Shanaya

Shanaya

Morning at the Gupta House

The ceiling fan spun lazily above Shanaya's head as soft sunlight entered her study room through the half-drawn curtain. Her desk was messy — filled with finance books, a scribbled diary, black pens, a half-drunk chai, and her laptop screen glowing with a PhD proposal file titled: “Risk Modelling in Real Estate”.

Her glasses slid slightly down her nose as she highlighted a journal excerpt. Her phone buzzed. It was a reminder:

📍 “Webinar – 11 AM: How to Apply for International Research Grants.”

She pushed her loose braid behind her shoulder and muttered,

"Aaj kisi ko bhi disturb karne ka mann nahi hai."

But fate — or maybe mummy — had other plans.

In the living room, her mother stood excitedly near the landline phone. She whispered loudly to her husband,

"Main bol rahi hoon ji haan kar do, itna accha rishta phir nahi milega."

Her father — Mr. Arun Gupta — a tall, quiet man in his early 50s, freshly returned from a site visit, adjusted his specs and replied,

"Dekho Neena, ladki padh rahi hai, PhD ka sapna leke baithi hai. Tumhe har baar shaadi shaadi karni hoti hai."

"Par ye ladka... Bedi real estate waale ghar ka bada beta hai. Samjho zindagi ban jaayegi uski!" Neena said, almost dancing in her sari.

"Joint family hai, bada khandaan, sab sambhal lega."

"Aur agar ladki nahi sambhali toh?" he murmured, but his wife was too far gone in imagination.

"Mummy, meri chai kaha hai?" Shanaya called from her room.

"Aayi beta!" her mother rushed with a cup, but also a mischievous smile.

"Beta baitho zara… ek rishta aaya hai."

Shanaya froze mid-sip.

"Not again, mummy. Rishton ki file khatam kab hogi tumhari?" she rolled her eyes.

"Is baar alag hai. Vo… Bedi family se hai. Bohot ache log hain. Aur mummy kasam… ladka smart bhi hai!" she beamed, holding out a phone with his photo.

Shanaya didn’t even look.

"Mujhe dekhna hi nahi. Mummy, mujhe koi shaadi nahi karni abhi."

She got up.

"Toh kab karegi? Jab dhoop mein baal safed ho jaayein?" her mother snapped.

Shanaya turned, annoyed,

"Main apni degree complete karu pehle. Main koi bhaag rahi hoon kya ghar se? Kab samjhogi tum?"

Just then, her bua (father’s sister) entered the house.

"Shaadi ka rishta aaya hai, aur ladki mana kar rahi hai? Bina dekhe? Shanaya, tum PhD nahi, akal seekho pehle."

Her father sighed from the side,

"Bua ji, zyada bolne ki zarurat nahi. Yeh uski zindagi hai."

But her mother cut in,

"Zindagi hai tabhi toh accha jeevan partner chahiye. Samjhao usse!"

Shanaya’s voice broke a little,

"Main kisi ki zimmedari nahi banna chahti. Apna career sambhal rahi hoon. Please meri life ko drama mat banao."

Her mother tried to act casual,

"Bas ek meeting hi toh hai… dekhegi toh sahi."

"Meeting?" Shanaya turned sharply.

Silence.

"Meeting fix kar di bina mujhe puche?"

Her mother's silence was answer enough.

"Wow. So that’s how much my ‘choice’ matters."

Shanaya's voice was now cold, her eyes moist.

"Main nahi jaungi. Aap log chale jao. Mujhe bas akela chhod do."

And she stormed into her room, shutting the door. Her unfinished PhD file blinked on her screen, but today, she couldn’t type anymore.

Because dreams are easy to chase — until family starts chasing you.