An Unusual Marriage : Part 1 — The Train Journey.
The train moved with its usual soft rhythm. Golden evening light came through the window where I sat. For the first time in many days, I felt I could breathe properly. My husband had mentioned that his mother was saying that I should wear a Mangalsutra. “If a woman is expected to display the symbol of marriage,” I had said, my voice calm but firm, “then the husband should do the same. Why don’t you wear a mangalsutra too?”
Ours is a love marriage. My husband would pacify me saying that his mother was old fashioned. I am a social media influencer and regularly post videos and pictures of myself. These days it is common to find women of my age modeling on social media.
Today was different, though. For the first time while traveling, I had hesitantly chosen to wear a glamorous outfit in public: a soft pastel saree draped low on my hips, paired with a sleeveless maroon blouse featuring a deep U-back. My neck was bare, and my open black hair fell freely over my shoulders. It was a look that always earned thousands of likes online. Today, I wanted to own it offline — a woman who had stopped asking for permission to look how she wanted. How would I be an actress if I felt so body conscious ?
I felt the man sitting in front looking at me. He had a notebook open, but he was not writing. His eyes kept returning to me. His gaze was steady — not crude, but clearly admiring. I remembered my mother-in-law asking me to wear a mangalsutra. My fingers drifted upward, tracing the hollow of her collarbone, moving instinctively toward the spot where a heavy gold Mangalsutra should have rested against my skin. The sudden, empty lightness there made her pulse spike.
Across the aisle sat a man in a crisp blue shirt. I knew he had been watching me intently but I purposely chose to ignore him.
After some time the man in front of me, spoke.
“Hello, I’m Akbar Gandhi. Sorry for my curiosity… I overheard you speaking about the film industry on the phone. You have the presence of a woman who truly belongs on screen.”
I smiled nervously and brushed a strand of hair from my face. “ Thank you. I’m a social media influencer and have a large following. I do some modelling too. “
We began talking. He asked about my work. I told him I was on a break and had just returned from Bangalore after meeting a prospective bridegroom for a second marriage.
Then he said something that surprised me.
He said that he is looking for a new subject to write a story for an upcoming movie. He chose to write about the changing nature of women’s liberation. He wants to write about an independent woman who makes a career in the movie industry and the challenges she faces at home and in society for her choice to have a live-in relationship. He is desperately looking for inspiration to write his story. His words struck me deeply. He said that a producer has asked him find the cast for the story.
“I have been approached to work in movies but my relatives ensured that I did get through.” How I wished I had the freedom to do what I always wanted I thought.
I look to my left. The man in a blue shirt sitting on the aisle seat found an opening and said to Akbar. “Gandhi Sir, it is good to know you write for the movie industry. Things are changing fast. Woman power is growing. But for many men, it feels unsettling.”
Akbar was interested to know more about me but he shared his view that women in this age are not limited to the kitchen. They are financially independent and make their own choices. He said that many women are now making a career in acting or on social media. Beauty contests and modeling enhances the confidence of a woman.
His words settled quietly inside me. For a moment I thought of my mother-in-law’s constant remarks. How different it felt to hear the opposite.
“That is… rare to hear,” I said. “Most men still carry the old measuring sticks. You don’t sound like someone who is afraid of a woman’s independance and her choices.”
I stood up to go to the washroom. My navel was now facing him on eye length. I could feel his eyes piercing me and i fought the urge to adjust my saree. Although I modeled, I was still not at ease to carry myself in the real world and it bothered me. The only way to grow bolder is to practice boldness, my friend Maya often said.
I could sense that both Akbar and the man in the blue shirt were watching me intently now. I walked the way I had learnt to walk — unhurried, with the natural sway of my hips. I clearly felt uncomfortable but words of Maya comforted me, “There is a certain pleasure in being desired as a woman in her prime, without shame.”
I am in my early forties. I know the presence I carry. Broad hips, a richly curved body, thick black hair falling over my fair shoulders, and a face that has grown stronger with age. Why should i be apologetic of my attractiveness ?
My mother-in-law would stare at my open long hair and say, “ In our time, a woman leaving the hair open like that meant an open invitation to other men. ” Her words had made me angry and I often fought with my husband Rajesh. He would say that he doesn’t mind my open hair but i should tie them up in his mother’s presence. Ironically, my husband, Rajesh, was the one who initially trained me to highlight my physical assets for the camera. Rajesh acted as both my photographer and director.
I had trusted him because he had once been my greatest supporter. He helped me choose outfits, took my photographs, edited my videos and encouraged me whenever I doubted myself. In the reflection, I remembered the days when Rajesh step up close behind me. He would brush my open hair while I looked into the mirror. He lifted it gently from the nape of my neck, letting the cool, dark strands slide through his hands before deliberately brushing the entire glossy weight forward over my left shoulder. By spilling my dark hair across my chest, he left the smooth expanse of my back, my bare shoulder, and the long slope of my spine completely exposed.
He would leaned down, his warm breath stirring the fine hairs near my ear as he rested his hand softly against the curve of my hip. Looking straight into my eyes through the mirror, he smiled a low, knowing smile. “Look at you, Sneha,” he whispered, his voice thick with admiration. “You look absolutely delicious like this… so captivating. Mark my words, the moment we post this look, the internet is going to lose its mind. It’s going to garner a mountain of likes.”
In those posts I appear glamorous — good lighting, nice outfits, confident poses. I have worn stylish, low-back, and even bold blouses many times during my modelling assignments. But since his mother started staying with us, things had changed. Whenever his mother criticised my work, he no longer defended me. He would remain silent, then later suggest that I should avoid upsetting her.
At home, the atmosphere had become suffocating. My mother-in-law never stopped commenting on my choice of clothes. Even the smallest details turned into heated debates. If my blouse was sleeveless or cut low at the back, she would scoff, “A married woman shouldn’t dress like this. Whom are you trying to attract?”
My husband used to never complained about my modeling until his mother arrived. In fact, he encouraged me. Why would he not ? I was the bread winner of the family after all. My social media gave us a good income but my ambition was to become an actress.
“She is not a little girl anymore, Rajesh. She is a woman. A full-bodied, mature woman. “ The mother-in-law’s voice hardened slightly, shedding its initial pretense of gentle concern. “The blouses she wears… they are too open, beta. Too much skin, too much… attention.”
To create reels, me and my husband had always searched for secluded or private spaces to escape any embarassment. We had gone shopping for this saree together and he had himself got this blouse stitched. He said I look very flattering from those angles, especially in low-back blouses.
On the platform, Older men sitting on wooden benches paused mid-conversation. Their eyes didn’t just glance; they lingered, tracking the line of my bare shoulders and the long curve of my back left exposed by the wide U-cut. Near a tea stall, a group of young boys and teenagers froze. Their chatter dissolved into overt, unabashed staring, their gaze fixed on my full-bodied silhouette and the unapologetic confidence in my posture.
I could feel the heat of every eye on her skin. I could sensed my husband Rajesh walking behind me — tense, uncomfortable, his eyes darting nervously toward the crowd as he realized just how visible his wife was to the world. He was feeling the shame his mother had drilled into him. But I felt no shame.
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Every linger, every ogle, every wide-eyed stare from the men around me became a piece of evidence. It proved that my beauty was powerful, undeniable, and entirely my own. I bore their intense scrutiny not out of helplessness, but as a deliberate act of defiance against the domestic cage my mother-in-law had built for me — and against the husband who had let me be locked inside it.
Looking at my instagram, I saw some fresh comments and private messages on this very outfit. while returning to my seat. Lately, I have been reading them with interest. Reading comments from strangers — ranging from tasteful aesthetic praise to explicit flirtation — has taught me what exactly captures masculine attention.
When I returned to my bogie , the broad, fair expanse of my back was now clearly visible to Akbar — from my shoulders down to the soft curve of my waist and the full swell of my hips. My body was shivering with a strange electric feeling clearly knowing that he was attracted to me.
I noticed that man in the blue shirt, sitting on the aisle seat, was watching everything. He was staring at Akbar and looked dumbfounded. I wondered if could sensing my nervousness and a strange attraction towards the stranger.
After I settled on my seat, the man in the blue shirt asked Akbar if he would marry a woman from the film or modelling world. I realised that Akbar was single.
Akbar answered without missing a beat. “Absolutely. A confident, independent woman is irresistible. I am only attracted to bold women who do not fear judgement. “
The rest of the journey passed in lighter talk and it slowly calmed my nerves. While we were getting down at the station, a young man in the crowd deliberately passed her palm over my bottom. It was quiet a bit of a shock. Akbar was watching me and stepped forward quickly.
“Sneha ji, let me help you with your luggage.”
The boy disappeared. I was upset, but thankful to Akbar. He insisted on carrying my suitcase. In the crowd, his shoulder brushed my bare arms and his hand briefly touched my fingers making me conscious again. Most passerby were staring at me and it felt strange again. The man in the blue shirt was following us closely behind.
Then Akbar gathered courage and clearing his throat, said, “ Snehaji, I am single and am thinking seriously about marriage. “
After a brief pause he said, “ During the whole journey I was wondering how amazing it would be if I can be lucky enough to visit your home for a marriage discussion with your relatives?”
I stopped, surprised and shocked. “ Excuse me, do you mean you want to visit my home and meet my relatives ?” Why am I asking him this, I asked myself.
Akbar replied, “ Yes, I feel its destiny that we met. Won’t it be nice to meet again ? I don’t know what you think of me but I have been thinking about how nice it would be to visit your home to see you as a potential bride for me ever since I saw you in the train. “
I looked behind to see the man in the blue shirt stepping forward at that moment. “Akbar ji, You have already met my relative Rajesh. The man sitting with us in the train is Rajesh — my husband. “ I felt a bit awkward at the sudden proposal but also had a sense of satisfaction at the outcome.
Taking the cue, Rajesh came forward and shook hands with him and replied, “ Hello, I am Rajesh, her husband. I wasn’t introduced properly.”
Then he said the words that ended the misunderstanding. “ I am a marriage counselor and run a matchmaking business and I think you are looking for an early marriage. We had gone to see a prospective bridegroom for Sneha’s friend Maya who works in the movie industry. I feel Maya is a good match for you. ”
Akbar’s face changed at once. Shock and guilt appeared clearly. I could clearly see that he knew that my own husband had clearly watched him stare at me all throughout the journey.. I recalled glancing at Rajesh and seeing him fidgeting with his hands while akbar was freely staring at my navel and my open back. I wondered what had driven me into this madness. Was it destiny as Akbar mentioned ?
Akbar shook Rajesh’s hand awkwardly. He quickly said goodbye and disappeared into the crowd.
I stood there with Rajesh. He stared at my bare neck indicating that the stranger’s interest in me was due to the absence of a mangalsutra. It did make me anxious and embarassed for a while but i also felt good at my own courage. I had proved my point. I wanted to make sure he regretted arguing with me.
“What was he saying to you?” Rajesh demanded as we hailed an Uber.
I replied in an upset tone unwilling to respond, “He wanted to visit our home as a prospective bridegroom to see me as his potential bride. Since you are in the match-making business, why don’t you arrange for this to happen ?”
He asked, “ So, you are saying this just to make me angry or you really meant what you said ? “
I looked him dead in the eye, feeling an empowering surge of clarity. “Your mother constantly accuses me of trying to attract other men just because of how I dress,” I said calmly. “And you stay silent while she insults me. What’s wrong if I let her worst fears play out for a moment? I am an attractive, independent woman, Rajesh. If I wanted to find someone else, I clearly could.”
Recently, under his mother’s influence, Rajesh had started quietly undermining me — going so far as to support her in secretly rejecting an offer I had received an audition for a lead role in a web series role without telling me.
As we sat in the Uber, I thought about the whole journey. A man had proposed marriage to me, during this trip in front of my husband. It was just the script Akbar was looking for. Ours was not a conventional family. My husband happily helped me wear my heels for my photoshoot and edited my videos.
The same person who encouraged me in modeling was now obstructing my career due to his mother’s instigation. If I can get Akbar interested to write my story, I might as well be cast in the lead role. As Sneha sat quietly, an intriguing thought began to take shape in her mind. What if a man were invited into a married woman’s home, not merely as a guest, but as a prospective bridegroom — with her husband himself welcoming him and participating in the conversation?
She almost laughed at the unconventional nature of the idea. It was an extraordinary situation, full of irony, emotional complexity and unexpected possibilities.
This could make a fascinating storyline for Akbar’s script, she thought, smiling to herself. Perhaps our own unusual circumstances could inspire a story that nobody would dare to tell.
Please share your thoughts on this chapter.
