Changing Weathers of Love

Priya there is no time to look back! Get up, pick up your particles and try to assemble yourself. There is no time left for argument. Know this that the way is deserted. Rally your strength and keep on walking towards the unknown.

She kept on sitting at the threshold of her house that was on the verge of disintegration. The autumn, holding the hand of winds, had covered the entire garden with dry leaves. She stared at the leaves that had been separated from their branches. There were webs of memories. She was so annoyed that she thought it was her only destiny.

“Priya, why are you sitting here all alone? It is too cold outside!” putting his briefcase on the garden chair, Raman walked towards her.

Priya lifted her face, the similar incomplete smile, tensed eyes, and gloomy expression.

“What happened, why you are behaving like this?” said Raman with suspicion.

“Nothing, nothing at all. Tea?” said Priya, composing herself.

“Leave it. I have just had tea in the office. Tell me, what has happened?” said Raman with emphasis.

“Nothing at all. I am a little tired.”

“Have you come back just now?”

“Four o’ clock.”

After this, Raman didn’t ask anything. Priya remained silent. Raman entered the house to change his dress and Priya entered the kitchen.

Having changed his clothes, Raman sat with his newspaper. The children had already gone out to play, having completed their homework. With a cup of tea in her hand, Priya seated herself on a chair near the dining table.
After every interval, relations keep on changing like this, and after that changes the definition of relations. There is something strange in the language between man and woman that it becomes the language of the world because it changes with their relations. Then comes the time when neither of them tries to understand that language. Then language becomes introvert and echoes in the mind and the person struggles with his or her own conscience.

Had Raman touched her heart and asked politely, she could have accepted everything. But, it’s a pity that in nuptial knots one neglects the feelings of the other person and wants the things to move by his directions. It was her view.
It was a pause, an unspoken pause in their relations, and there was neither acceptance nor rejection. It was a lasting agony.

“Sir, I want to take Priya with me to Mauritius. Here in Delhi…”

Priya was often surprised how easily she had agreed to Raman’s plans. He was appointed as a lecturer in Hindi Department of Mauritius University. She was doing her M.A. in English from Delhi University.

“How shall I complete my studies if I go with you?” she had said.

“You can prepare there and come back to Delhi for your final exams.”

It had happened only a few days of their marriage. Twelve years passed so quickly.

They were very happy in their new house in Mauritius. One year after their marriage, Vikram was born. She had to drop her papers because there was no one to take care of the baby.

How much she wanted to complete her studies! She wanted to be a lecturer and a writer. With every passing year it looked more and more difficult because in the third year, she was pregnant again. Monika’s birth was complicated and she had to be hospitalized. It was a difficult delivery and there was excessive loss of blood. She needed complete bed rest.

Raman had already arranged a maid but she had to perform her duties towards her children.

Years kept on piling and her son and daughter started going to school. Raman was busy most of the time. After his university time, he would guide the students who were preparing their papers for higher studies.

Many a times, Priya wanted to run away from that place but love for her children always stood in her way.

At first, there used to be a little discussion about it but gradually it changed into arguments.

Priya could not remain confined in her house so she started teaching at a local school. This change gave her momentary consolation but after a few months she realized that her talent was being wasted.

She was the topper in Delhi University in B.A. and many good opportunities had come her way but she had sacrificed everything for the sake of Raman. He was her senior in college when they had first met.

Their parents immediately agreed to their marriage. Priya was happy that her husband was appointed as a lecturer in Mauritius University.

She emptied her cup and looked towards Raman who was reading his newspaper.

“How long will all this last?” said she, rallying whatever courage that was left in her.

“What?”

“How long do I have to suffer like this?”

“What is your suffering? You are a mother of two school going children. You have a qualified husband who fulfills all your demands. What else do you want?” said Raman, folding the newspaper and removing his glasses.

“You know what I want!” said she in a manner that was a little hurting.

“You can continue your studies. You can complete your thesis here and obtain your Ph.D. degree.”

“What will I do with that degree?”

“You can be a lecturer or a professor!”

“Why don’t you understand, Raman, I want to be myself! I can’t do what I want if I live here!”

“My job is here in Mauritius and we have bought our house as well. It is our home now,” said Raman very politely.

“No, Raman, you don’t understand. I feel like Nora of Henrik Ibsen, dancing to your tune. I want to find myself!” said Priya with an expression of anger on her face.

“I am sure the end of our play is not going to be like that of ‘A Doll’s House’? And you are not Nora. You are a highly qualified woman…”

Before he could speak further, she interrupted him, “And my qualification is rotting in this house, taking care of my children and preparing meals for my family. I want something more from this life!”

“It all depends on what you call happiness.”

“Have you ever cared about my happiness?”

“I have never hurt you, Priya,” said Raman.

“That is the only bad thing in you. I talk and shout and you never slap me. You should have done so earlier and guided me to some extent,” said Priya with a fake smile on her face.

“Wife beating is not my art. Fault lies with you because you never discussed openly. Whenever we start the topic, you begin to shout and go back to the past, your Delhi,” said Raman.

“Can’t I be like the autumn leaf that leaves its tree and falls onto the ground?”

“Dry and yellow?”

“No, I want to leave my tree when I am green with a provision that I could come back whenever I wanted.”

“You are mad, Priya!”

“Yes, I am mad and I don’t want to be a dry leaf!”
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