Back for a while. Cocktail coming soon. Till then, as an appetiser( cause I love starters as much as I love Main Course ?), here is for all Raginiaholics like me, a drabble on Ragini’s Thoughts till the time Kavya enters and stays. Hope you all enjoy ?
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Attraction.
A very pleasant feeling. Especially if it happens to you for the first time like it did with me when I saw his picture. He was my chosen husband. His charm and his beautiful smile stirred up something very pleasant in my chest and it seemed that butterflies had started fluttering in my empty stomach. I smiled seeing his boyish face, hair a bit dishevelled, a cocky smirk in place. Closing my eyes, I imagined how it would feel to be smiled at by him. His dark black eyes glinting flirtatiously at me, lips twisted in a slight smile. The sensation in my stomach intensified. I found my cheeks red as I looked in the mirror. Placing his photo beside mine, I inspected how we both looked together. The result was immensely satisfying. Like Shiva and Parvati. Umm……….Deendayal and Parvati. A giggle escaped my lips as I thought of my grandparents. Theirs was not a relationship based on love but there was mutual understanding and respect which made it strong. And I would respect my husband too. I looked at the photo in my hand. Maybe I would even love him……………………..
Love.
An overpowering feeling. It overshadows every other emotion in this universe. Love of a woman for a man. It is so beautiful. You feel you are at the top of the world. I felt like dancing, swaying gently to the sounds of violin, as they do in romantic Hindi movies. His handsome face appeared before me whenever I closed my eyes. I couldn’t see him for too long today, at our engagement, since there were so many people around. But I sneaked a few glances. He looked royal in his splendid cream sherwani with a pink duppata draped around his arm. Like a prince. My prince. He even smiled at me and I smiled back too but I felt too shy so I lowered my eyes quickly. I must be respectful towards him. Dadi Ma says that it is a woman’s duty to be respectful of her husband. Husband is God. He is your protector after marriage, your saviour, your companion, your everything. And he is going to be my husband. My God. Fingering the beautiful ring on my finger, I smiled as I saw my future. Full of joy and devoid of any sadness…………………..
Sadness.
You know that feeling you get when everything right turns wrong, for no fault of yours. That grief. That sadness. I got it today when I, with my own hands, slipped off the ring my God gave to me and gave it to his father. Tears rolled down my cheeks. Tears of pain, helplessness, and even anger. It was heartbreaking to do it but it was right. It was for my Papa. I cried myself to sleep that night as I saw my bleak future. Losing him. We hardly knew each other. We didn’t even become friends…………….
Friendship.
One of the purest relationships. Being someone’s friend is like submitting yourself to that person and accepting him. I became friends with him and realised with no little amount of delight that he was my first male friend. My first ‘boy’friend. I giggled as I thought about this. He is cute. His smile lights up the room he is in, I swear! And the way he combs his hair with his fingers………….I wish I could do that to him too. Maybe I could have, had our engagement still been on. But it wasn’t. It was a harsh reality. But we were friends now. He helps Swara and I in uniting Maa and Papa. He is very funny. He is so….. perfect. So perfect that it hurts. It hurts that he is not with me. It is heartbreaking……………….
Heartbreak.
The toughest phase in life, I would say. Seeing your love with your sister while you stand there, tears in your eyes. My heart was screaming. It was crying bitterly. But he couldn’t hear it. Because his heart was not connected to mine. It was connected to Swara’s. I had given my heart to him but he didn’t need it. Somewhere between my losing my heart and he not accepting it, my heart lost its way. But even if it wasn’t with me, it didn’t matter. Because now, I knew it was broken. Broken and betrayed. By my own sister, no less. She, of great beauty and fashion, a bubbly personality and a cool sense of humour. She, with her strength and witty comebacks, black hair bellowing behind her like a heroine’s. She, with her lovable nature, her pink pout captivating men and women of all ages into doing anything for her. She told me he loves me. She lied. Why? He loves HER. Not me. And she loves him too. This……..is wrong. It is unfair. Why does he have to like her? Why not me? She is a Bengali for God’s sake! She eats stinky fish, worships Goddess Durga, and after marriage she would wear that red and white bangle, not a borla. I, on the other hand, am a pure vegetarian, worship Khatu Shyam Ji and would wear a Marwadi sari with a borla after marriage. I would even keep my head covered. Then why does he love her? Why not me? And now everyone has accepted their love and are ready to get them married. I have lost all hope……………
Hope.
It is like a breath of fresh air. In the madness that surrounds me, his brother has provided me with a hope that all is not lost. I can fight a battle to win my love. And I would do it. I would fight for him, my first and only love. And I would emerge triumphant……………
Triumph.
Gloating about my success in throwing my sister out of my love’s life and getting married to him, I looked at my mangalsutra. Granted, I had to sell my soul for it. But then, everything is fair in love and war. And this was both. Love and war. Truth and deceit. Pure and evil. Peaceful and chaotic. Real and fake. But it was. Now I would live my life. Full of happiness. Without a trace of pain…………..
Pain.
I often felt it when I was a child. Once I fell from my cycle, and it pained a lot. Another time, I was pushed by a crowd of people in the Mandir and I slipped and fell down. I experienced pain again. Once I cut my finger while chopping vegetables and a shot of pain travelled through my finger. But those pains were nothing to the pain I was feeling now. Those pains were treatable with a cotton ball dipped in iodine or Dettol. But this pain of the heart, there is no balm other than love to heal it. Love which I have lost. He knows everything now. We are in a car, driving towards his house, followed by my sister and her husband, his brother. He is looking ahead, his jaw set firmly. His anger is evident in his actions. He hates me now. And this hate is painful. His hate is painful. Maybe he wants to leave me. Sounds logical enough. Maybe he wants revenge…………….
Revenge.
He kidnapped me to get rid of me. And then tried to crush me under his car. Poor guy himself got saved from a very disrespectable death by falling from a cliff. While those moments had been full of shock and pain for me, even fear, of losing him, it all seems funny to me now. He tried to take his revenge and now, it was my turn. He has only witnessed my love till date. Let him now see my other emotions. Let him feel what it feels like to be a person whose every dream, every hope and every chance of happiness is fed to the dogs by his own kin. My sister snatched my love, my father supported her, my grandmother herself saw to the decorations and he, my love, he was the worst of them. Showed me dreams and then crushed them. Made me and then broke me. Is this what every person has to go through in love? Is this pain felt by everyone? If yes, then why does everyone say that love is beautiful? And if no, then why was I suffering right from the beginning? I, who does pooja every morning. I, who always used to listen to elders and never question them, who did what she was told, obeyed every single thing and who never complained. I, who knows all the housework and helped my old grandmother with the chores. Why did I suffer in spite of being everything good, kind, likeable? Was I undeserving of love and affection? Was I undeserving of happiness…………………..
Happiness.
That joy of being in your love’s arms, finally, where you belong. His love being solely yours to feel. His gentle and sensuous touch making electricity run through your veins. He has finally accepted you as his partner. His soulmate. He has finally proclaimed you his wife. He has finally given you access to his heart and to his bed, the latter being a bit painful for you but nevertheless, sweet in its own way. You are who you desired to be. You are who you wanted to be and your dream is now your reality. That happiness knows no bounds. YOUR happiness knows no bounds. You smile and laugh, play and love. Your sore relationships with others also heal. This is the power of love. This is the joy of this emotion. No hate, no pain, no heartbreak and no emptiness………………………….
Emptiness.
Strange, isn’t it? Just when you thought everything was brilliant and couldn’t be better, everything is snatched from you. Maybe this is how Swara must have felt when I did with her what I did. That feeling of being cheated, rather than being betrayed. As if you had been about to bite into that ripe juicy mango only to have someone snatch it away when it was just a few centimetres away from your mouth. That desperation, that anger, that resignation and finally, that emptiness eats you up. Nothing is left anymore. He was playing. Playing all along. He didn’t love me. Not now, not ever. He just wanted papers. Divorce and property papers signed by me. What better way than to fake love, make love and then, on the altar, ditch me? Actually no, he married someone else. A heroine. An older woman but a beautiful one. It seems that he is rubbing salt on my wounds because I can never be her. Just like how I could never be Swara. Now I feel drained. Drained of every emotion in this world. Drained of every last drop of energy. Drained of the vindication and hate and pain and melancholy. Drained of every joy and hope and dream and peace. I am empty. My world is dark. It seems that I hardly live anymore, but I do. I breathe. I wake up every morning and put a façade of satisfaction and contentment but I think they notice. Everyone does. I think after being subjected to my madness for him, yes, madness, because I know now that love just doesn’t happen that way. I loved him but somehow, that thin line between love and obsession got blurred. My pure love was marred and tainted by seeds of hatred and obsession planted by people. People like my Dadi, Sanskaar and Swara. People like…………..him. So I think that after living a nightmare for so long, it isn’t too hard for them to see that I am not happy. That I am in deep pain. That I cry myself to sleep every night. That sometimes while chopping vegetables, I wish to run the knife on the smooth skin of my wrist. That sometimes, when I strike a matchstick to light the Diya in front of God, I wish to light up my clothes instead. That sometimes, while I am crossing the road, I feel like coming in front of a car or a truck. That sometimes, I wish I slip from the stairs, just like my mother did, and ultimately reach where she is. But even that won’t happen. My mother must be in heaven while a monster like me is condemned to hell. I wish to rid this world and the people around me, people I love, of me. I could do them a favour by dying. But it is tough. Even death seems to evade me. I tried taking my own life the night it all happened. The night which was supposed to be the happiest of my life but turned out to be the darkest. The night my womanhood was insulted. The night my father was slapped. The night I lost everything. I couldn’t die that night. And somehow I feel that I won’t die even if I try now. I guess there is more to come. Maybe this pain and loneliness and hate isn’t enough punishment for the sins I have committed. Maybe there is more suffering. But I am numb now. I can go through anything. And I know I will. Because I have resigned myself to my fate. Maybe he is right. I don’t deserve love. But it still hurts………………………