Chapter 5: Dowry, Desperation, and Betrayal

My relationship with Ritu grew warmer by the day. Being with her made me especially happy; I finally felt the wonder of love. The only regret was that Ritu was very traditional—even if it was just the two of us alone, I could only hold her hand. She said she wanted to save the most beautiful moment for marriage, so I could marry a complete wife.

She would blush beetroot red if I so much as brushed her hair behind her ear. In our world, such things mattered. “Mummy says a girl should come pure to her sasural,” she’d say, and I’d nod, half-amused, half-moved by her innocence. Her values seemed old-fashioned, but they were part of her charm. There was something almost sacred about the way she guarded her heart.

Regretful, but also touching.

I’d tease her—“So, I’m your first and last, haan?”—and she’d punch my arm, then quickly look away, pretending to be angry. Sometimes I felt frustrated, but mostly I was grateful. She made me want to be a better man, to build something real.

When I was feeling stifled, I started watching Meera again. She didn’t have many customers, but there was quite a variety: old men with white hair, young guys even younger than me. The price was always 6,000 rupees, cash only. That thin man came often, and Meera was only tender and affectionate with him. Counting it up, Meera’s income was much better than my exhausting grind. I was a bit jealous, and also a bit contemptuous.

I’d watch, a strange mix of anger and envy boiling in me. Six thousand a client, and they came like clockwork. She always wore the same pink pyjamas, the same mask of sweetness. The thin man—Kabir, I later learned—got all the special treatment. I’d shake my head, muttering, “Duniya mein sab ulta hai, yaar.” What did my honesty get me? Just more bills and empty evenings.

Another month passed, and Ritu finally let me kiss her. She was very nervous, closed her eyes and didn’t dare open them. She solemnly told me, she would marry no one but me in this life.

It was awkward, full of giggles and apologies. She clutched my shirt like a schoolgirl, her eyes squeezed shut, mumbling, “Bas, abhi stop karo na!” But when she finally said, “I’ll only marry you, no one else,” I felt like the world had shifted. For the first time, someone wanted only me.

I was thrilled. I always thought someone like me could never get a girlfriend, couldn’t imagine a cute girl would take the initiative to say she wanted to marry me.

That night, I lay awake, grinning like an idiot. Even the old guard downstairs noticed—“Beta, kya baat hai, badi khushi mein lag rahe ho?” I just shrugged, happiness bubbling inside me. It was a feeling I’d never known before.

Then she told me she had already told her family about us. Her parents were farmers and not talkative; the marriage would be handled by her elder brother. I immediately said I would treat her well, listen to her brother, and live a good little life together.

I imagined a simple wedding, maybe a small pooja at home, Ritu in a red saree, her brother glaring at me but finally nodding his approval. I promised her on the spot, “I’ll be the best son-in-law, you’ll see.”

That time, she kissed me first and hugged me for a long time in my arms.

Her arms were warm around me, her eyes shy but full of hope. I felt like the luckiest man in the world.

Two days later, her brother called her, and she handed the phone to me. Her brother said he fully supported our relationship, as long as I treated Ritu well, they would accept me as family. The only condition was a dowry of 1,88,000 rupees. Once it was ready, I could come propose.

His voice was rough, like someone who’d spent years shouting across fields. “Bhai, ek hi baat hai—1.88 lakh le aao, phir shaadi ki baat pakki.” He wasn’t rude, just matter-of-fact—the way things are in most Indian villages. It didn’t surprise me. In our country, even love comes with a price tag.

Ritu saw my embarrassment and said the village standard was 2,88,000, and her brother had already reduced it by 1,00,000. This money would all come back to us after marriage, as startup funds for our little family.

She tried to cheer me up, “Arrey, don’t think of it as dowry, na. Bhaiya will return everything after we marry. It’s just for show, you know how people talk.” Her words tried to soothe, but I could see her worry. She held my hand and squeezed it, as if that alone could magic up the money.

1,88,000 rupees—not much, but I didn’t have it. My parents were in poor health, and we had no savings at home.

I counted my own bank balance, which barely scraped five digits. My parents were always calling from home, worrying about my health and my jobless future. How could I ask them for such a huge amount?

I returned to my flat, lost, and sat in front of the computer for a long time. It was already winter, and even though it was noon, the room was freezing.

The cold crept into my bones. I sat staring at the faded blue wall, shivering, my cracked feet tucked under an old shawl. The distant sound of kids playing cricket in the gully only made me feel more alone.

“Clack...” A soft closing sound rang out again.

It snapped me out of my daze. The sound was almost comforting by now, as familiar as my mother’s voice on the phone.

Annoyed, I leaned close to the wall hole and heard Meera say, “How long has it been since you came? Did you forget me?”

Her voice was sharp, tinged with impatience. The old Meera was gone—this was someone tired, on edge, desperate for reassurance.

“Business had some problems, so I came as soon as I had time. During this time, no other men came to you, right?” the man asked.

Kabir’s voice was thin, suspicious. I could imagine his eyes scanning the room for clues, the way men do when they don’t trust their own luck.

Meera was stunned, slapped the man, and pushed him away hard. Instinctively, she covered her cheek with her dupatta and shrank away, eyes glistening but refusing to meet his gaze.

“In your heart, I’m still a prostitute, right?” Meera said, disappointed. “Go, never come to me again.”

Her words came out brittle, like glass about to shatter. The pain in her voice was raw, a hurt that went deeper than anything I’d heard before. She turned away, crossing her arms over her chest, fighting back tears.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” The man rushed up and hugged her. “I love you too much. I don’t care about your past. Honestly, I feel unworthy of you. I just want to be with you forever.”

Kabir’s words tumbled out, desperate and clumsy. He clung to Meera as if she were the last solid thing in a world gone mad. His love sounded like an apology he’d been rehearsing for years.

Meera softened and hugged him. The man began to kiss her, tore off her clothes, and they fell into their usual rhythm.

Their bodies moved together with a familiar urgency, the kind that comes from old wounds and older habits. The TV in the next room played a sappy love song, its melody winding around them like a broken promise.

Thinking that Harish Bhaiya was downstairs tossing his kadhai and greeting customers, while his beloved wife was upstairs in a frenzy, the feeling was extremely complicated.

I felt a strange mix of pity and disgust. The thought that, while Harish Bhaiya served steaming matka biryani to hungry customers, his wife was upstairs in another man’s arms made my skin crawl. Yet, I couldn’t look away.

Soon, they calmed down. Meera leaned in the man’s arms like a little girl.

She curled up, her head tucked under Kabir’s chin, her hair falling in messy waves. She looked small and tired, like someone who’d spent her whole life waiting for a safe place to rest.

“What happened with your business?”

Kabir sighed, his fingers tracing circles on Meera’s back. “Things are tough, yaar. Not enough capital, too many people demanding their cut.”

“I want to start my own thing. There’s a really good opportunity now—guaranteed to make several times the profit. But... I’m still short on funds.”

Kabir’s voice was hopeful, eager. It was the same tone you heard from dozens of young men hustling on the trains, selling dreams and cheap wristwatches.

“How much?”

“At least 2,00,000 rupees. Of course, the more the better.”

Kabir’s words hung in the air, heavy with expectation.

“I’ll give it to you.”

Meera’s answer was immediate, almost reckless. She squeezed his hand, determination flickering in her eyes. It was as if she was offering not just her savings, but her very soul.