Is there any problem with them?”

She replied that they were from an extremely affluent and well-respected family in Bangalore. Apparently, even my brother-in-law had spoken to them and given a positive impression. Mom went on to say that the middleman who brought the proposal couldn’t stop praising their social status, wealth, and humility.

Then came the surprising part—she told me they had already seen me twice. Once in Guntur, and once again in Bangalore.

I was stunned. Who are these people? I tried to recall if I’d met anyone who might fit the description, but nothing came to mind.

What struck me even more was how long the call went on—almost 30 minutes. It’s rare for my mom to talk that long on the phone, and her tone was unusually soft and thoughtful. She also mentioned that my sister Shivani was very happy about the proposal, which made me feel like this was something the whole family was taking seriously.

I asked, “What about Dad?”

She simply said, “Your father said the decision is yours. He’ll stand by whatever you choose.”

Toward the end of the call, she hesitated for a moment—then added, “The middleman who brought this alliance… he’s somehow connected to one of the private lenders we know. And now they’re insisting that we arrange a meeting with the family.”

I was curious but calm. “So what’s the issue?” I asked.

There was a long pause on the other end.

Then, after much hesitation, my mother said quietly, “They want you to come to their house… not as a son-in-law, but as a daughter-in-law.”

It felt like the silence on the line had a weight of its own. My mind went blank, yet it was racing at the same time—like trying to catch your breath after a sudden fall.

Come to their house as a daughter-in-law?

I didn’t give her an answer right away. I told her I needed time to think.

Later that evening, my phone rang. It was Shivani.

She didn’t waste time.

“Hari… I need to talk to you before Mom tells you everything.”

Her voice carried a seriousness I hadn’t heard in a while.

“I already know,” I said quietly. “About the alliance… and that they want me to come as a daughter-in-law.”

She paused, then said, “Okay, then let me fill in the blanks. I’ve spoken to the boy. His name is Vimal.”

That name meant nothing to me yet. But her tone said it soon would.

“He’s from a Jain family,” she continued. “Quite a wealthy and respected one here in Bangalore. They’re a bit orthodox in their community, but within their immediate family, there’s a lot more understanding than you’d expect.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Orthodox… but they’re okay with their son marrying a man?”

“That’s the surprising part,” she said. “Vimal came out to them a few years ago. It took time, but eventually, they came to terms with it—privately, of course. They’re quietly accepting their son for who he is, within the limits of their social world.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Then she added something that caught me completely off guard.

“And you know what else? Vimal has seen you before. Twice.”

My heart skipped slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Once in Guntur, and once here in Bangalore,” she said.”

I went silent, trying to replay every moment I could remember—when, where, how.

“He saw something in you,” Shivani continued. “Your calmness, your softness, your presence. He said you had this quiet dignity that stayed with him.”

I didn’t know what to do with that. I wasn’t used to being looked at that way—seen that deeply.

“Shivani… this is too much,” I said, my voice low. “Why didn’t anyone ask me if I was even okay with being considered like this? With being seen this way?”

Then she added, “Look, all I’m asking is—just meet him. Not for marriage. Not for commitment. Just one conversation. Hear him out. And decide for yourself, not for Mom, not for Dad, not for anyone else.”

Then she added one last thing, almost like a whisper:

“And Hari… if someone like Vimal, raised in a conservative Jain family, has the courage to choose you, don’t you think you at least deserve to know why?”

That line stayed with me long after the call ended.

The next evening, Shivani and I boarded an overnight bus to Guntur.

She had quietly booked the tickets without saying much, just sending me a message:
"Bus at 7:45 PM. Majestic. Volvo sleeper. Bring a light jacket."

That was it.

We met at the bus stand, exchanged a small smile, and got on board. Our berths were side by side—mine by the window, hers on the aisle. As the bus pulled out of the city and the lights of Bangalore started to fade behind us, I looked outside and let my thoughts drift.

For a journey that was about something so big, so personal, we spoke very little.

Aside from asking whether I had eaten, or whether the AC was too cold, or if I had an extra charger cable, Shivani didn’t bring up Vimal. Not once. And I didn’t ask.

There was a strange kind of comfort in that silence. It wasn’t awkward—it was just… respectful. She knew I needed space. And I knew she was giving it to me without making it obvious.

At one point during the night, I glanced over and saw her asleep, her head resting lightly against the seat wall, arms folded across her chest. For a moment, I felt a deep sense of gratitude. Whatever was waiting for me in Guntur, I wasn’t walking into it alone.

The hum of the bus, the occasional streetlights streaking past the window, the faint sound of someone's ringtone a few rows down—all of it created a kind of stillness that made me turn inward.

I kept thinking: What do I even say to someone who thinks he's in love with me? What if I don't feel anything? What if I do?

But I knew there were no answers yet.

We reached Guntur on Saturday morning, just as the first light was beginning to wash over the streets. The bus rolled into the depot with a gentle lurch, waking Shivani. She rubbed her eyes, looked at me, and smiled.

“Ready?” she asked softly.

I nodded. Not because I was ready. But because I was already here.

 

After we reached home, I took blessings from my parents. Mom smiled and blessed me, but Dad didn’t say anything. I could see he was confused and lost in his thoughts.

After breakfast, Dad asked me to come outside. We got on his bike and rode to a nearby pan shop. He stopped, lit a cigarette, and asked, “Hari, do you smoke?”

“Sometimes,” I replied.

He bought a Classic Mild, and I took an Ice Burst. This was the first time Dad smoked in front of me, and I smoked in front of him.

After a few puffs, Dad spoke in a soft voice, “Hari, I’m sorry for all this trouble. I took loans hoping to get a bigger share of our family property. But my brothers cheated us, and now this burden is on me.”

He added, “No one is forcing you to accept the marriage proposal.”

I asked, “What did they promise?”

Dad said, “If we agree, they will clear all our loans with interest. They will also give us a house in Bangalore for me and your mom to live in.”

I held his hand and said, “Don’t worry, Dad. Let’s meet them and see what they want.”

He nodded. Then I asked, “When will they come?”

“Tomorrow,” he said.

Later, I told Dad, “I will leave for Bangalore on Sunday evening. I haven’t applied for leave.”

Dad looked at me and I felt he understood that I was not ready for this marriage.

 

With that we both reached home and after breakfast I had good sleep. When I got up, it was almost 2.30 PM. By that time, both mom and sister finished their lunch and Dad was in office. And it seems Dad didn’t came back from office. Normally Saturday is half day for him. I totally understood his thoughts. With so much difficulty, I finished my bath as I had lot of fatigue with thoughts across and then I had good lunch made by mom. After lunch, Shivani my sister took me the room and then mom followed me. And then mom holded my chin and told me that for tomorrow my decision will be final and don’t worry about anything. With this, I got little happier. And then Shivani mentioned that her friend will be coming in tomorrow early morning to do some make up for me.

I was surprised as to why make over is required. Then with hesitancy, Shivani mentioned that Vimal and his mom will be coming tomorrow and they want you to be dressed in saree only. But after so much of requests from mom and sister, I accepted for it. With out any choice left in my case, I decided to go with the flow. But I clearly told them I have lot of work to do on Monday in office and hence will be leaving on Sunday evening. Then Shivani mentioned that even Vimal will be leaving towards Bangalore on Sunday evening and I can go along with them. My irritation is going to next level, but I continued to control my anger.

Shivani showed me two sarees one in blue and other in yellow saree. She asked me to choose one. I looked at my mother. Then my mother understood my doubts and she kept both sarees on my shoulder and then at last she selected yellow colour saree.