(This is s short story and bears no resemblance to any person living or dead. Any resemblance is a mere coincidence.)
For the first time in her 32 years of marriage she wore the vermilion on her parting. She patted her hair — which was receding on the front, to bring the ends forward in an attempt to look like a quintessential Indian bride. She blushed like a newly-wed and looked away.
She then went to her dressing table and drew a complete round vermilion bindi on her forehead. This, too , was for the first time. She felt feminine, wanted, loved, just the way she wanted to dress all those years of her marriage.
Unfortunately, like a lot of us, she was married to the wrong man. With whom she was never compatible, neither emotionally nor physically. She lived with him primarily because of practical reasons. There was no love even if you squeezed that marriage out. And towards the end they lived together because they needed to be together for financial reasons… hence the compromise.
They led their own lives. She was a hardcore IT specialist and wore suits to office, 9-9. He was a businessman, lived depending on his helps and maids. There was no bond except for their two children, now settled.
But today she felt REALLY married. Today she felt like a wife, a lover, a princess, a queen. She wore the sari like a quintessential Indian woman would do, and put on her bangles. She then tried on her jewelry and payals, and made soft jingle taps with her feet. Then she went out in the rain and got drenched.
She was celebrating. Today was her husband’s second death anniversary.
KDC 2 | 12 |2015