(Reading the newspaper headline) “Missing Indian bride arrested for allegedly murdering husband on honeymoon.”
Good morning, Mumma (peeping into the newspaper). Why do you start your day by reading such heart-rending news every morning? Actually, you should stop reading the newspaper; it never has anything positive to start a day with. And if you can’t resist, then consider reading it after lunch at least.
How can a woman kill anyone? A woman… who can’t even speak what she thinks; who hides her desires, her mistakes, her feelings, her anger, even her happiness sometimes; can kill someone? I will like to meet her someday. (Thinking while preparing breakfast)
“Keerat, why don’t you join some self-defence classes?”
She snaps, “What will I need that for, Mumma?”
“You talk so much sense about everything, but whenever I ask you to work on your physical strength, you can’t stand it. May I know why? Eating almost nothing can make you look good according to the beauty standards of this society, but the same thing can’t make you strong enough to survive in the same society. You must eat adequately and do some strength training at least. Have you ever thought: if someone hit you, can you hit the person back?”
“And who do you think will do that?”
“It’s not about who will do that. It’s about whether you are strong enough to protect yourself and fight back.”
“See… Papa can never do that to me; brother… I don’t have any; partner… I will choose wisely. Hence, there is no possibility that something like this will happen to me.”
“And why do you think it can be done only by a male?”
“Oh, Mumma… that’s why I say stop reading the newspaper and also stop reading novels full of violence. Right now I don’t want to be late for the office. So we will continue this discussion in the evening.”
I don’t know where my daughter has started consuming such thoughts. I am dumbstruck to know that she thinks only her father, brother or a partner can hit her. And they claim that they are the most receptive generation in human history. (Thinking)
“Good morning!”
“Will you have tea or coffee?”
“Nothing right now. What was the matter between you two so early in the morning?”
“The same topic: I asked her to take some self-defence classes, and she got mad.”
“If you know where this discussion concludes every time, then why do you behave so stubbornly to start it anyway every morning?”
“Because I don’t want my ego to be bigger than my daughter’s safety. Also, I don’t want her to feel helpless at some moments the way I felt throughout my life. Anyway, as determined as you are to convince me not to raise this topic, why don’t you try to convince her? Or maybe you don’t want your daughter to be fearless.”
“She is fearless.”
“Yes, indeed, like any other woman, she is fearless until she isn’t in any dangerous situation.”
“And why the hell do you want her to be in such a situation?”
“I don’t want her to be in such a situation; I just want her to be prepared for anything; prepared for life, any way it comes to her.”
“You are just being difficult for both of us, nothing else.”
“Yes, I am difficult because I try to reveal what you both try to conceal.”
“I don’t see any hope in arguing with you anymore.”
“Oh yes, fortunately, you have become hopeless about so many things regarding me these days.”
“What else do you want? You want me to be the same? You wanna see the same me again? Our daughter is an adult now, and she isn’t like you, so why will anyone abuse or beat her? You are still the same, but I have changed myself. Because I can’t put my daughter in the spot where she has to see her mother beaten by her father.”
“And you think she couldn’t see just because she was a kid? She couldn’t hear those screams, those beatings, those arguments? If she didn’t say anything, you think she couldn’t see it, and she wasn’t affected by it. How can you be so naive? How many years have you been a teacher yourself, yet you still know nothing about child psychology? Why Rajat? The problem is she is affected, and she doesn’t want to accept it. Your actions have affected her childhood, and you don’t want to accept it. If we want a better future, a better relationship for her, we need to talk about it. We need to save her. Otherwise, one day she will accept it as normal in her life too, as did her mother. I don’t want her to be prey to any sort of violence, and specifically, I don’t want her to be it just because she saw her mother as a sufferer and did nothing, and is still living with that man who used to beat her every other day.”
“Were you the sufferer? You were just mad, and I was the one who used to suffer because of your madness and those beatings; they could change nothing in you. Every time my family was here, you were mad; every time my friends visited, you were mad; every time I visited someone, you were mad. Who could stand that?”
“You just knew that I was mad. Did you ever try to know why it was so? I was mad because my family never visited, and your family never accepted me as one of them. I was mad because you made fun of me so that your friends could laugh. I was mad because I had no friends after marriage. I was mad because I had no one to go to. I was mad…”
“Yes, and that’s because of who you are. You blame my family members for not accepting you, but what about your family? Why couldn’t they accept you? And as long as friends are concerned, where are those who were there before our marriage? You accept it or not; it’s just that you aren’t good at maintaining relationships.”
“And everybody else was good? If they were as good, then why couldn’t they make it with me too?”
“Because it takes two to make a relationship work.”
“Oh really? I agree. But why do people fail to accept that it takes two to spoil one too?
“Leave it; no discussion between us can work.”
“Oh yes, how can it?”
I am not good. Or I don’t want to be good. Or I can’t be good anymore. Who knows? Even I don’t know. I always wanted to be good to everyone. Good… not in appearance but at heart. All of them he is talking about are good on the surface and the worst behind each other’s backs. My parents, he talked about. Yes, they didn’t choose me when they should have. You will ask who they chose over me? They chose society. Actually, he is a moron to think that they chose him… what a fool he is making of himself. The people who couldn’t choose their own daughter. The daughter who they bore who they rear with such love and care. He thinks they could choose him. They just chose their fear. They chose a life full of social acceptance for themselves. They chose their days full of guests and saved their nights from being nightmarish. I always find it so funny that he thinks they chose him over me. Maybe that’s why they say that ignorance is bliss. Relationships these days don’t work with honesty, love, or care; rather, they work because of the visible illusion people live in and couldn’t risk breaking. Because they are afraid of loneliness. Or more specifically, because they are afraid of living alone with themselves. But I am good. Actually, I am great with myself. Or maybe that’s because I don’t have any other option. He is wrong about almost everything, but when he says that even my parents aren’t with me, that thought sometimes makes sense. At least they should have understood and stood by me. But what can one do? Everyone chooses their own life. Even parents do so, and they have every right to do so. What else can I think of to content myself? (Thinking)
“Good evening, Mum, you are looking concerned. What happened? How was your day?”
“May I ask you something?”
“Yes, of course. Why not?”
“Do you remember anything from your childhood?”
“Oh yes. There are so many things which I cherish about those days.”
“Like?”
“Like that neighbourhood… my dolls… the way we all used to play in the evening on the streets… but why?”
“Don’t you remember anything threatening?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean by why? She is saying she doesn’t remember any such thing. Why are you forcing her to accept something that never happened? Hello Keerat, how was your day?”
“I am not forcing anything. I want to ask her if anything threatens her from her childhood days. If it is, so she can talk about it. She is an adult now, and I don’t want her adulthood to be affected by her childhood trauma. Like any sensible parent, we can help her. What will we get by denying all that?”
“Denying what? All that, what all that? What are you talking about, Mum?”
“The things you both never talk about.”
“Maybe it’s our choice not to talk about unpleasant things.”
“It’s ok mumma. Tell me what you want to talk about. I am really tired, but still I can sense this discomfort in you for so many months now. If you want to talk, let’s talk.”
“Last night, when I was on my way to the kitchen, I passed your room, and I heard you groaning. When I tried to peep through the slightly opened door, I saw you were sleeping. Maybe a nightmare? And I have been noticing that for a month now. On and off, I saw you caught in some nightmare at night. What’s the matter? Is there anything we should talk about? About your life or about anything related to us.”
“Not right now. It’s been a long day for me.”
“Till when will you avoid it?”
“Not much, Mum. I will talk to you about it. I would. Soon. May I go to sleep now? Wish you a good night. Also, nothing is worrying me; trust me, I am good.” (She kisses her forehead and leaves.)
“I know you are running a race to be happy, to be successful, to be whatever you want to be. And you are too busy to win in the race; you don’t have time and energy to look around and to look back, but trust me, the burden you are carrying will not let you win it. You have to address it and leave it somewhere. And if it was me who gave you the burden, then you can leave it with me to go on.”
“I really don’t know what you are talking about, but I promise I will talk to you.”
“It’s ok, Keerat, we can’t understand the family history she is trying to establish. You go and relax. Don’t bother much about her madness.”
(Keerat leaves without saying a word to Rajat. Leaving Kiran watching her hoplessly. Then they both go to their respective rooms.)
The next morning, offering Kiran a cup, Keerat asks to share the tea with her and sits beside her.
“Now can we talk?”
“Of course, Mum. Tell me what’s bothering you?”
“The news interested me because I wanted to tell you that just because you have seen your mother accepting domestic violence doesn’t mean you have to be conditioned to think that a female accepting violence is normal. Everyone is different… every life is different. Anyone can be violent. Anyone can be the sufferer. It’s not about gender. It’s about situation. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“Yes, Mum, I do. But why do you think I have been conditioned to think such a thing?”
“Because you never talk about the violence which you saw in your house as a child. I thought you thought it’s normal for every woman to go through it at some stage of life.”
“No, Mum, it’s not so. I know… I remember those days. I can recall how I used to sit in my room and cry, waiting for those noises to end. I never had the guts to see that, to face that, but I know what used to happen. As a child, I didn’t know how to react to that.”
“And what do you think about it now?”
“Now… I think it’s been years and nothing has happened as such. I know you guys don’t love each other and maybe hate each other but settled. You argue sometimes, but now it’s strictly limited to verbal arguments. Which I think is natural for anyone living together for such a long time and having individuality. So I don’t feel any need to talk about all that and make you both feel uncomfortable. And especially those memories, which will only hurt us. Which can break our family. If you were willing to do any such thing, you could have done it way before. You could do that when all that was happening. To raise such issues now, when they are things of such a distant past, will not do any good to any of us.”
“Did you try to ask me if that is bygone for me too?”
“Are you trying to talk about it for yourself or for me?”
“Ok… and what about your nightmares? I am afraid that you are in a similar toxic relationship and hiding it from us.”
“Ok, then let me tell you a secret which will clear all your doubts related to my relationship being violent. I am not interested in boys. I don’t feel comfortable around them. I had some very short attractions towards some, but they never worked. So for now I am in a relationship, not with a boy but with a girl. I know… don’t look at me with those eyes. You are making me uncomfortable.”
“Wait… what? Who should be uncomfortable after this revelation of yours?”
“I know… I was about to tell you, but I wanted to be sure before that. What if I had told you and the next day I had told you that it didn’t work with a girl too?”
“Why do you think so much even before sharing your life with your mother? I am your mother. I bore you so that you can live, and you hesitate to share that life with me. It seems strange to me.”
“Ok I am sorry. I won’t think that much next time.”
“And what about the nightmare?”
“I really don’t know. I think it’s all happening in deep sleep. I don’t have any idea about it. But if you are saying so, it must be happening. But honestly, I don’t know what it is about.”
“So will you try to go and talk to some psychiatrist?”
“No, Mum, why will I waste time and money on something which isn’t even bothering my conscious self?”
“Because much of our personality is made not of our conscious but subconscious selves.”
“I don’t think I need anything like that.”
“Did you notice how you just dismissed the possibility of facing violence in a relationship just because it’s the girl you are with? Doesn’t it mean that you think only a male can be violent?”
“No… I am just being logical that the possibility is higher if it’s a man. And don’t worry, I know how to get out of it if it’s violent or toxic. I am not a woman who will endure violence throughout her life.”
“Wasn’t it a taunt on me?”
“Noooo… Mum, of course not. How can I? And I am unable to understand why you think I can do so? I respect you… You need not fight for it, trust me.”
“I know you respect your mother. Yet I am afraid… what if you have started hating and inferiorising your own gender because of your mother? What if I have conditioned hatred in you against your own gender? What if you have been prejudiced by seeing me suffer, that a woman must suffer to make a relationship work?”
“Ok then if so, then why did I break the relationships for those boys if I have been conditioned so?”
“Maybe because it’s been engraved in your thoughts that a man will be like your father in a relationship. And you don’t want such a relationship, so you thought that it will be better if it’s a girl. Because you have seen that gender to be violent, you decided that two girls will be a good combination to have a peaceful relationship.”
“But a relationship isn’t about being violent and nonviolent only. It’s also about sexuality. I hope you understand it.”
“Yes, I do, but sex can’t make a toxic relationship peaceful.”
“Sometimes I feel it’s impossible to have a discussion with you and not leave it as an argument with loud voices.”
“Just like your father… right?”
“I am tired… I have tried my best to answer all your questions and satisfy you. But don’t think I am capable of it.”
“Why do you talk like your father sometimes?”
“Mother… I have invited her for dinner today. Tell me what you will cook for my special one?”
“You tell me whatever she likes, and I will prepare that with all my love. I just don’t want you to be affected by what I went through in life.”
“I completely understand that, Mum and I love you and more than that, I respect you.”
Kiran spends most of the day cooking, baking, and waiting for Keerat.
“The doorbell rings and peeping herslef in the mirror she goes to open the door. She hugs them both and welcomes Saira. Rajat is having his dinner already.”
“You didn’t wait for us for dinner? Didn’t Mum tell you that I am taking someone home tonight?”
“She did.”
“You go and get some rest. I will call you once dinner is ready.”
They leave for Keerat’s room. Rajat follows them noiselessly and enters Keerat’s room behind them. Keerat is shocked to see him when she turns to hug Saira.
“Dad… you want something?”
He charges at Saira. He grabs her by her hair, and she starts screaming. Keerat tries to scream but, unable to do so, restrains herself in the corner of the room. Saira is trembling with fear when he hits her again with all his force. She falls on the floor. Keerat starts crying while hiding her face in her hands, refusing to look at what is happening.
“What happened? Why the hell is there so much noise?”
When Kiran enters the room in a hurry, led by Saiara’s screams, she has a knife in her hand, and the moment she sees Saira on the floor and Keerat crying in the same corner, she can’t control herself and, in a fit of rage, starts attacking Rajat with the knife. She stops only after realising that he is dead. Then she goes to Keerat and comforts her the way she used to do when Keerat was a child.
“Breathe… Breathe… Nothing happened. Nothing happened.”
“But Mumma, he is dead.”
“I know, you be calm.”
Saira joins them. They console Keerat, who isn’t able to breathe even after an hour. Take her to the hospital. Leaving them in the hospital, Kiran calls the police and informs them about what just happened. She left a note for Keerat on the dining table under her favourite statue of a phoenix.
“You think she can only cry.
But she can also fly.
And for her soaring flight,
She can even kill you.
Who you think can only die.”