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“Had Abhishek always been so insensitive that he did not feel it urgent to leave everything at once and come home to me when I had had a miscarriage, and I needed him then?”
The clock struck 11, and the tears were 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 feel it urgent to leave everything at once and come home to me when 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?”
The flashes of memories came one after the other, to her mind.
She did remind herself of her PMS, and that she should calm her mind down, and she managed quite successfully. But it only took a doorbell and the sight of her mother to suddenly break her down, and she hugged her tightly, the sound of her crying filling the room…
In the lap of her mother, she reminded herself of the maddening love that she felt for Abhishek. He had 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, 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 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, a little puzzled, wondering why her mother had mentioned Debu.
And her mother continued to say, “You would both play on the swings, Fiza. He would give you a push. But after some time he would stop pushing, but you still kept sitting, waiting for that push.”
Fiza, perplexed, looked at her mother. And her mom said, “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 the 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 some things that every parent/individual should be capable of.
Published here earlier.
Image source: flickr, for represenational purposes only.
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