satire: And they Lived Happily Ever After

 

(These days, the way newlywed brides vanish with their boyfriends right after the wedding…)

  

Something’s definitely off in our system. Earlier, such things were rare gossip; now, they’re practically breaking news every other day—someone’s wedding gone wrong, someone murdered, someone eloped. Betrayal and poisoning seem to have gone wholesale. Forget pre-marital affairs—now extra-marital ones are treated like casual Friday at the office. This chalta hai (it’s okay) culture, once limited to missing deadlines or skipping work, has now profoundly entered the sacred institution of marriage. Nobody knows when or how it happened—but here we are.

 

So, in one state, a grand wedding took place. The family celebrated, the band played, the guests stuffed themselves with biryani, and everyone thought—finally, peace! According to tradition, the bride went to her parents’ home a week later for what’s called the customary short visit. But after a few days, she decided that home was overrated—and bolted with her old boyfriend. Gone like a deer, or perhaps a doe—swift and silent.

 

Naturally, her parents were distraught. What would people say? What would they tell the in-laws? The horror of it! Still, being law-abiding citizens, they rushed to the police station. Because, you see, in modern times, not filing a report can get you in trouble. Why didn’t you report it earlier? the police will ask—and before you know it, you’re the one under investigation.

 

There’s an old saying about dealing with the police in our land: Neither friendship nor enmity…keep distance.

So off they went, trembling and embarrassed, to file the report. The police sprang into action. A few calls and little more efforts and soon they had a lead. Because, as everyone knows, you can hide love only as long as your phone battery lasts. Eventually, it pops up—loud, bright, and traceable.

 

Through their network of informants, the police learned exactly where the lovebirds had flown and at what time. Phones were put under surveillance, and within a week, both Romeo and runaway Juliet were caught and brought to the station.

 

The police called in the bride’s parents, who wisely called the groom too—after all, transparency is important in such joint ventures. Everyone arrived, tension thick in the air. The bride calmly declared unambiguously that she preferred her old lover over her new husband. Then, in a display of pure accounting brilliance, she returned all the gifts and jewelry. Accounts settled. Gold and silver might dazzle others, but her heart was priceless—and already occupied.

 

The police watched the scene unfold like spectators at a reality show. Both were adults, so technically no crime had been committed—except, perhaps, against good sense.

 

The groom, surprisingly, didn’t shout, didn’t fume, didn’t even blink. He just smiled faintly and said, “Honestly, keeping such a bride is life threatening. Who knows when she’d buy a blue plastic drum and cement. I’m just glad my life is saved. As long as my head’s intact, wedding turbans can always be found.”

 

And with that, he walked away—a free man, a wiser man, and perhaps the happiest of all three. And that, dear readers, is how—they lived happily ever after.