The bride and the bathroom

Pic Source It was my 23rd visit. From having exact specifications like the centimeter thickness of the hair, I’ve drastically expanded my category to any female above 23 and below 28 years of age. I am thirty-one, with a diploma degree, a house under my name, some killer mechanic moves, and a brand new car that came second-hand thanks to the December Chennai rains. To modern standards, am more than qualified for a good looking town girl from a middle class who has completed her 12th standard or better, has a college degree. My parents started the bride hunt almost two years back, and it was all fun and frolic in the beginning. I remember my mom rejecting the first ever girl saying she had a crooked nose. From then we’ve gone through fat, small eyes, yellow teeth, no money, no own house, not enough jewelry and every other damn thing we could ever cook up. I laughed along with her back then. Not anymore. My cigarette gang started receding rapidly and last of my patience left me when my friend the bald headed Vinayagam got married. For God’s sake, I still had hair on my head. I drove my car through the empty road, deeply lost in thought, not bothering to look at the lush green fields that engulfed the surrounding area, or listen to constant chatter that happened...

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