She couldn't tell her. She shouldn't.
It was the tenth time she had changed her mind that day. It was getting harder by every passing moment. And she knew it. She would give up any time soon. She could see that coming. The anxiety. It was all too predictable. The way her hands were sweating, the way her heart was beating and the constant wetness of her eyes. The tissue paper in her hand had gotten all crumpled up and soggy. The eye beds were now aching. Every new teardrop scratched her skin, setting it on fire, and using the tissue paper was just like scratching it with nails, all over again.
She dropped the tissue paper on the floor. Took a deep breath. Filling her lungs with the air of foreign land and then slowly letting the air out. It was still foreign air to her. Everything about this land seemed foreign. The sky. The winds. The lights of the city. The rain. The scent of earth after rain too. And the people of course. Sometimes the people she was living with seemed foreign too. She didn't want to admit it but even her husband felt strange to him. And that was the precise reason she didn't want to call her!
She had never thought about marriage or fretted over it like other girls of her age.She was the ambitious one in her family. Always into studies, the book worm, the high acheiver. Her parents were so proud of her. Whenever she bestowed her cupboard, already filled with shields, trophies and certificates, with another monument, her mother's eyes would fill up with happy tears and her father's pride exuberant. They would never tell her, she had become accostumed to it, but she would know it, sensing it with their smiling faces and over joyous mood. Sometimes she longed them to say encouraging words, tell her how they feel but later on, when she grew up, she realized it was for the best. It made her humble today and she was grateful for that!
So when, one ordinary day, her parents told her about a proposal who were to come that very day, she couldn't have cared less. She knew her family regarded education highly and they would never interfere with her education for the world. She obliged nonchalantly. Everything went according to the plan. They came, they saw her, liked everything about her, were too eager for the reunion and praised the family with their manners and house keeping. The date was set. And when she was told about this, it was the very first time she sensed fear, without realizing this feeling will be the only companion of her in dark times. It was too over whelming. The thought of getting married this summer was too much for her. It was the first time her palms had sweated like that. Her heart had raced a marathon. Butterflies swapping in her stomach. As if they were too eager to come out, to be free. But she knew she can never utter a word of rejection or throw a fit like her friends had done. She was too noble for that. Her parents were too good to witness such ill behavior from her.
And then the same feeling was witnessed by her on rare, but, important occasions. Like when she bought her wedding dress, seeing it real for the first time, imagining herself in it. Like when she was signing her Nikkah papers. The pen quivering in her solid-like-metal left-hand. As if it had even sensed the change and was fearing it. Like when she was saying good-byes to her family and relatives for Rukhsati and someone had pushed her in the car - damn those relatives - not letting her to meet her parents or hug them for once and for all, to say everything it that hug, the unspoken i-love-yous and ill-miss-yous, shedding tears of thankyous on their shoulders for everything they had done for her up to so far, to hug them for so long that it suffices for the period afterwards, as she would be moving to Canada with her in-laws.
That time seemed long long before, remembering it now brought fresh tears to her eyes, stinging her skin again. It seemed somebody else had lived that life. That beautiful, care-free, non-burdened, peaceful and unmarried life. She had been so utterly married in these four months that she had forgotten all about it! How beautiful was it to rise every morning to a freshly made breakfast, to getup and come from washroom and to see your bed already been made, to iron your clothes or not to, to watch television endlessly with no qualms of making supper or dinner, to read a good book without worrying for the milk or water about to boil on the stove. Ah those good old days!
And for whom did she had this liberty? Just one person! Her mother! It was her mother who worked endlessly and tirelessly while she was on the laptop and at night her mother would even doze off in brightly lit room as her daughter would be studying by then. A mother could only tolerate such things.
She remembered the times when her mother-in-law got irritated because of her leaving the tap slightly open or not switching off the lights when she left her room. Not that her mother-in-law wasn't good to her. She remembered the time when her saas did all the work because she was the newly wedded girl of the house. Fifteen days. Fifteen days of pure enjoyment, late night gossips and doing literally nothing. Those were her best days! She reminisced all the love-making with her husband. How extrovert had he been to state truly his love for her. How engrossed and patient he was with all her stories. She remembered that husband. It felt again that somebody else had married him. The person she now witnesses is full of himself, bossy and busy with his routine and work. He is not the same. She is not the same. And she can't tell her mother all this!
No, she can't! It would break her to see her only daughter unhappy. The distance that has separated her is spread over thousands of miles. She can't come Canada. As she has her house to keep. And she can't go to her homeland as she could only visit in vacations due to her husband's job. So even if she tells her all this, what can she possibly do? Console her, advise her, soothe her or else cry with her? Living in a family who have absorbed all their feelings their whole life, she had become one of them. She just can't let all this out so easily. It would be too difficult to express it, yet, it would be too easy to subside it. Yes. She can do it. It wasn't difficult for her family then how difficult would it be for her?
But for once she wanted to NOT be that person. She wanted to express it all. To overflow all the sadness and misery onto her mother's eyes. So that her tears become her mother's tears and then her mother would shed tears for her. It would be easy to see her cry for her. To give her own eyes a little rest. To see somebody else understand her and pity her. She craved for her mother's lap; to rest her head on it for a while, to free her mind of all the troubles of the world, she yearned to hug her mother again; to not speak anything but hold her tight, to feel her warmth beside her body, to effortlessly snug in and release all unwanted emotions from her body and filling it with just love like her mother's. She wanted to call her, right now and then. But she shouldn't Not in a state like this! It would just crush her to hear her pained, restrained voice. And for the tenth time that day she had set her mind of not calling her mother.
Maybe some other day. Maybe when things get better. Maybe when she stops hiccuping and has the strength to get up from this cold floor. Maybe when she finds happiness or simply gets used to this foreign land. Maybe then it will be best to call her mother. To tell her of the good things; of love, passion, care and joy. To reassure her that all is well. Then that day she would definitely call her! She promised to herself.
It was the tenth time she had changed her mind that day. It was getting harder by every passing moment. And she knew it. She would give up any time soon. She could see that coming. The anxiety. It was all too predictable. The way her hands were sweating, the way her heart was beating and the constant wetness of her eyes. The tissue paper in her hand had gotten all crumpled up and soggy. The eye beds were now aching. Every new teardrop scratched her skin, setting it on fire, and using the tissue paper was just like scratching it with nails, all over again.
She dropped the tissue paper on the floor. Took a deep breath. Filling her lungs with the air of foreign land and then slowly letting the air out. It was still foreign air to her. Everything about this land seemed foreign. The sky. The winds. The lights of the city. The rain. The scent of earth after rain too. And the people of course. Sometimes the people she was living with seemed foreign too. She didn't want to admit it but even her husband felt strange to him. And that was the precise reason she didn't want to call her!
She had never thought about marriage or fretted over it like other girls of her age.She was the ambitious one in her family. Always into studies, the book worm, the high acheiver. Her parents were so proud of her. Whenever she bestowed her cupboard, already filled with shields, trophies and certificates, with another monument, her mother's eyes would fill up with happy tears and her father's pride exuberant. They would never tell her, she had become accostumed to it, but she would know it, sensing it with their smiling faces and over joyous mood. Sometimes she longed them to say encouraging words, tell her how they feel but later on, when she grew up, she realized it was for the best. It made her humble today and she was grateful for that!
So when, one ordinary day, her parents told her about a proposal who were to come that very day, she couldn't have cared less. She knew her family regarded education highly and they would never interfere with her education for the world. She obliged nonchalantly. Everything went according to the plan. They came, they saw her, liked everything about her, were too eager for the reunion and praised the family with their manners and house keeping. The date was set. And when she was told about this, it was the very first time she sensed fear, without realizing this feeling will be the only companion of her in dark times. It was too over whelming. The thought of getting married this summer was too much for her. It was the first time her palms had sweated like that. Her heart had raced a marathon. Butterflies swapping in her stomach. As if they were too eager to come out, to be free. But she knew she can never utter a word of rejection or throw a fit like her friends had done. She was too noble for that. Her parents were too good to witness such ill behavior from her.
And then the same feeling was witnessed by her on rare, but, important occasions. Like when she bought her wedding dress, seeing it real for the first time, imagining herself in it. Like when she was signing her Nikkah papers. The pen quivering in her solid-like-metal left-hand. As if it had even sensed the change and was fearing it. Like when she was saying good-byes to her family and relatives for Rukhsati and someone had pushed her in the car - damn those relatives - not letting her to meet her parents or hug them for once and for all, to say everything it that hug, the unspoken i-love-yous and ill-miss-yous, shedding tears of thankyous on their shoulders for everything they had done for her up to so far, to hug them for so long that it suffices for the period afterwards, as she would be moving to Canada with her in-laws.
That time seemed long long before, remembering it now brought fresh tears to her eyes, stinging her skin again. It seemed somebody else had lived that life. That beautiful, care-free, non-burdened, peaceful and unmarried life. She had been so utterly married in these four months that she had forgotten all about it! How beautiful was it to rise every morning to a freshly made breakfast, to getup and come from washroom and to see your bed already been made, to iron your clothes or not to, to watch television endlessly with no qualms of making supper or dinner, to read a good book without worrying for the milk or water about to boil on the stove. Ah those good old days!
And for whom did she had this liberty? Just one person! Her mother! It was her mother who worked endlessly and tirelessly while she was on the laptop and at night her mother would even doze off in brightly lit room as her daughter would be studying by then. A mother could only tolerate such things.
She remembered the times when her mother-in-law got irritated because of her leaving the tap slightly open or not switching off the lights when she left her room. Not that her mother-in-law wasn't good to her. She remembered the time when her saas did all the work because she was the newly wedded girl of the house. Fifteen days. Fifteen days of pure enjoyment, late night gossips and doing literally nothing. Those were her best days! She reminisced all the love-making with her husband. How extrovert had he been to state truly his love for her. How engrossed and patient he was with all her stories. She remembered that husband. It felt again that somebody else had married him. The person she now witnesses is full of himself, bossy and busy with his routine and work. He is not the same. She is not the same. And she can't tell her mother all this!
No, she can't! It would break her to see her only daughter unhappy. The distance that has separated her is spread over thousands of miles. She can't come Canada. As she has her house to keep. And she can't go to her homeland as she could only visit in vacations due to her husband's job. So even if she tells her all this, what can she possibly do? Console her, advise her, soothe her or else cry with her? Living in a family who have absorbed all their feelings their whole life, she had become one of them. She just can't let all this out so easily. It would be too difficult to express it, yet, it would be too easy to subside it. Yes. She can do it. It wasn't difficult for her family then how difficult would it be for her?
But for once she wanted to NOT be that person. She wanted to express it all. To overflow all the sadness and misery onto her mother's eyes. So that her tears become her mother's tears and then her mother would shed tears for her. It would be easy to see her cry for her. To give her own eyes a little rest. To see somebody else understand her and pity her. She craved for her mother's lap; to rest her head on it for a while, to free her mind of all the troubles of the world, she yearned to hug her mother again; to not speak anything but hold her tight, to feel her warmth beside her body, to effortlessly snug in and release all unwanted emotions from her body and filling it with just love like her mother's. She wanted to call her, right now and then. But she shouldn't Not in a state like this! It would just crush her to hear her pained, restrained voice. And for the tenth time that day she had set her mind of not calling her mother.
Maybe some other day. Maybe when things get better. Maybe when she stops hiccuping and has the strength to get up from this cold floor. Maybe when she finds happiness or simply gets used to this foreign land. Maybe then it will be best to call her mother. To tell her of the good things; of love, passion, care and joy. To reassure her that all is well. Then that day she would definitely call her! She promised to herself.
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