I don’t know about love but a part of your soul dies every time a relationship, so dear to your heart, fails. Five years had passed since the divorce. It had not only taken a toll on my mental health, but on every part of my life. I hardly remembered when was the last time I had dolled up for going out. Instead I wore the same white kurti and blue faded jeans seven days in a row to office. I smiled less, grumbled more and barked at every single person at home or work. It’s not that I was still mourning the loss of that dead relationship. What was it then?
On my 31st birthday, Mom came up with an ultimate formula to make my robotlike lifestyle less boring and more fizzy. She started groom hunting for me on a matrimonial site. And in no time my poor phone got flooded with some hundred ‘hello’s and ‘hi’s from fifty-year-old uncles. To add to my misery, she then invited some of them home and inveigled them to marry her marooned (in her words) daughter. It was no use arguing with her. So I made a decision.
In a month I found a new job in a faraway city. A week before I was to leave, much to my shock, I ran into my ex boyfriend, Dhruv.
Initially it wasn’t awkward. We started catching up with each other. He was now married and had recently been blessed with a baby girl. We both went mum for a while – I, for my inability to digest his happiness wholeheartedly and he, for…well, no idea.
‘What went wrong?’ He asked.
I figured he was asking about my failed marriage.
‘I heard you’d tried too hard to fit in his world which was an alien land for you.’ He added.
Now we entered the awkward arena.
‘When we dated, you were this carefree girl who never cared to live life someone else’s way. Probably that’s why we broke up…you said you’d never change.’
The words hit me a bit too hard. I excused myself, hailed an auto and whisked away. I didn’t want to change? I mused. Why did I change then in an attempt to save my futile marriage? Where did that gutsy girl vanish? The questions sprinted through my head so fast that I began to feel nauseous. Did I just lock her away in one of those dark cubicles inside of me to save myself from being labelled as a divorcee? I entered the elevator of my apartment. And what am I doing now – running away from the one person who has always loved me unconditionally? Why not confess the truth instead?
Mom opened the door.
‘Mom, I suggest that you stop hunting for a savior for your daughter. She isn’t missing a partner. All she’s missing is her old self.’ I gave her a tight hug.
And with that things started falling into place – slowly and gradually.
Written by Chirasree Bose