Still Unmarried

“And when will you marry?” A thousand disapprovals danced beneath his words.
“When you find me a suitable suitor.”
“Give me your requirements.” He scrambled for pen and paper.
Rolling my eyes I listed; “Tall, handsome, wealthy. Doctor, lawyer, or engineer.”
“At your age,” he said, “isn’t sapience enough?”

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A Suitable Bride

 

The cacophony of clamouring cars, inching and nudging slowly forward assaults my ears.  Poised pluming tendrils of dust and diesel fumes lurk in wait for any exposed airways.  I pull the edge of my sari tighter across my nose and mouth, then flick it over my head to cover my ears.  An arm snatches out, grabs my elbow, and yanks me sharply backwards away from the barrelling lorry, horn blaring, tattooed in garish yellow-red-blue paisley prints, sign in three foot letters announcing its ownership.

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