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The other woman. What about her feelings, her dreams, wishes, wants and needs? For isn't she a woman like every other woman, after all?
The other woman. What about her feelings, her dreams, wishes, wants and needs? For isn’t she a woman like every other woman, after all?
Believe me when I tell you that I will think only of you whenever I see a sky filled with stars because our relationship has a striking resemblance to starlight.
Do you know that some stars are just a speck of dust but those are often the ones that shine the most? Just like our relationship.
Home-wrecker. Whore. Slut. That is what I am often called.
Really, all I want to do is watch a rainbow in the sky while holding your hands and still feel like a good person even though I know that only one of these things can happen at the same time.
I want to hold your soft palms without feeling the edge of your wedding ring that along with my fingers, pricks my conscience.
I want to listen to you tell me that I am your entire world and I want to have a chance to believe it.
I want to love you without the guilt and I want to kiss you without the pain of knowing that you are mine only as long as our lips are at it.
I want to make plans with you that don’t involve an alibi. I want to make real plans with you. Like what we can have for breakfast. That is, if you stay over, ever.
I want to start believing that you are not a whole different person when you are not around me. I want to know that you are not making ten year plans with her even before the perfume from the back of my neck can linger off your body.
I want the big small things. I want to share an ice-cream with you knowing that the other half of the ice-cream belongs only to me. I want to split a half melting chocolate bar and eat my share and eat the rest that sticks to your fingers.
I want to you to make love to me. When you hold my naked waist and press your lips against mine, I want to tell you that I have thought about this moment and pretended that my fingers were yours. I want your teeth to bite in between the folds of my skin and when you ask me if it hurts, I will tell you that it hurts terribly. It hurts terribly to not be able to do the same to you.
I will tell you that it does not hurt every time I see perfect photographs of the two of you. I will tell you that it is OKAY that you choose to hold her hands during daylight while you struggle at the very thought of making eye-contact with me in public. I will tell you that I don’t want you to leave her because I care about your happiness. I will tell you that all this cheating is not tearing down my heart and making me feel like a terrible person. I will tell you that I don’t think about whether our kids will have my eyes or yours every time you play with your children. I will tell you that I am not crying as I write this and that I really don’t wish that you were here to just hold me.
I will tell you all of this. But you of all people should know what a good liar I am.
I want to tell you so much more but I will end the letter here because we never have enough time.
I don’t have the rest of my life with you. I don’t have the rest of my day with you. Our conversations end when she opens the door. Our phone calls end when you cannot whisper anymore. Our dates end when someone we know might be around the corner. Our sex life is always dark no matter how many lights I choose to bravely keep on!
And my man, my letter will end right in the middle of a sentence despite me wanting to pour out my heart to you.
Because that is our fate and destiny after all.
Editor’s note: This is a work of fiction, a slice-of-life portrayal by the author.
Image source: sad woman crying by Shutterstock.
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"I chose to go out into the remote, wild, unknown, and make it home," says entrepreneur Kiranjeet Ahluwalia Chaturvedi, who owns Birdsong & Beyond.
The story of my mountain home Birdsong & Beyond started taking shape in 2009, on the internet, the way many stories do these days.
My childhood fascination for a life in the Himalayas led to an internship with a central Himalayan NGO instead of a much prized corporate assignment. But when they offered me a full-time job, I refused. I was overcome by fear and a lack of confidence.
My other longings pulled me away – the longing to fit in, to earn validation from others. By my mid-30s, with all the trappings of a middle-class urban life in place, the call of the snows couldn’t be ignored anymore. So I got to work on it with clearer intentions and a stronger sense of what I needed for myself, and why.
Many Indian elderly are firm believers in enslaving a daughter-in-law in the name of tradition which is actually a tradition of oppression and not of religious faith.
Albeit, the popular culture has interpreted scriptures as suggesting that Kanyadaan is the supreme form of donation given to someone, the connotation that the word donation alludes to definitely objectifies the girl.
Even when the exegesis justify the act of giving away the daughter, considering it a ritual to mark the initiation of the daughter into her husband’s gotra and her becoming the part of his family tree.
There is no denial of the fact that this initiation is not required on the part of the groom thereby formally denoting the end of the filial ties with the daughter as it was popularly instructed to the bride during the Vidai ceremonies:
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