Dear Society

Dear Society,

I know my eloping has caused quite an unpleasant hullabaloo in the otherwise monotonous lives of Sanskrari Nagar.

You had envisioned me marrying Mr. Das's son because his family owns a large coconut oil company. Business-wise, I have to admit—you were spot on. Unfortunately, the fact that I'm not a commodity seems to have slipped your minds.

Had I not already spent five years with Charizad and fallen in love with him for all the right reasons, I might have considered the arranged marriage. Charizad is funny, confident in himself, and has a clear conscience. Not to mention the sexual chemistry, which, I believe, is rather important too.

One thing I never understood is how you—the very people I've looked up to all my life—could be devastated by my relationship with a Pokémon I genuinely love and disguise it as concern, while simultaneously celebrating the beginning of a sexual relationship with someone none of us know on any meaningful level.

I'm sure this is only the beginning, considering how the entire village pestered my sister into having three children with a wife-beater. Have any of you ever noticed how downcast she looks?

The data-analyst aunties did mention that more love marriages end in divorce than arranged marriages. What they failed to mention, however, is that love marriages revolve around a strange new concept called CONSENT.

This magical little thing called consent allows people—women included—to make decisions for themselves. So, when something isn't working, they choose to leave and move on, unlike many arranged marriages, where marriage is treated as a lifelong contract that must be honoured until death, regardless of happiness.

I'm not trying to convert anyone. I simply thought I'd take control of my own life for a change.

Please don't try to find me. I'm safe and writing this from Priya Lodge.

Charizad had actually planned to fly me home himself (he has wings) and hoped to stop by the reception first to seek all your blessings.

I, however, decided to skip the drama...

...and booked an Uber instead.

Yours sincerely,

Laila