Of Setting Suns and Sunsets

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 44; the forty-fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

She always loved sunsets. There was something about them - maybe the fact that its all over or may be the promise that there will a brighter day tomorrow. She didn’t know what exactly; but she loved watching and losing herself in the moment – in the fields of her big farmhouse. In one of these sunsets, he had come to meet her. She had dreamt of this meeting all her life. The meeting when she will get to meet the man of her life, selected by her parents and relatives. Strangely though, there weren’t any butterflies as she had imagined.

He stayed in the US and was a perfect match for her – tall, handsome, qualified, settled. She was weaving dreams of a beautiful tomorrow just like the one promised by the sunsets she had grown up watching. She was of marriageable age and had to be married for there were 3 more sisters waiting in the line before her father could heave a sigh of relief. And she was packed off to the US without getting a chance to know him, his behavior, his likes dislikes, his temperament. After all, all arranged marriages are like that. Who meets the guy before marriage? Not we Indians plus her mothers and aunts also got married like that. They have always been happy.

And yes, she tried to be happy when the first time he hit her. She had just asked about the picture of the girl on the wall. She tried to be happy when the 2nd time he hit her, she had just wanted her passport back. The Nth time when she had her nth miscarriage, she told herself whatever is meant to happen will happen. But for how long will she have to take it? She was to know soon.

That fateful night when in a drunken state, he came home wanting to bed her and she resisted - he hit her again, with a rod. While she was gathering her strength to stand up on her feet again, she caught hold of the same rod and hit him back. She loved it, she did not know she could do that. “This is nice, it felt so good.” With her new found strength, she kept hitting him till he died, died an easy death. And left her hoping to meet the guy her parents had married her to (not the one she was living with) in another world, another time. She could not stop smiling. She could see the sun set in the far away fields.

It had a stark resemblance with the same sun she had left years ago.

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Credits

Image - Love in the air by Anand
Courtesy - Apple Blossom's Photography via www.blogaton.in

The Bubbled Trust!

She stood in the shower, stared at her hands cupped together with drops of water falling in them & then overflowing. Small bubbles of water seemed so jubilant & then they died out only to be overtaken by more bubbles. She saw her in the bubbles who were so trusting of the hands that they let themselves fall freely without fear without a thought - only to be let down by the hands. Guess that’s life! It was her wedding night; she shirked away her husband rather rudely and then had excused herself for a quick shower. He thought she’s shy. Only she knew she was scared. The moment a man comes closer, she cringes, closes her eyes, and relives the trauma. She was 10, just 10 – effervescent, jubilant, carefree just like the bubbles of water she was staring at, just like all kids are – when her uncle had on the pretext of a game when her parents were away raped her. Wasn’t he supposed to take care of her? Wasn’t he supposed to protect her? Her parents had given him the responsibility. Was this his responsibility? As she grew up, she made herself believe that whatever happened was a horrible dream, only to be reminded of the ordeal every time a man came closer. She could no more trust “man”kind. She knows she has to. She is trying. It’s just that the trust that once came easily now seems “tough” extremely “tough”.