Friday, 22 April 2016

The gnawing happiness.

I come to write after a while and what I have brought...a sad story. Well, it's not a fiction but a reality of being a human being. And every time I think 'bout it, it makes me sad, so much sad.

One of my aunts recently got separated from her family. No. No scenarios such as divorce or dying of the husband but the simple case of separation, with kids divided between parents as well. Now she is living in another section of the same city; a city where she set her foot right after marriage and spent more than half of her share of life. She turned into a wife then housewife, a mother and finally sprinted for the joy of grandmother. The city has given her so much of a human life in abundance that makes her now nothing more than a finely but skilfully crushed piece of cardamom which only has to give but nothing could be done in order to retain the life she had before coming to this city.

On a recent happening note, She had recently got blessed with a grandchild and one can only imagine the gnawing happiness and the off-balance strike she must be struggling with right now. The boy is not her first grandchild. It's the second but the fact that she has now a torn family to celebrate the happy occasion with, the sheer intensity of the glowing feeling must be causing tremendous amount of pain as well. The first grandchild was welcomed grandly and was given the love and affection of his grandfather as well. Now the second one, or should I dare say bit of the unlucky one, will have to survive on half of his grandparents' love. His grandmother's love. I bet the tears my aunt must have shed at the arrival of the newborn must be mixed with the tricklings of her own sorrow.

When my mother unveiled the event of the separation, I stopped doing whatever I was concerned with at the moment. I flinched inside and words fail to come out of mouth. I could easily go on blabbering an entire book on how a woman feels when her family is sliced into pieces, when she sees her children being divided between her and the husband, how helpless she feels when no one realizes that only bricks and furniture can be divided but no one can take away the bucket of memories which, at the time of separation, must be spilling with memories and more memories, the pain, the ruthless agony and so on... They say a woman is hard to understand. Yes. It is true. But isn't she The One making the family members' life easy and comfortable by doing her best endeavors? Well, this thin delicate logic can again be ignored in the limelight of women being too much sensitive or deprived of self-preservation. It is just so easy to ignore their feelings and what they stand for. Just as questions that must be driving her mad day in and day out. I can only imagine the moment when she was making an exit after being treated as no more than a house keeper at dispense and she is living it, breathing to its fine dust and moreover, sucking hard to it and probably choking to innumerable deaths in her head and heart. Now where does the logic of being a well nourished brainy bread winner goes of to? I ask you, wise men!

Anyways, my mother was inexpressibly sad. She wished she could be with my aunt and help her through the tragedy. I felt the same way though; to be with her and hold her hand but only to make her look through the good and the positive part of the tragic episode - that she has now gotten rid of a life which gave her nothing but an utter taste of ignorance and the wrecking blight of being nobody; that she is unhooked from a man who failed to make her feel a proud woman, and a wife; a man who could provide nothing but a smart series of embarrassment and confusion through out her life - a life that he made no stone unturned to make it miserable. But she is a woman, has lived long enough to breathe more as a wife. How could she let go of a man with whom she had shared a room, the bed, a roof, miseries and other moments? It certainly is not easy. 

I patted my mother's wounds and told her it is best for my aunt to get to live  life away from him. Well, such sort of compassionate words are usually lost in the mist of confusion and sadness but I know I was right. It's better to live alone than to be with the wrong one. In desperation to provide a solution to my aunt, I politely (and rather bleakly at the prospect of what I had in mind to offer) continued,

"Mummy! Tell her to stay strong. I can understand the phase is tough but it will pass soon. If possible, tell her kids to move out of the city and settle somewhere else (well, this was the aspect I was particularly felt weak on my suggesting part.) I know it is tremendously tough for a woman to move out of a place where she has grown into so many fitting roles and as an integral part of the place yet it is advisable from the wisest of my brain nerves to move away from the city, the place of tragedy. It will distract her and the new place and people will help her a great deal in healing."

My mother just nodded at my words, she and I both fully aware my suggestion could hardly be brought into a sense of tiniest action yet I dispensed because I am you know, sort of an expert in understanding a few things exactly as they are. To whom would she turn to explain the bloating pain threatening her to explode any minute into pieces and merging into this endless trail of universe? How can she hide her feelings when being irritatingly questioned by others? Being put inside the witness box only to be declared as the guilty one? These are just a few nit-pricks itching my head and sadly, I can't extend my fingers there to find a relief. Back on the call, I ushered once more and then I spoke more as a concerned daughter. I love my mother and can never stand her looking sad by any minute. 

Well, without an intention, the post has stretched into an unusual length. Guess few things just need an outlet, rather than the measurement. Whether I feel better or not after ogling out all my grief and sadness here, hardly matters but I certainly demand peace and a true sense of happiness for my grief-stricken aunt. You can also pray if you have a spare minute. She deserves it, you know.



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