Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Meera penned the lines of her favourite poem, once again in her diary. The words seemed to have a lot more to tell her and each time she read them a new upsurge she always felt. She felt free and happy.
Showers of summer. She could hear the rain talking to her through the window. She fondly capped her pen like she once used to dress up her doll and drew her curtains open. And she sublimed in the petrichor that lingered in the air.
In the breeze, the pages turned. With a soft hustle they went on to halt at the day's entry. The day that changed everything. And even amidst the music of the drizzle, her words of the day echoed in an aura of eloquence.
A lot of questions to be answered. But whom to answer first! Family? Society? Or my conscience that all ceased to bother about? Answers seemed too futile even to think of. After all they wouldn't matter once this was all over. I looked hard at my own reflection in the mirror. Pale and frail, was I just another corpse that had a live heart? I ran my fingers over the countless bruises that adorned my torso. No rogue nor powder could mask them from the people who knew my grief, yet they were masked from the world,brilliantly, by a dead smile and mere art of pancakes! The wounds but were nothing in par with the trauma that leeched my soul. Marriages are made in heaven? Oh! But I know nothing of it. But life could be made a hell by the tying of a knot. And sometimes all you can do is perish to the feeling of the knot being tightened around you. Sour was his love, bitter our relation and silence was my loudest cry. "The man of dreams" people wish their partner to be, when all I asked was to be treated with tenderness. No, nothing much as the petals of flowers you savor, but a very little more than the status of sheer flesh. Maybe that too was beyond the horizon I was granted to even think of. Long and hard I survived. But this heart whose fuel had worn out long before, could endure this saga of violence no more. All this had begun with tying of a knot and I decided to end this too with a knot. The latter would liberate me from the anguish the former had bestowed. And it was time for the curtain to fall.
"Mummaa" .... "Wha you doing up theere?" .... Rihaan in his naive accent questioned, nabbing whatever part of my saree, he could get hold of.
Among all the questions I had to answer, I couldn't turn a blind face to this one. No, not to this one. I loosened the knot and held my 2 and a half year old, close to my bosom. Now there won't be a look back. It was time to loosen all the knots.
I took out the document I had safely kept folded inside the cupboard. Buried deep down the clothes, for I hadn't wanted to entice this option, for the sake of "norms of society"! Why to adhere to the norms that never heard my pleas? I signed the petition.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.
Yes, she had chosen the path less trodden and that had made all the difference.
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