Suffocated

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Reshma cleared the files and papers from her desk and switched off her computer. The clock on the wall told her that it was time to head home from work. She checked her cell phone. She had missed thirteen calls from Satish who had also left her seven messages. With a sigh she decided to read the messages first.

“Hey babes, hw r u?”
“Busy? I’ll call? Wanna head to the beach today evening?”
“I knw u gotta visit ur mom bt can’t it wait? Reply plzzz.”
“Pick my call. R u tat busy? Dnt u luv me anymore”
“Just wondering if you are with someone else. I DON'T deserve this.”
“I knw by the blue ticks on WhatsApp tat u read my msgs. Why dnt u reply???”
“Where the hell r u? Cm home. Visit mom later.”

She heaved a sigh. What was with Satish? Things had changed so much in three years of marriage. Initially she would blush when she received his texts while she was at work. She shared with him her whereabouts and engagements. Her colleagues too thought it was cute and sweet of her husband. But with time the messages revealed his insecurities and inferiority complex. She had tried to convince him that it did not bother her at all that he was a clerk and she, a reputed doctor.

But Satish was always doubtful. He demanded to be updated with each and every detail of Reshma’s day. The patients she met, the fiends who invited her over and even how she spent each penny of her salary. She was fed up of answering his questions. She had informed him that she had an important surgery scheduled and so would be busy. She felt suffocated, unable to live freely. She glared at the messages; they seemed like a death sentence.

She decided she couldn’t put up with his demands anymore and messaged him back.
“You are right. You don’t deserve this. Good bye.”



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Brave

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Her heart swelled with pride as she watched her daughter picking vegetables from their small but well-kept garden. She thought of the little one as the greatest blessing in her life, her sole companion. They lived in a very small house amidst the lush greenery of a small village in the Western Ghats, but even with the limited resources, they lived a life of happiness and endless love.

She ran a small tailoring unit where she sat for hours together, cutting up cloth and making garments along with two other women she had employed. She grew vegetables, kept a few hens and taught neighbouring children in the evenings. Her daughter too pitched in to help though she was all but twelve.

It had been brave of her to stick to her decision of keeping her baby knowing that the journey of an unwed mother was going to be an arduous one. Her parents had cajoled, threatened and finally disowned her to save themselves from embarrassment and public disgrace. Her boyfriend had asked her to be practical. But she knew she was a fighter who would never give up. Not even if it meant the end of her education, luxurious life and the comfort of loving relationships.

She never regretted her choice. In fact she was even more determined to build a new life from scratch with her daughter. Her mind never once wavered even upon being tortured by wagging tongues. She fought her way through life like a brave warrior, without doubts, never turning back.

As her girl came in with a basket full of freshly picked greens, they shared a hug and headed to the kitchen. There was work to be done.

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The Final Call

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She failed to understand the unexpected shift in her parents’ priorities after having nurtured her dreams, fuelled her ambitions and prided in her achievements all these years. With the wedding fast approaching, everyone including her future in-laws seemed to be coaxing her to be more forgiving and less adamant about pursuing her career as they thought it was only through compromise that a marriage could last forever.

She recalled that just a few weeks back during the bride seeing ceremony, everyone seemed to be impressed with her qualifications, her talents and the well-deserved promotion she was offered at work. Wasn't it hypocritical that people wanted brides to be highly educated and knowledgeable yet homely, willing to replace her dreams with someone else’s? “I won’t let anything spoil my dreams” she thought as she picked up the phone to make that final call which she knew would change her life for the better.

P.S: I'm on top of the world now, having written my first guest post for Shanx who blogs at Embark With My Thoughts. You can read my blogging journey here.

This piece of Five Sentence Fiction was penned for the topic Spoiled at Lillie McFerrin Writes

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Henpecked!

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To my dear henpecked husband,

No I don’t intend to insult you, unlike our society ever ready with many tags that aim to degrade you, to question your testosterone levels and to reinforce its archaic, misogynistic beliefs on you so as to snub out the slightest glimmer of hope for change. To me the word “henpecked” brings renewed hope, and pride in having a partner who truly cares and believes in equality ignoring the rants and grunts of people around. A partner who dares to stand by his convictions least affected by society’s screwed up ideas of what makes a man “man enough”.

You are special my dear henpecked husband, a rare gem among a million “Indian men” out there. You actively share the boring house hold chores making them a fun activity. I can freely ask you to do the dishes without having to feel guilty (mama’s boys don’t do house work, it is meant for girls) or to press my legs when they ache. Of course you too seek my help with office work and other things.

I like it that you don’t sit snugly, propped up by pillows, watching T.V with other men while I prepare tea or clean up. I have never had to scream in my head “You are the host too!” when we have had guests. I feel loved, my presence in your life respected, when you never follow the “let men eat first” rule and make sure we eat together. You are the man of my dreams, for whenever there have been little sacrifices, they have been mutual.

Domestic chores thanks to you don’t get pushed into “woman’s domain” in our house. It is our home so together we work to keep it clean. We all feel hungry so we think nothing of sharing kitchen work. We are both educated having thoughts of our own, our own interests and ambitions. We defend and safe guard them for each other. I want you to know my henpecked hubby, that I love it that you don’t interfere in my career choices. You realize that beyond the umpteen roles I juggle, there is another me, just me with dreams and desires for myself. So do I. I promise you we will do what we love to.

Much to the displeasure of our society, you love to spend time with my parents as much as yours and realize how important it is for me to know that they are happy and well. And because you are special, you don’t expect to be showered with gifts and given a lot of importance by my family just because of your Y chromosome. You involve me in the decision you take and the choices you make.

I am truly blessed to be holding your hand in life knowing for sure that you’re real with all your imperfections. A real person with emotions that are not locked up in false perceptions about manhood (men don’t cry) with ambitions whose reasons stretch beyond the need to be a provider to the family. Love, this, let me say, is what I find most appealing in you.

These you may feel are too trivial to be written about, but I have no words to tell you about the solace they bring. It is not very easy to be a twenty first century- married- Indian -woman(feminist) with a career. It is like living in a pressure cooker forever. Those who yield to the pressures and live a life of conformity may seem to be happy, but the compromises they endure for the make-believe peace sets off a turbulent storm in their heads that rages for a lifetime.

So be proud of that label dear husband, go ahead and flaunt it.

Your Happy Hen ;)

Participating in the Ultimate Blog Challenge.

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Woman of the Night

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I am the woman of the night,

a dirty secret kept from daylight,

whose day comes alive at dusk

with a painted face and a touch of musk.

My captivating looks seek to lure

a man or two I am forced to endure

in silent pain and a lifetime of grief

so my babies sleep with some relief.

I live this life cursed and infernal

to fulfil instincts purely maternal.

The least I need is your heartless judgement,

an infliction worse than this predicament.

I am the woman of the night

erased from your life by daylight

before a fine gentleman you become

in whose life I’m most unwelcome.

Wanted: Homely Girl for Broadminded Boy

She made garam garam rotis and paneer for him. He liked to eat out.

She broke into a sweat making gajar ka halwa and pakoras. He hated greasy food.

She ironed his clothes perfectly. He loved the wrinkles and creases.

She scrubbed herself clean and powdered herself. He loved the smell of sweat.

She went to the parlour to make herself attractive. He hardly noticed.

She flaunted her mangalsutra and sindoor. He found them too loud.

She quit her job to take care of his needs better. He found it too odd.

She cleaned the house. He felt the home smelled of a hospital.

She never asked him for any gifts. He waited for her to say what she wanted.

She mindlessly obeyed her in-laws. He wanted her to think and act independently.

She invited relatives on Sundays and treated them well. He wanted to go out for a movie.

She was unhappy that he never acknowledged her effort. Then one day her friend advised her to be herself.

She ordered pizza and chocolate mousse.

She did not clean, cook or iron.

She stopped her parlour visits.

The mangalsutra was locked away in the cupboard.

She applied for a job.

She made some plans for a trip together.

She was contemplating the idea of appointing a maid.

He cried foul and called his mother.