26/10/2025
The Ledger of Love
By Nikunja Babu — a father who believed love could be counted in rupees
You know what's funny about life? We spend years building our world, thinking we're in control. Then one day, reality slaps you so hard that you realize — you never were.
Let me tell you about Nikunja Babu. Middle-class government clerk. Decent salary. Respectable family. One daughter — Mrinal. His whole world.
Nikunja Babu wasn't a rich man. But he wasn't poor either. He was that guy stuck in the middle — enough to dream, not enough to fulfill those dreams without going broke.
When Mrinal was born, he looked at her tiny face and made a promise. Beta, I'll give you the best wedding this town has ever seen.
Classic Indian dad move, right?
The Wedding Budget
Mrinal grew up. Beautiful girl. Kind heart. The type who'd water plants even during exams. But in our society, a daughter's qualities don't matter as much as her father's bank balance.
When the marriage proposals started coming, Nikunja Babu felt his chest swell with pride. His daughter was getting attention from good families!
But then came the real conversations.
"Nikunja Babu, your daughter is lovely. Now, let's talk about the arrangements..."
Arrangements. That's the polite word for dowry.
Every meeting was the same. Tea. Snacks. Compliments about Mrinal. Then the bombshell — gold, cash, furniture, electronics. The list never ended.
Nikunja Babu smiled through it all. "Don't worry, everything will be arranged."
Inside, he was dying. His savings? Not even close to enough.
The Love Trap
But then he met them. The Bhowmick family. Educated. Cultured. The son, Ramesh, worked in a good company.
"We don't believe in dowry," they said. "Just give what you can afford. We want your daughter, not your wealth."
Nikunja Babu almost cried. Finally! People who understood!
He went home and told Mrinal, "Beta, I found the perfect family for you."
Mrinal looked at her father's happy face and nodded. She trusted him completely.
The wedding happened. Simple. Beautiful. Nikunja Babu gave what he could — some jewelry, some cash, basic furniture. Nothing extravagant. The Bhowmicks smiled and said it was more than enough.
Mrinal left home with tears in her eyes, hugging her father one last time.
"Be happy, beta," Nikunja Babu whispered.
She would be. She had to be.
Right?
The Real Game
Three months later, Nikunja Babu got a letter from Mrinal.
Short. Formal. Everything is fine, Baba. Don't worry.
But he knew his daughter. Those words screamed the opposite.
He decided to visit.
When he reached their house, something felt off. The warmth was gone. Mrinal smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. She looked thinner. Tired.
"How are you, beta?"
"I'm fine, Baba."
I'm fine. The biggest lie ever told in Indian households.
During dinner, the atmosphere was cold. His son-in-law barely spoke. The mother-in-law made passive-aggressive comments.
"Must be nice, Nikunja Babu, sending your daughter with so little. We had to buy everything ourselves — bed, cupboard, even kitchen utensils."
Nikunja Babu's throat went dry. "But... you said you didn't want—"
"We said we didn't demand. But there's something called dignity, isn't there? Other families give so much. But I suppose everyone has their... limitations."
The word hung in the air like poison.
That night, Nikunja Babu couldn't sleep. He heard sounds from the next room. Mrinal crying. Quietly. The kind of crying you do when you don't want anyone to hear.
His heart shattered.
The Accounting
The next morning, he pulled Mrinal aside.
"Tell me the truth."
She looked away. "Baba, please—"
"TELL ME."
She broke down.
They taunted her every day. Compared her to other daughters-in-law who came with cars, fridges, lakhs in cash. Called her father a miser. Said she was a burden they graciously accepted.
Ramesh? He said nothing. Just watched. Sometimes he'd defend her weakly, then go silent when his mother glared.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Nikunja Babu's voice cracked.
"What would you do, Baba? Sell the house? Take more loans?" She wiped her tears. "I'll manage. It'll get better."
But they both knew it wouldn't.
The Breaking Point
Nikunja Babu went back home and did something crazy.
He sold everything. The furniture his father left him. His wife's jewelry. Took loans from everyone he knew. Pushed himself into debt so deep, he'd probably never come out.
He bought everything they wanted. Gold. Cash. A new bed. A fridge. A TV.
He packed it all and went to their house.
"Here," he said, emptying the bags in their living room. "The debt is paid."
The mother-in-law's eyes gleamed. She didn't even pretend to refuse.
Nikunja Babu looked at his daughter. Mrinal was staring at the pile of gifts with empty eyes.
This wasn't victory. This was surrender.
"Happy now?" he asked them.
No one answered.
The Cost
On the train back home, Nikunja Babu felt hollow.
He'd given them everything. But he knew — it would never be enough. Next year, there'd be another demand. Another insult. Another round of "give and take."
That's the system. You keep giving. They keep taking. And in the middle, a girl suffers silently, believing it's somehow her fault.
Mrinal had written to him once after that: "Don't worry about me anymore, Baba. I'll be fine."
But he knew she wouldn't be.
Because this story doesn't have a happy ending.
This is India. Where we worship goddesses, but treat daughters like transactions.
Where love is measured in gold.
Where a father's worth is calculated in his ability to pay up.
And where a girl learns to smile through her tears, because that's what good daughters do.
Dena Paona. Give and Take.
The cruelest equation ever invented.
And we all play along.
Every. Single. Day.
