Marriage? Hmm. It used to be an intriguing topic—until I turned 25, 26, and found myself becoming a part of it. For the longest time, I dreamt of finding the right person, getting married in a typical Tamil ceremony, creating memories together, attending weddings as a couple, going on vacations, having a child or two, growing old together—you know, just the usual. Growing up, marriage wasn’t something I ever discussed with my parents. They never initiated the conversation, and I wasn’t keen on bringing it up either. The only thought that would occasionally cross my mind about marriage was this: I didn’t want to marry a Tamil boy. Now, you might ask why. I have my reasons. Mainly, I’ve never been exposed to Tamil boys who I found attractive or intellectually stimulating. The ones I did know never seemed to be my type. That was the primary reason I never felt drawn to them. Also, I’m not very religious, so the idea of marrying into a Tamil household—where I might be expected to participa...
I found somebody who can love me at my worst. Who clicks selfies with me when I'm sleeping with my mouth wide open I found somebody who loves my strawberry thighs, Who has a super cool yet dramatic family just like mine, I found somebody who is ready to learn an alien language because why not, Who is my reel and real boyfriend, I found somebody who travels kilometres apart to have a cheese grill w me, Who sings like nobody is watching, who flexes sticky notes, I found somebody who shares his birthday with Big B and is super Bollywood than him, Who loves beaches and couldn't care less about it because things he loves are just as infinite as his love is, . . . I found somebody who can love me at my worst.
Dressed in a bright orange bodycon dress, with subtle makeup, my hair all over the place but in a sexy way, not-so-large hoops, and the perfect gold studded heels, I looked my best. This was a lowkey family dinner to celebrate a very special someone's birthday. We chose a pan Asian restaurant and were seated as couples across from each other. My boyfriend called for a screwdriver, Aunty and I had pina coladas on our mind and Uncle called for rum. The drinks were in various colours and the waiter was a little too confused. He was under the assumption that the boys won’t call for a yellow colour screw driver drink, nor would they drink pina coladas. In a confused state, he served the drinks. Through the course of the dinner, we exchanged smiles, he asked me several questions, took my feedback, and clicked a few pictures for us. It was time to pay the cheque and leave. Our very naive waiter slid the bill next to Uncle and just casually walked away. Sexism exists, yes but why ig...
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