The streaks of the sun said good morning to me through the window. The kitchen was now brightly lit. It looked like one of those photos taken by the professionals. Everything was perfectly arranged in the cupboards. Except for the few dishes in the sink.
I went to the dressing wardrobe and picked up my diary from beneath. The environment was perfect for unloading the words.
“This is my daily job. To get up early in the morning, prepare the tea and breakfast, and then this dish cleaning after he left to office. Sometimes, I start on the laptop before i wash the dishes. They can wait, but not my parents. It would be late night for them. Just delaying their early sleep and sitting by on the machine, waiting for their daughter to call up. Then around 11, I take my bath and have to prepare for lunch. The timings of both were never consistent. The latter would be skipped sometimes, if at all he never knocks the door at noon. And then, the whole of the afternoon dedicated to myself, my thoughts and just me. It had become my routine.
The afternoon thoughts have now blended into my mind and body. It was the same everyday. As in the famous film Zanjeer, what is it that I don’t have? I live in an average rented house. I have a loving husband who takes extreme care of me, and who earns dollars and takes me out on most nights and weekends in our car. I have a bunch of friends who keeps asking about me and the luxuries I enjoy at this abroad home. The missing of parents and relatives is natural for a newly married woman as the pains during the childbirth. What then is missing?
Is it me?
I remember myself as the girly little child wearing frocks who played around the little ground back in India. As the proud daughter of two government employees who made them more proud as she grew. The show case in the main hall of our sweet home, were filled with photos and prizes I had won for my academic performance. I remember mom explaining them to the guests with huge happiness on her face. There were award ceremonies at the school, and the competitions, and my school classmates, who looked onto me as their captain. I could hear the faint sound of the music I learnt and listened during those times. The concerts we attended in the evening, on the free passes from mom’s office. It seems I have forgotten the lyrics and the notes. I don’t remember them anymore. The various entrance tuitions and my expedition on my Kinetic through the city to achieve the first bench seat brings a mocking smile onto my face. The images and short clips of moments of engineering college, the bunking, the friends, the exams, the mugging up, studying for campus recruitment and my first salary play refreshingly from my mind’s media player as if the photo video album is automatically inserted into it. That was me.
The end to the marriage hunt was abrupt. Seeing their daughter living abroad with a loving and earning husband was like dreams come true for mom and dad. It all happened in few months. The arrangements, engagement, the visa, the travel, and my resignation.
What was it that I lived my childhood for? Why did I learn this much? The power of education has not only earned me this life, but also have dampened my mind with these thoughts. Is this my destiny? Or is there any escape? Maybe there is and maybe not. How much worth is this sacrifice of my independence, to get cuddled in his arms? I guess it cannot be measured. Maybe it could but never absolutely. ”
I closed the book. The dropping of the pen on the table made a small sound, as if it marked the closure of the chapter. As if it rings a bell. To remind me of the time.
I walked towards the kitchen sink, and turned on the tap. The gush of flowing water pacified my bubbling thoughts, very slowly…