Of misunderstanding, misery and ego
"When I told you I need the documents today, I meant TODAY. How many times do you need me to spell that out for you? If the email does not land in my inbox by 11:59 PM, you can expect to pack your desk tomorrow morning," he shouted into the phone while walking in to the very empty hall of his multi BHK that he shared with his family. The sudden quietness hit his head like a bullet - struck his temple, entered the cranial space and injured his brain. His otherwise chirpy and loud house, now deserted and still, like the walls were mourning the loss of someone intimate, and the inhabitants were still too grief stricken to even try and make a sound.
The comparison of the silent abode to death sounded morose, even inside his head; but he knew why the comparison arose, and because of whom. Much as he would hate to admit in public, much as he would long to admit in private, his home had lost its life. The one person who tied all the threads into a single plait and kept them intact, who nourished those walls with her blood and sweat, who breathed life into the inanimate furniture, that one person was nowhere to be seen; and so, this place was a home no more, a mere brick and mortar dwelling, where a few people related by blood, tried to stay together for the past 5 weeks.
With heavy steps, he moved forward towards the grand kitchen. As was the norm for the past 5 weeks, food was kept in 2 steel bowls on top of the kitchen shelf. It had gotten cold. As was the norm for the past 5 weeks, he walked past the shelf and made way to the staircase in the corner. He held the handrail, and paused, turned around and had a look at the furnishings in the spacious hall. The unused sofa-set, which would otherwise have had soft dents because his father wouldn't get up from there the entire day. The chairs at the dining table, perfectly in-place, which would otherwise have been scattered all around the dining and kitchen area as his mother and siblings would use that table for anything and everything. The clean kitchen shelf, except for the steel bowls, which would otherwise have been stocked with used utensils and jars full of namkeen and snacks as his kids ran around the house, picking and eating in between. Heaving a heavy sigh, he started climbing up towards his room. Their room? His inner voice asked. He knew the answer, he didn't respond.
He missed the hubbub, the commotion, the hustle and bustle that this place had gotten used to. He missed the fact that this punjabi household burst with energy because of a madrassan, his madrassan; and as soon as the title formed in his mind, he groaned audibly.
His parents blamed him, his siblings blamed him, her parents blamed him, her siblings blamed him, his kids, they didn't say anything, but he knew, deep down inside he had disappointed them again. He had separated them from their mother, again.
He went back in time and recalled the fateful turn of events that drove her away.
"Mihir, dafa ho ja yahan se. Teri shakal nai dekhni"
"Aap aise kaise baatein kar rahe ho Raman"
"Shut up, chup raho"
"What shut up Raman. Kya Raman zaroori hai ki iss ghar mein har cheez ka solution aise gusse mein liya jaaye? Voh yahan pe haath jod ke khada hai na, maafi maang raha hai na"
"Toh kya karun, AARTI UTAARUN ISKI?"
"Raman voh yahan pe khada hai na, maafi maang raha hai na"
"Arre maafi toh tumhe maangni chahiye!"
"Mujhe kyun?"
"Isne kiya hai ye? Huh? ZIMMEDAAR KAUN HAI? TUM! Tum se kisne kaha tha beech mein apni taang adhaao? Kisne kaha tha Mihir se bheekh maango meri behen se shaadi karne ke liye? Jagat mata banne ka bohot shauk hai na, toh apne khaandaan mein bano! Jahan mere bhai behno ki zindagi ka sawaal aaya na, kisi ko chhodunga nai main. Tumhe kya, mahaan banna hai? BAN JAO! Lekin uske badle mein agar meri behen ki zindagi kharaab hui na, toh tumhara jo hashr karunga main, tumne socha bhi nahi hoga"
"Nahi mummy ji bolne dijiye inhe! Har cheez bina soche samjhe bolte hain ye, bolne dijiye inhe!"
"Haan main bolunga. Tum bohot soch samajh ke karti ho kaam?"
"Jee haan, soch samajh ke shaadi karwayi thi inki, aur aap sabne, sabne aashirwaad diya tha"
"Haan kyun? Kyunki tum kuch galat nai kar sakti? Huh? TOH YE GALAT KAISE HO GAYA? Tumhara kiya dhara hai ye!"
"Haan theek hai, mujhe blame karke sab theek ho jayega na Raman, sab solve ho jayega na?"
"Raman please, meri behen se aap iss tarah baat nahi kar sakte"
"RINKI MERI BHI BEHEN HAI! Zyada laad aa raha hai apni behen pe na, toh lo aur isko DAFA HO JAO!"
"How dare you?! Mihika tum kahin nahi jaogi"
"I will! Ye mera ghar hai!"
"Ye mera bhi ghar hai Raman!"
"Tumhara THA!"
"THA?"
"Tha! Ye tumhara ghar THA! Rinki meri apni hai, ye ghar tumhara nahi hai ab"
"Bohot pyaar aa raha hai na khaandaan pe apne? Apni behen ko lo, chalta bano! Amma, apni beti ko le jao!"
"Bilkul sahi keh rahe hain ye, sahi keh rahe hain. Main iss ghar ki nahi hoon, ye ghar mera nai hai. Chalo yahan se"
"Der aaye, durust aaye! OUT!"
"MIHIKA CHALO YAHAN SE"
"OUT"
It all started with the 3 magical words. Usually when one thinks of the phrase 3 magical words' warm gooey feelings rush inside and increase one's heartbeat. But those 3 words, the ones he uttered, the feelings that rushed in after speaking them out loud - icy cold, the kinds that can cut one's veins as if a dagger was piercing through.
There was a time in his life when he hated himself for not uttering these 3 words to his wife, in front of his family. And today, he hated himself for uttering these very words to his wife, in front of his family. He chuckled at his destiny. He definitely knows how to set the few right things, wrong.
Setting foot into his wide, dark room, he saw a huge mess. A mess he created, a mess he was responsible for, a mess he did not clear in due course of time, and now it piled on so high he wondered whether he would ever be able to get to the bottom of it.
He sat down on the edge of his bed, unaware when his hands held his head and he started visibly shaking. It was only when his phone fell down from his lap, on the hard wooden flooring, the screen came to life, and he caught a glimpse of her beautiful face smiling at him, did he take notice of his own condition.
Guilt, anger, self-loathing, frustration, longing, love.
All this and more, with an intensity that had the power to shatter him to pieces. Only he knew how he was holding up without her, or not holding up. In a fit of anger, he asked her to leave his home, not realizing that his home was because of her.
All he wanted to do was to prove to his younger sister that she still mattered to him over and above his wife, to prove to his family he wasn't blind in love once again, to prove to the world he could go to any lengths for his siblings' welfare. He proved it all, yet, he failed, again.
He threw stones at the two people who pulled him out of the debris that his past baggage was and made him stand on his own feet, professionally and personally. One who's his backbone, and the other who's his lifeline. Mihir and Ishita. His shadow and his soul.
As long as there's light, shadow cannot leave a body's back, so he still had Mihir. Guilty himself, apologetic, yet determined to make his marriage work, but Mihir still stood by him, still worshipped the ground he walked on. It made him feel worse. Deep down inside he knew he wasn't worth the worship, worth the respect that his best-friend-cum-brother was bestowing upon him. He knew he hadn't done right by Mihir, and so he had no right to claim the love and trust that was being showered on him.
He never really wanted Mihir and Rinki to get married. These two were poles apart in a way that would never get comfortable with each other in the manner that a husband and wife should. His gut warned him of the consequences and his instinct was proven accurate with this incident. Essentially he did not really blame Mihir one bit for his weak moment, he out of all the people knew how difficult it was to forget the first love of your life. He blamed the situation and how everything appeared to be. In the heat of the moment, everything was blurry.
Why did he let the situation get so bad if he wasn't convinced in the first place? What made him stay silent when they were getting married? He knew the answer even before his mind dotted the question mark at the end of it. Mummy ji! He loved his mother, and wouldn't confess it to any living soul that he blamed his mother for the fiasco. His mother was always bothered about marriages and kids. Had she not forced him to find a bride at the age of 21, he might have chosen a partner better than Shagun. Had she not intervened between Romi & Sarika, his useless younger brother might have found his true love and settled down. Had she not raised society's concern over Simmi's marital status, his sister would have gotten rid of the creep much earlier. Had she not forced Rinki for marriage the moment she returned from Australia, he could have found someone much better, worthier of deserving his younger one. Had she not created a scene when the cheat groom was turned away, he could have gotten Rinki back home with all the dignity, and let her live her own life freely. Rinki woduld have been spared the jealousy and pain that she's going through. Mihir would have been shackle-free, guilt-free and lived an independent life. Had all of this happened, his Ishita would still be with him.
No, he doesn't blame his mother for sending Ishita away. That was his own doing, and he knows that. He wanted to put the blame on someone, anyone, and he found her arguing back, supporting Mihir. They'd had fights earlier, and they'd recovered from it because Ishita was a strong woman; but everyone has a breaking point, apparently Ishita's was reached with his roar of OUT!
5 weeks, 35 days, without her, without his soul. He towed his lifeless body here and there, without being at peace, and he did not have a single clue about her whereabouts. He was hurt she went away without a fight, without a strong jhansi ki rani fight. Nobody knew where she was, except for Bala. Bala wouldn't tell him, he wouldn't ask. He dragged his swollen feet into the washroom, put the shower on, and drowned himself, in his baseless misunderstanding, soul-crushing misery, and bruised ego.
Edited by -Nidoo- - 9 years ago
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