Her new chapter
A lone tear drop fell out the corner of her eye, sliding silently down her parched cheeks, heated from the midevening sun. The basketball match had drained her energy, the long, lonely walk back home tired her more, but the terrible weight of the past few weeks has worn her down as nothing had ever done.
She pondered listlessly, trying to pin point the worrisome feeling gnawing her from inside. It wasn't that she didn't trust her husband. It was something else. Lost in thought, Khushi walked towards the pool side, a place once reserved for their fevers of passion now lay neglected and forlorn, just as the tale of their long lost love story. There was a hint of staleness and abandonment in the air.
Sighing she sat down beside the poolside as ghost of memories came creeping back to her.
His caressing touch of fingers as he lifted the hem of her saree to tie her mother's anklet'.
His palms cupping her face as he bent down to kiss her'
Him sliding the glass panels on her face 'You mean nothing to me'
'Don't think a rich man has kept your Payal as a keep-sake. It means nothing to me'
Didn't she hear a similar phrase a few days back?
What did she share with her husband that makes them so good together? Is it love? Is it? She was no longer sure. If it is, then is love enough to keep it going for a life time?
Ignoring the sudden queasiness the implications of her thoughts brought, her heart gave a sudden soft thump, a thump of vigour and comprehension that nudged her towards the light.
A memory flitted across her mind, of a long graceful Sheetal throwing the basket ball right into the hoop and punching the air as her son and Arnav laughed along with her.
Truth be told, her air, her mannerism, her walk, her talk, her everything spoke of something which she, a simple girl called Khushi Kumari Guptha from a small town, was not.
And then, it came to her as easily as if she had known the answer all along. Sheetal made her feel inferior. That was it. She brought out hidden insecurities of her incompatibility with her husband. It was no one's fault. Only her own. After all there was nothing more painful than being realised of one's incompetence.
Does her husband love her after all? What makes him love her? Why does he claim to love her?
She wasn't as well dressed as Sheetal. She was not fluent in English like Sheetal. She didn't have a foreign degree or the knowledge of the cooperate field like Sheetal. She couldn't have a sane, logical conversation with her husband regarding his profession, because she didn't know how to. She was not poised, graceful or composed like her. She didn't know the etiquettes required to be in Arnav's company or associate with the people he mingled.
The more she thought about it, the more she became aware of how Arnav and Sheetal complemented each other, not just in looks and mannerism, but also with their choice of profession, background and educational levels. Aren't these essential qualities when considering the compatibility of a couple?
Khushi clutched the dupatta in her clammy fingers as she took a deep breath. Something was stifling her. It was her own failure, her incompetence and the lack of everything that needed to make her, her husband's wife.
So why does her husband love her? What made her think that they can lead a successful married life with such glaring incompatibilities?
She was falling into a dark deep abyss. An abyss from which she grasped no possible answer and found no probable way of escape. A dreary mantle of darkness was surrounding her, strangling her, blindfolding her vision and then for a moment she was dazed by the lightning sensation of misery and grief spiralling through her. She was alone and defeated, stuck in a parody of her own life, caught up in a reality which has, all of a sudden turned into a lie.
She was not good enough for him. She had never been good enough for him.A small soft voice in her brain interrupted her woeful stupor. She knew this voice. It was the voice that spoke to her at her times of need.
It was her voice of sanity and courage. It was the voice of her unquenchable energy and spirit.
'This is not how you usually think'. The voice sounded calm and quiet, there was a hint of a smile in the voice.
A deep fire in her belly ignited as angry soft tears cascaded down her cheeks. No one, not even a leggy woman in her pencil skirts and dress pants can make her feel small. She was who she was and she was proud of it.
She brushed off her tears impatiently as she got off the floor and headed straight to the wardrobe.
It was time to take a decision.
She kept her eyes firmly trained on her cloths she was packing into a small duffel bag as she heard her husband coming in.
"Arnav ji, I am going to Bua ji's house for a few days" She wasn't asking permission. It was a mere statement.
There was a few seconds of silence and Khushi slowly straightened herself to stare at her husband.
"I want to go visit my parents. And I need some time for myself" her voice came out soft and quiet, it sounded unreal to her own ears, so very unlike her usual over excited babble. There was no point in giving him further details. It wouldn't make a difference.
For the first time, a look of worry flitted through Arnav's eyes.
"I'll call you later" Her voice sounded far away, distant and had a horrible finality which sent a chill right through the marrows of his bones. Why couldn't he shake off the feeling that she was slowly slipping away?
To be continued.
I can't believe I'm writing again. I had sworn off it. Sigh.😆
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