The right answer
The clock struck 11, and the tears still rolling down. She had questions and she had many answers to each one of them. Just that she needed only one, Or did she already have that one right answer?
"Had Abhishek always been so insensitive that he did not seem it urgent to leave everything at once and come home to me because I had had a miscarriage, and I needed him then?, or was it actually not a big deal, and some hormonal abnormality in my body was making me over-dramatic?"
"But hadn't he changed over time? Or had I not changed and I was supposed to?"
....
...
and flashes of memories came one after the other, to her mind..
She did remind herself of her PMS to calm her mind down, and she managed quite successfully. But it only took a doorbell and sight of her mother to push all the sudden found peace and she hugged her tightly, the sound of her cry filling the room...
In lap of her mother, she reminded herself of the maddening love that she felt for Abhishek and felt it back too, the initial days. She could see that it was fading, losing its charm. She had been trying to make every attempt to not let that happen, cooking candle light dinners, booking hotels on their anniversary, organizing surprises, and all that she thought could help her or them share the same time again. But nothing ever met approval of her love, which was now her husband. Sometimes he was tired, at other times she was childish, and if nothing else seemed appropriate, she needed to grow up. And all this while, may be, she actually needed to grow up.
Standing in the balcony of her 1 BHK apartment, Fiza felt empty now. Her mother handed her a cup of usual evening tea, and said, "Fiza, remember when you were 9, you had a boyfriend Debu who kept following you everywhere you went?", to which Fiza nodded, little puzzled, asking about reason to mention Debu.
And her mother continued to say, "you both used to play on the swings, Fiza. He used to give you a push. But after some time he stopped pushing. But you still kept sitting, waiting, for that push"
Fiza, perplexed, looked at her mother. And her mom says, "it's time to stop waiting for the push Fiza."
Fiza had her answer.
P.S. The piece finds inspiration from a web series. I loved the part of mother, the courage that she finds in herself, the fundamentals which are not clouded by the consequence of a tough decision and the confidence she has in her daughter are somethings that every parent/individual should be capable of.
"Had Abhishek always been so insensitive that he did not seem it urgent to leave everything at once and come home to me because I had had a miscarriage, and I needed him then?, or was it actually not a big deal, and some hormonal abnormality in my body was making me over-dramatic?"
"But hadn't he changed over time? Or had I not changed and I was supposed to?"
....
...
and flashes of memories came one after the other, to her mind..
She did remind herself of her PMS to calm her mind down, and she managed quite successfully. But it only took a doorbell and sight of her mother to push all the sudden found peace and she hugged her tightly, the sound of her cry filling the room...
In lap of her mother, she reminded herself of the maddening love that she felt for Abhishek and felt it back too, the initial days. She could see that it was fading, losing its charm. She had been trying to make every attempt to not let that happen, cooking candle light dinners, booking hotels on their anniversary, organizing surprises, and all that she thought could help her or them share the same time again. But nothing ever met approval of her love, which was now her husband. Sometimes he was tired, at other times she was childish, and if nothing else seemed appropriate, she needed to grow up. And all this while, may be, she actually needed to grow up.
Standing in the balcony of her 1 BHK apartment, Fiza felt empty now. Her mother handed her a cup of usual evening tea, and said, "Fiza, remember when you were 9, you had a boyfriend Debu who kept following you everywhere you went?", to which Fiza nodded, little puzzled, asking about reason to mention Debu.
And her mother continued to say, "you both used to play on the swings, Fiza. He used to give you a push. But after some time he stopped pushing. But you still kept sitting, waiting, for that push"
Fiza, perplexed, looked at her mother. And her mom says, "it's time to stop waiting for the push Fiza."
Fiza had her answer.
P.S. The piece finds inspiration from a web series. I loved the part of mother, the courage that she finds in herself, the fundamentals which are not clouded by the consequence of a tough decision and the confidence she has in her daughter are somethings that every parent/individual should be capable of.
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