The other factor

She sits at her desk, tired and stressed. And unsure. This was so not how she had planned to go about this, but when does life grant anyone that simple pleasure?  She has just finished praying and is waiting - the intentness building up. Her stomach feels like jelly and her head is hurting, the fever is on the rise and her breathing is shallow, the open window lets in the cool morning breeze, she shivers and blinks at twice her normal speed as she wonders if she is truly ready. The inaudible prayers on her lips don’t stop, she wants His blessing in this. 

She can conjure up a thousand different reasons for her unsteady heart, and her wavering hands – she hasn’t been keeping well, she’s got other worries on her mind, she’s dealing with family issues, she’s not prepared enough, it’s her first exam with this institute, she wants more time, she just wants to do well, all the above – she is the queen of excuses, but she knows she’s just pacifying herself and it doesn’t do much good.

 Because she’s given enough exams, enough interviews, and been enough times on stage to know this is just routine to her, only stronger in the essence that this is now, because no amount of experience or confidence or preparation actually helps with the anticipation. Because it’s never really the same.  

She stares at the screen, just a click away from that exam she’d been so eager to give, but right now, she is in two minds. And she can’t comprehend why. She’s prayed and prepared and studied most of the night, she’s done everything she could. This was the end of her rope, she would normally just go ahead and pick the cards, let fate decide the rest.  Apparently not today though.  

She closes her eyes as her silent prayers become nearly vehement. She wants to hold them in, but they spill out anyways, irrational fears push stronger and the fruitless anguish burdens her. She would give anything to be able to get a grip on herself. Her tears are for the ease of the exam, for her to have the benefit of her knowledge, to experience contentment of the cause she’s serving. She spills for the parents she feels she’s burdening, for the teachers she feels she has let down, for the turmoil in her heart regarding her knowledge, for her lack of action on it, for the friends she fears she’ll lose, for the burden of the sins, for hope of forgiveness,  above all for herself – for not being strong enough.

She feels a warm breath on her, that smell or perhaps the familiarity of that smell engulfs her. She feels a hand on her head, the hand that has always been a guide, the hand that has worn itself out raising her, the hand that has caressed her so many times, and the very touch is a blessing. She realizes how terribly she’s missed it and she almost leans into the comfort of the touch. She doesn’t want to seem unstable or indecisive, she’s grown up and mature and doesn’t need taking care of. The touch heals her nevertheless. She sits up straighter in protest, and a kiss is dropped on her head and that feeble heart is steady and her fingers aren’t shaking anymore, she’s taking deeper breaths. The determination takes hold. 

She wants to linger in the moment because it’s been a while since her mom has shown such blunt affection. She knows her mother’s prayers are always with her, but in this moment she has experienced the fleeting mirage of being loved, and it reminds her of days gone by when she was not so much of a burden upon them.  Her tears dry up and she thrives in that loving gaze and she feels confident. It lifts her spirits. It makes her smile. The dawn seems beautiful – she says one last prayer – for her parents.

She clicks that button she’s been staring at for the past half an hour.

And she hopes it goes well.

Justified

She doesn't understand why her mom is becoming like this. She hopes its not her fault. She tries to think if she has done something wrong, but she can't recollect. After the baby was born mummy had been going through a very common cause of post partum depression and unknowingly let of all the steam on the helpless 4 year old. It scared her, kind of, every time mummy overreacted for something small. But it was ok since mummy always made up for it later with longer goodnight stories and butterfly kisses and even chocolates before bed. Sometimes she wonders if it's the baby's fault - she loves that baby brother of hers and its hard to imagine that bundle of tears and softies doing anything wrong. But it's ok because at the end of the day mummy still kisses her goodnight like always. 

She cries, not because mummy scolded her but because she doesn't understand which rule to follow. She only talked rudely to the uncle because he was teasing her brother. It was bad of him to do that - but mummy said that you must always respect elders. But mummy also said to always watch out for the baby brother , to never let others trouble him. And that she took more seriously than anything else. It was the most mature thing she could do at that age.  But it's ok because mummy explains the matter later to her in clear spelt words. 

She's not happy when mummy and daddy announce another baby coming in a few months. She remembers what had happened the last time there was a baby in the house. Not to mention the distribution of the already reduced minimal attention she craves from her parents. But her parents seem very happy so she thinks it will be ok just like last time.

The day the baby comes she is super depressed because mummy has already been in the hospital for 2 days now and she hates the friends house she and her brother have been staying, just because it's not home. She had also been praying fervently for a sister but daddy said it was another brother so she wasn't very happy about it either. Still she decides its ok because there is nothing she can do about it.

She's even more irritated when she finds out the baby is colicky and that the doctors had to cut and stich up her mum's entire tummy when the baby was born. She worries that mummy will not heal so she helps as much as a 9 year old can. When mummy shouts and over reacts and more than occasionally neglects she understands it's because mummy is in a lot of pain. She starts helping in the kitchen and vacuuming and she tires faster than before but it's ok because she over hears mummy telling her friends that her daughter is an angel. It makes her happy to know that she is useful and can help her mummy. She smiles because she thinks now she is all growed up. 

She can't sleep at night because the baby wakes up wailing. She names the baby Dino because the baby starts crying with the loudest vocals she has ever heard- just like a dinosaur. One day when mummy is really tired, Dino wakes up and starts roaring. She tiptoes into the hall where mummy has quite literally fallen asleep. She doesn't want to bother mummy so she goes and picks up Dino and he's soft and smells of baby powder and it touches a cord in her memory and just like that she starts rocking him and humming and walking around the room inspite of mummy's constant reminder that she must only sit with the baby in her lap. And when Dino stops crying and starts smiling she feels great and she knows he is never going to be Dino again because this moment has made her the big sister again - Just like the last time she had a baby brother. And all the work she does and the tired she feels is worth it because when she turns around with a rocking baby in her arms she expects mummy to shout at her for being reckless , but mummy has tears in her eyes as she kisses her and says your brothers are lucky you are their big sister.

She's upset when mummy is trying to teach her something in the kitchen and is getting restless. She can't learn the way mummy wants to teach and mummy can't teach the way she wants to learn. She is growing up and she and mummy have more than just a few strings out of place. She feels like mummy has become distant to her, she feels doubt and rebellion take root in her heart - but she knows it's not mummy's fault, its her own hormones so she shuts her mouth and doesn't answer back a word no matter what mummy says or does - even though in her head she enacts out a completely different scenario. She wonders if things will remain the same by the time her hormones are normal. There are times when she thinks that she will never grow up and be like her mummy - But it's ok - for now - because she has learnt to maneuver around her mummy - be invisible except when needed.

She sees her mummy through a series of health issues and is always by her side. And she is the one who has to face mummy's mood swings. Obviously it stings but she knows it's a psychological issue with most people who have health troubles. Sometimes she wonders if it really is the hormones or if it is just the fact that mummy needs to let out the frustration-you know like mind over matter, taking control of your actions instead of allowing the hormones to rule the head. She says it's ok because in her religion a mother is the one deserving the highest degree of respect regardless of how the mother behaves with you. And really she loves and adheres to that concept like her life depended on it.

Now that she has really 'growed' up and she and mummy have had the ultimate heart to heart girl talks and complete chic-flick moments and now that she knows the story she calls her mom's life, she understands - better than ever before - that she has all along been the punching bag, in essence, the rock in her mummy's life. It makes her feel humbly great, or greatly humbled or something like that. All those times, all the hurt, she thinks was ok because atleast it spared her brothers from the wrath she faced, because were they in her place they would not have been strong about it, they would never have been patient enough, it might have broken their family apart.

She understands her mom's words now - just like angels never doubt God's judgement or decision, regardless of how they feel, they follow orders, they do not question and above all they love their master relentlessly - she had been mummy's little angel - in every sense of the word. She thinks back and tears fill up her eyes because she thinks of how imperfectly perfect it was - it almost trips her by surprise - and because there is another secret she will never share. She had mummy all to herself before those brothers were ever born and mummy had never been as sweet as that or as loving as that to either of them - because she will always be the first child, the first joy in their lives, the first answer to their prayers. She was given attention and love and pampering for so many years more than her brothers and nothing - absolutely no amount of hurt she faced the rest off her life and none of that attention she desired but never received - will ever compare to those times when she had her parents all to herself. She remembers vividly the treats, the piggyback rides, the caressing, the kisses, the goodnight stories, the tickling fights, the fussy eating, the long drives to the places they wanted to show her,  the pride in their acknowledgement of her- she remembers her parent's laughter from those days, their touch, the way they smelled, the things they did - everything. Sometimes she thinks these memories she has of her parents from before life lifted its fairytale facade over her, memories her brothers will never have, the things she knows about them, the way she has seen them - they are a loaded diamond mine that she will never share not even with her brothers. Maybe it makes her selfish but her secrets with them - they are hers to keep, and try as she may she could never completely explain to her brothers  these memories - & they make up for everything she feels she missed out on later.

And now when she thinks back on her life - she realises her life wasn't just ok - it was justified.

and that is why he loves her

He tossed and turned again, the sound of the cat - helplessly meowing in the chilly night - it was hurting his ears. Then it grew quiet outside. Just as he almost reached the threshold of deep sleep it started again. It pained him to be able to hear the cat. He wished he could turn a deaf ear but the meowing kept haunting him. He opened the window and squinted as his ageing eyes tried to find a cat probably stuck under a car or something in the empty night.

He put on a woollen cap and went into the kitchen closing the bedroom door behind him & turned on the light in the kitchen. He turned around to check that the light was not by any chance lighting up his room, waking up his wife. She hated to be disturbed while sleeping. He took out a plastic bowl,  wide but shallow and a half full bottle of milk.

When he reached the door, she crept up behind him and said Pappa where are you going at this time. He smiled like a little boy off on an adventure and said come with me I'll show you. She ran into her room quickly and wrapped her blanket around herself and came out.

Together they left the house stealthily like thieves in the night. They went down three flights of stairs and came upon the main road just in front of the building. His eyes squinting again as she looked at him surprised beyond wonder. Pappa it's so cold - what are we doing out here- the excitement evident in her voice. Ssh he whispered can you hear a kitten?  She nodded no her brows almost colliding into each other as she strained her ears,  closing her eyes.

And then as if they had called out to the kitten it mewed. They followed the sound across the road to under the pile of cartons someone had thrown from their balcony. He handed the bowl and bottle over to her and quietly lifted the big cardboard boxes one by one and voila - there was the feline damsel in distress. She looked barely a week old. He cautiously moved his hands towards the kitten as his daughter held her breath in anticipation. The kitten had been separated from its mother too early to understand how to judge the people's actions - Just a scared little baby out alone in the big bad world. Her heart felt sorrow for the kitten as she tried to claw at her father's hands. But he picked up the kitten despite its fruitless struggling and motioned to his daughter to follow him. Can you carry a small carton with that bowl princess? He whispered to her. Why she questioned but didn't wait for an answer- her own excitement was rising high.  They crossed two more roads in the silence of the night and reached a little vegetable shop. He asked her to put down the cartoon and placed the kitten inside it along with the bowl. Why here Pappa? She asked in a whisper - because speaking out loud felt like invading the silence of the night (and because nobody speaks loudly on secret adventures - you have to be discreet). Life insurance for the cat he winked as he whispered back to her. The owner of that shop loved cats more than his own life - he would be incapable of letting go of a weak lonely kitten and he would certainly take good care of it.  She smiled as it all made sense to her tired little sleepy brain. He was still staring at the meek kitten - she shivered in the cold. He took off his woollen cap, picked up and placed the kitten inside it and then set it down again. They waited a couple of minutes until the kitten warmed up and instead of staring at them started drinking the milk. They had just walked a few steps away when the kitten mewed again - they turned around to see the kitten standing up staring knowingly in their direction - and like offering a solemn thanks she nodded and settled down again in the cap.

By now the drowsiness took over her and she almost dozed off while standing. Her father picked her up and wrapped the small blanket tighter around her petite form and carried her home. All the while she was contemplating how heroic her dad was - just like the valiant kind generous strong knights in the books - who gave compassion and humanity more value than their own comfort - the kind her second grade homeroom teacher had said didn't exist anymore - only she now knew they did.  It made her smile to imagine her dad like a knight - it would be funny in today's world. Nice dream I suppose - he teased her as he put her down carefully in her bed and she half opened her sleepy eyes and kissed him goodnight for the second time tonight, holding his rough hand in her two small ones and said Pappa this is why I love you.

His heart soared into the heavens as it did every time he heard those words, those sacred words spoken with innocent intensity. For moments like these-for those butterfly kisses, for that smile on her beautiful face - he would slave away at that dreadful office,  for his daughter to have all the happiness in the world - he would put up with his devil of a boss.

For every jolt of joy he receives when he sees his daughter rise up, for every time she shows her childlike maturity, for the tide of emotions that drowns him when her eyes light up with laughter, for every silly prank she plays, for every single time she reminds him of himself, for every time she becomes an image of her mother, for the pride that illuminates his heart when she comes first in her class, or when she takes a decision or even when she learns something new, for the grief that kills him when he sees tears in those big curious eyes, for the fear he had never known before but feels so strongly now when he sees or hears about the evil in the world, for the responsibility that overcomes him when she holds his hand while crossing the street, or climbing the bus or when her expectant ever-curious eyes search for answers in his,  for the moments between the minutes when he winks at her and she giggles, for these kind of secret adventures they have - for that feeling of contentment, for that peaceful beating of his heart in the knowledge that he has been the world's bestest father as she likes too put it, to always remain the bestest father in the eyes of his princess - he would do any thing,  he would move heaven and earth if he could for her. He would fight all the demons within, he would never slip into his past, for her he would be a better person ,for her he would give his all.

In that one second he is burdened by all that he feels, experiences - but like the weight of the wings - the burden lifts him - allows him to fly.

And that is why he loves her. But instead of telling her all that - he plants an affectionate kiss on her forehead and says may all your dreams come true. His every isolated heartbeat- a prayer for her.

Acceptance Series 2

I'm fat, I'm thin, I'm short, I'm tall
I'm deaf, I'm blind, hey aren't we all?
Don't laugh at me, don't call me names
Don't get your pleasure from my pain
In God's eyes we're all the same
Someday we'll all have perfect wings
Don't laugh at me.

(mark wills – don’t laugh at me)

She didn’t want to go to the party, but there wasn’t really a choice. She was shy, not just because she was new but because she just could never muster up the courage to open up easily in front of people she didn’t really know.  That’s how she’d been all her life and the reactions she faced made it even worse for her to ever showcase her confidence or her talents, or even her feelings for that matter.

Today was the sophomore day in her new college, just a few blocks away from her home. After being in an all girls school shifting to a co didn’t appease her at all but her parents thought it would do her a great deal good to experience a mixed crowd.

The theme itself was so silly – fairytales. A non-existent superficial kiddish theme she thought. Was not college supposed to be a maturing experience, a place to broaden your perspective, learn to, well, make mistakes and learn - a fairytale themed party to welcome  a new journey seemed really cocky to her. Nonetheless she dressed up, and took a ride to the party with her dad. He wished her luck. Of course she would need it.

The instant she entered she knew it was going to be a hell ride for her. She hated parties and this one was no surprise. Young minds trying too hard to be cool, Muscle and skin revealing dresses in the name of high-class (& low-morale), music to deafen anybody,  dancing that would put some of the prostitutes in town to shame, and of course the bullying- nothing that she was ready for. Juniors all around had come in groups to be able to tackle the seniors, not that it made a difference, but it gave you moral support. So she looked for a group large enough to hide her, she could just sit behind them and pretend to be a part of the gang. She just didn’t want to be targeted again, every time she went to a new place, it was all she prayed – to not be noticed, not because she couldn’t face anybody, had that been the case she’d be dead with burdened humiliation, but she had survived enough of it to last her a life time.  At home and outside.

It wasn’t long before a bunch of hunks came over, eyeing her, she pretended to be talking over the phone, but they weren’t buying it. Why try to intimidate when you are not even interested, she wondered.

The washroom, she thought would be safe, of course what guy would have the guts to walk into a ladies washroom right? At any rate she didn’t want to be embarrassed on her first day itself.

She got up and made her way quickly towards the washroom, as quickly as she could anyways. People weren’t moving enough for her to pass through. 

She rushed into the washroom only to face déjà-vu. The other girls looked her up & down and talked in whispers about the log that had just entered. Or did they say hag? She pretended not to hear, but it was obvious by their looks. Some things don’t need telling, they are expressed much better in actions than in words, by the way you roll your eyes or by the way you smirk, or laugh.

She waited a few minutes and then decided to go home, her parents would say it was all her fault, she had not tried mingle with the crowd, or that she brought this reaction from people upon herself.

“Try to make friends, I’m sure you will find other healthy people to befriend. See if you are fat & others make fun of you, can we say something to them, no, because you are a little fat. Why don’t you try to do something about your weight, what can we do about it, we can only tell you? It is your fault people look at you the way they do.  Nobody will marry you if keep bloating like this. When I was your age i was barely 20 kgs. I don’t want to hear anything you are going to this college, see if you are so much bothered about your weight, then you have the time to lose it.” 

 And it was in rebellion that she refused to do anything about it.  Why should she be bothered? If people were so shallow to not want to befriend a fat person, if they could not see beyond her round belly, then she didn’t want friends like that. If it took her a lifetime even, to find one person who would not judge her for her figure or rather lack of it, she would wait & make friends only with someone deep enough to value human emotions. 

As soon as she left the party hall she was surrounded by the same four guys, wasted to the extent of almost losing their senses, she tried to squeeze out from between them but given her generous size it was not possible, panic engulfed her, she didn’t want to make a scene by screaming, she didn’t want to be molested either, she didn’t know what to do.

Move aside. it didn't come out how she wanted it to but atleast it didn't stay in her voice box.

Why sweetheart? We are doing you a favor no one else in their right mind will even think of. You should be grateful to us.

Words – they are capable of shattering anyone’s confidence.  And suddenly she seemed to have lost them. She couldn’t form a straight sentence in her mind, her voice started deserting her and her eyes began to flood. Hell she didn’t want to cry in front of them – it would only give the sadistic bastards more pleasure. Adrenaline pumped faster than her blood for all the wrong reasons, and she felt scared, like hell.  One of them decided today was his day to be bold, and placed a sick hand on her cheek. All her anger, fear, pain, every possible resentment leapt out of  her, like a hungry predator hunting his prey,  only this leap sounded like a slap.

Her hurt, his disgrace stamped across his disgusted face.

And then he came. 

He didn’t have to say anything, all he had to do was just glare, after all he was the hottest & the richest player in collage – no one messed with him. He had it good - muscle and money. The goons froze, and blabbered some incoherent rubbish.

Her hand was still shivering from the impact and she needed fresh air. She walked away as fast as she could, he followed her.  She sat down across the grounds on the edge of the pool and dipped her legs in.  Water always had a calming effect on her. She needed calming more than anything else, now that the tears had started.   He sat down beside her, keeping a distance. He knew decent girls like her needed space and he respected that – a lot.

She found herself lost between the anger she felt at the shallow minds the bloody world was filled with, the insecurity she felt with him sitting right there and looking at her and the gratitude she felt for his sudden rescue. She allowed herself one single glance at him, though her eyes stayed long enough to be called a stare.  He wasn’t looking at her with sympathy or with disgust, he looked kind of sad. She was most certainly surprised.

This is one of those planned jokes, where he will try to befriend me and later will make fun of me with his own gang and tell me this was one whole planned drama to make me look like an idiot. I must not talk to him. No matter what he looks like. He had to be one of the spoilt brats, couldn’t be anything else.

She stood up to leave, he looked at her as if about to ask something, but stopped. He smiled a genuine smile. She decided to walk faster to avoid a change of mind. When she reached the gate, she looked back, for some unknown reason and she saw him still sitting there, head buried in his hands, and her purse.  Curse luck.

With a lot of conscious effort she turned off her over-working mind and went back to pick her purse up. One more look at him and she lost resolve.

Thank you. For helping me out.

No worries, Its ok. Had there been anyone in your place, I would have done the same thing.

Yes but had there been anyone else in your place, they would not have done the same thing.

He looked up to face her properly

In that case you are welcome. I’m  Roshan . And you are?

I am extremely grateful and tired right now.

Well miss extremely grateful and tired, let me inform you, I am not what you are thinking I am.

You don’t know what I think of you.

I can see it, and I hate being judged. You think I’m a rich spoilt brat, used to getting whatever I want, probably one of the worst characters around, but I’d like you to see that’s not who i am.

Well, I don’t go around making friends where I know there is potential for hurt. I’ve gotten enough of that to know where to keep my distance.  Just because I’m fat doesn’t mean I need sympathies.  I’m fat not disabled- there is a difference.  I don’t need more people assuming that they are doing me a favor that no one else in their right mind would.  

 So ?

So we don’t have to be friends, I can make friends on my own and if not then I can be happy on my own, I don’t need shallow minded losers for friends. 

What have I said or done that makes you think I am shallow?

She knew she was letting her insecurities get to her, perhaps it wasn’t right to be so judgmental of others, and she didn’t have an answer to his question either.  

 Nothing, yet.

Then when I do you can stop being friends ok? Which I highly doubt anyways. So you are ?

Reluctance, insecurity and precariousness later, she replied .

Dia.

acceptance series 1

The Same Room

My fingers trembled as I held the pen, I was so sure of what I wanted, I  had fought family and friends, my own morals and values to be here, then why were my hands shaking as if their very existence was at stake? His hand gently held my other, and it gave me all the strength I needed. I closed my eyes - I could only see my mum’s tear-stained face, my dad’s terror, my family’s shame at their daughter’s deed.

They say when your life is near its end, you see everything like a movie and the thing / person you care about the most is the most vivid image in your mind. My life was hardly near its end yet it felt like I was about to choke to death, people I had loved, trusted and still did with all my being, would hate me from now on. A range of emotions battled within me – hope won. I had to take a stand for myself, it was time, I opened my eyes and whispered “sorry mum, sorry dad”. I signed as fresh tears escaped my eyes. 

I can assure you running away from home is not as easy or romantic as the movies make it look like. Sure it’s exciting- the rush, the adrenaline, the joy diluted with pain- it’s just about  as tiring as it can get. Yet I just lived a dream, right now i stand as a wife, officially a wife.  “I’m in love with this courtroom”- it’s all i can think of. The man I love beyond reason placed a seal on our love with this marriage. I know all the wrongs and rights associated with “running away” but, hey I’m an adult and I have every right to take my decisions myself-esp about who I want to spend the rest of my life with. My parents can’t force me to change who I am for a guy of their choice. 

People walk in and out, the sky is clear , just like my mind – in spite of the turmoil I feel oddly at peace. Everyone looks so remote here, no one smiles, no one bothers. We don’t come here  for “legal help” , we are here because we want our right, our freedom, we are here because it matters so much in our lives. Were it trivial we wouldn’t be here, But the people in the court are barely aware of how much it matters to us, for them it's just another day at work, they become so immune to their job that they hardly place any emotional value to the events.    

My now husband's car is parked a few blocks away so I decided to wait outside on the stairs. I sat down and across the road I saw a little girl holding her mother’s hand, her mother gently tugging her along, she saw the ice-cream vendor and planned her deal. She begged for ice-cream, her mother refused and tried to talk her out of it but she persisted- getting a little stubborn moving her hands wildly and leaving her mother’s hand and running towards the ice-cream cart.

That image, that moment will never leave my mind;the parting of hands. Even in childhood, we leave our parent’s hand when they don’t agree with us, just like we do when we grow up, and eventually, like always our parents will come around. Or so we hope.

She fell down, her mother forgot the world and rushed to her, kissed her little head, bought her an ice-cream, took her hand and walked on - if I had given my parents enough time, perhaps if I had been stubborn, would they have come around? Maybe they will. It gives me hope more than I can ask for. It feels like the universe is sending me a signal that my parents too will accept me one day. 

I want to tell that mother to never leave her child, to never say no to anything she asks for, to never put her in a situation where she will be forced to break her own heart and their trust. I want to tell her to give her the freedom of choice as she grows. Tears slip away again, they just seem to need a reason even in my current state of ecstasy. 

Then I noticed her, even with tears in her eyes, she smiled at me – thank god for a human here, I smiled back. Her eyes show so much of love lost, she could be very young, perhaps just a few years older than me, but her face seemed like she’d seen a bad storm, Like a gambler who had put her hope and trust out in the open, rolled the dice and lost it - a young divorcee. I wonder if that is me in a few years time. That smile, that look seemed to be telling me to change my decision and run back home, that I’m wrong. But it was already too late.

Ironic isn’t it I just started my story in the same room where another girl’s probably just ended.

My fingers trembled as I held the pen, I was so sure of what I wanted, I had fought family and friends, my own morals and values to be here, then why were my hands shaking as if their very existence was at stake? His hand gently held my other, and it gave me all the strength I needed. I closed my eyes - I could only see my mum’s tear-stained face, my dad’s terror, my family’s shame at their daughter’s deed.  

They say when your life is near its end, you see everything like a movie and the thing / person you care about the most is the most vivid image in your mind. My life was hardly near its end yet it felt like I was about to choke to death, people I had loved, trusted and still did with all my being, would hate me from now on. A range of emotions battled within me – hope won. I had to take a stand for myself, it was time, I opened my eyes and whispered “sorry mum, sorry dad”. I signed as fresh tears escaped my eyes. 

My dad’s car was parked a few blocks away so he told me to wait at the stairs outside courtroom.  “He” passed by me and didn’t even look back. There was a time he would never leave without looking back and blowing me a kiss.  That was then, this was now. Going through a divorce is probably one of the toughest things a girl can undergo.  It’s like trying to escape a black hole, the more you walk out, the more you get pulled in. It is still beyond my understanding how can you love someone so much to promise to be with them with forever , and yet in times of need fall back on that only hope a  girl survives on. How can you not muster up the courage to defend the girl you love, in front of others? How much do you expect a girl to change just because she is your wife now? How can you defame her like that, how can you be so intimate with her and forget all of it and ask for a divorce.? 

People walk in and out, the sky is clear , just like my mind – in spite of the turmoil I feel oddly at peace. Everyone looks so remote here, no one smiles, no one bothers. We don’t come here  for “legal help” , we are here because we want our right, our freedom, we are here because it matters so much in our lives. Were it trivial we wouldn’t be here, But the people in the court are barely aware of how much it matters to us, for them it's just another day at work, they become so immune to their job that they hardly place any emotional value to the happenings.   

I sat down and across the road I saw a little girl holding her mother’s hand, her mother gently tugging her along, she saw the ice-cream vendor and planned her deal. She begged for ice-cream, her mother refused and tried to talk her out of it but she persisted- getting a little stubborn moving her hands wildly and leaving her mother’s hand and running towards the ice-cream cart.

That image, that moment will never leave my mind- the parting of the hands. Even in childhood, we leave our parent’s hand when they don’t agree with us, just like we do when we grow up, and eventually, like always our parents will come around. Or so we hope.

She fell down, her mother forgot the world and rushed to her, kissed her little head, bought her one, took her hand and walked on – I feel grateful for my parents standing by my decision. I see my own parents reflected in that mother, and I know whatever mistake that child will make, her mother will always be there for her.

I want to tell that child to never trust a man other than her father in her life, I want to tell her to never let go of her mother’s hand because if she does, she is only going to fall down. I want to tell her that although her parents will hold her hand again, they will feel the pain- magnified. That only you will be responsible for what they are going through and even if your life is happy with your decision, a part of you will always long for a better story- one where your parents never had to face anything because of you , one where you made them proud. These days my tears are definitely on the rebound, paying me back in full interest for all the times I had tried to subdue them.

I look around and see a girl perhaps a couple of years younger, she’s got tears in her eyes, so I smile at her. Even with tears in her eyes, she smiles back.  Her eyes shine with fresh rays of hope- masking the pain that seems so far away. that smile radiating so much joy- so she’s another registered wife today. She reminds me of me a couple of years ago. I smile, although I really just want to tell her to run back home and change her decision; she seems to understand but I guess now is a little too late for that. I pray I’m not jinxing her happiness.

Irony has her own ways of revealing herself- my relationship ended just moments ago in the same room that she started a new one.