They passed each other at the traffic signal. One, stylishly clad in short kurti and jeans, her hair tied up in a ponytail, a bag dangling from her shoulders and funky jewellery adorning her neck and forearms. Her ears sported long chandelier-like trinkets, dragging her ear lobes a bit. She looked like a fresh flower, full of fragrance and good cheer. Riding a bike, inviting admiring glances from others, she looked a diva! The other one, sat in the back seat of an expensive car. She wore salwar kameez and loads of jewellery. Her hair, neatly tied into a plaint gave her the appearance of a young girl who has dressed up for an occasion. Her entire being spoke of opulence and the vehicle itself was a high end one.
No red vermilion adorned their hairlines, signifying their non-marital status. The girl on two-wheeler dreamt of her boy friend, who was reluctant to turn into her husband. He always gave the excuse of not having enough money. She earned well no doubt, but would it suffice when they married and had kids? His money was reserved for his sister's wedding. Could she not wait for a few more years? Were not the cuddles and stolen kisses enough for her? She cringed at the memory of his biting, cruel words and as the light turned green, her eyes met with the one in the car. Somewhere, they connected and both smiled.
The other one silently thought of the rich brat her family chose for her. His only qualification was that he was a scion of a large business family. No class, no romance, only money. How could she want more? Did she want to marry the salaried guy next door and struggle all her life? Just because he wrote poetry and claimed that she inspired him? Didn't they just buy him off to make her forget the gentle embrace both had been in? She cringed at the crass effect of money and as the light turned green, her eyes met with the one in the car. Somewhere, they connected and both smiled.