I shall go on

#Blogathon #ALetterToHer,

#AFightAgainstDomesticViolence  

 

Khaab ZNMD

Dearest AJ,

It is me, your long forgotten self-confidence. It has been a while since we last met, isn’t it?

Firstly, isn’t it strange to pen a letter to self? Sometimes, when the outer world smothers you, emasculates you, you need your dormant, deep-hidden, inner-self to find voice and tell you  to hang on, to inhale and exhale. To live beyond the simple day-to-day surviving.

Now, walk to the nearest mirror and take a long look at self. Do you recognize this tired, listless, lifeless reflection? Well I don’t!

Was this the same wondrous visage that went about chasing rainbows, spread life, laughter wherever she went? How many tears have those sunken eyes shed, to lose all their luster? Why are those dry, cracked lips curved down? Where has that sunshine smile disappeared?

Dig deep into your soul and pull out that lost ‘You’. You were the one who was going make the impossible, possible. Find the strength honey, to believe, to breathe, to move on and to march ahead.

You have to remember the promises you made to yourself. Now make them a reality. You owe that much to yourself.

Rise up like the Phoenix from the very ashes of your present, to soar high and paint a much brighter tomorrow.

The pain is searing I agree! The humiliation is beyond endurance and you blame yourself for all that has gone wrong in this relationship!

What will others say?

No dear, no one gets to have an opinion on your life, unless they are paying the bills. On hindsight, not even after that! 

So walk out before even you forget that you exist. No doubt, it is going to be a Herculean task to rebuild but we both are going to do so, brick by brick.

Do read Meena Kandasamy’s latest novel, When I Hit You  http://bit.ly/Meenabk2.  It is an account of an abusive marriage and it forces one to examine the notions of domestic abuse.

I will be waiting for your resurgence.

Till then,

Yours truly

AJ

 

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I am Happy When

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This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers byBlogAdda.’

What makes me happy? The little things really. 

Lying down on my bed, with my family nearby, watching something on the telly

Talking stuff with children

The comforting silence between husband and I

The heart-to-heart chatathons with mom

When my dad narrates a joke

When I rustle up a perfect dish

When I have vanilla ice-cream with fresh mangoes

When the words are strung together in a perfect symphony to tell an enthralling tale

When the canvas is filled with riotous colours

When I see the flame of forest in full bloom

When I see that I have lost half-a-kilo

When my feet are washed by the waves of the sea

When the Sun rises between the mountains

The fragrance of first rain

When I get a terrific haircut

When I dress up

When I see that my stomach is a little bit flatter

When I get complimented for my work

When I get hugs from Bacchas

When targets are achieved, new ones set

When a baby smiles and I munch crispy fries

When I ogle at the matinee idol or when we sing

Life is lived in small moments of pure pleasure.

Live life Queen Size! Keep Walking, Rocking!!

Done and Dusted

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This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

And I flatline as is expected.

Quietly and slowly I see myself floating around.

My husband watches me intently, stroking my limp lifeless hand.

Perhaps, he  mulls over lost chances – of love, sharing conversations or making memories?

My dear dear son stands nearby talking in muffled tones.

Perhaps informing the near and dear. I wonder how many are upset, how many are relieved and how many simply relegate me to statistics

My darling daughter, for whom I fought the world, cries softly. I knew it always. She is the one who loved me the most.

This Grief-O-Roma kind of puts me off. Not up to my expectations  I guess. They have to grieve more. After all, the glue of the family, the mother hen who tended to her flock with military precision is no more. Hasn’t the enormity stuck them? Why are they playing it low key?

I see a girl rushing in. My son on seeing her, suddenly breaks down. She hugs him, comforts him  while he gets a grip on self.

I recognize her alright. How many rows have we had over this chit of a girl? My son, who wouldn’t earlier cross my Laxman-Rekha, had openly defied me. All for the sake of this girl. I had even stopped talking to him till he came around. I was never going to let my blood line defiled, by letting him marry that infidel. And now..

Im still lying there, my body is still warm  and he has already run to her arms. Husband then acknowledges her warmly. She hugs my girl now and daughter clings to her for emotional succor. This hurts me alright. Big time.

What exactly is happening? Why are they all sticking together? Don’t they know I detest her?

And she has already taken my place. She is the mother hen now tending to my flock.

I watch her as she takes control over the situation, rallies the family around. The more I see her taking care of my family, becoming one of them, one with them, the more, my prejudices melt away. I start yearning to be part of this newly bonding group.

But, Alas I’m very late.

If only my blind beliefs hadn’t clouded my judgement and if only I had given this relationship a fair chance…I could have satisfactorily said “done and dusted” to my mothballed mantras!

My son wouldn’t have had this unspoken grudge against me and the girl and I would have made some lasting memories. If only.

Thank God for this girl!

I now float away.