"I got married and became his maid of honor. I became his Bible and he reads me. I am the creed, he needs. I am the sermon and he is to heed", quoted Anjali with a sad face, the next day of her marriage.
"I love my work more than anything. I work like I don't need any money. I cherish every single moment at my work-place", smiles Anjali, clearing up the wells of water by bare hands. "I am not against marriage, but marriage is mean". The dark-brown skinned girl with a dusky glow, an average height with tall dreams, says, "I am married. Not to a man but to my work". The cynical society questions her again, "Don't you know your limits? It's the husband who is to be worshipped and not the work. It's the husband's name that brings you recognition. Hold, on your tongue Lady!
Those fearful eyes had the gleam of respect though dimmed out. As if the spark is craving for fuel. The fuel of freedom. The freedom from being denied the right of "you".
"I am a single independent woman. But they don't want me to be equally independent like him. They don't treat me like him. Even he doesn't treat me like him. Then, who stands for me, when I am so desolate and lost. Who gives me the confidence that I am capable enough to fight these social obligations", argues Anjali.
The air around is numb. Her questions echoes around, swirling round in air but touching none. Even the air fails to carry the wight of the substance in those questions and hence the solo quizzaire again begs no medals, not even a consolation.
After a long day of work, Anjali retires back home by 10:30 night. The commotion of the house looks so usual to her. It's no hassle for her to cook late night. After all, she eats in satisfaction of feeding her tummy with dignity. Half of every night after marriage is spent in extreme gratitude to Lord with new target setting for the upcoming day. While the other half is the bosom couple night.
The morning starts with breakfast preparations with flurry of activities in the house. The independent-rebellious soul walks out of the room and finds the elders serving breakfast to the men of the house. She remembers the days, when her mother used to serve her the breakfast every morning before work. Smiling in memoirs, she walks to the breakfast table and hears, "Anjali, prepare your coffee and sandwiches in kitchen. Rest everyone's breakfast is served".
The smile of Anjali turns into an ugly frown. The resilience of a married woman manages to increase manifolds. At the top of her voice, Anjali clamors, "I earn more than your both sons. I work harder than them. I won't tolerate it this way. If food for 4 can be prepared, one more addition won't give you a burp, Mom!"
The family was taken by uprise at this uprising independent mutiny. Anjali didn't have her breakfast today. From the walk-out and back to work, she argued again, "Who stands for me, when I am so desolate and lost. Who gives me the confidence that I am capable enough to fight these social obligations". As usual, she wasn't expecting any answers. The air is heavy with her arguments again, swirling round, reaching to none, but this time to a blusher. The blusher falls with a bang.
Anjali smiles and picks up the blusher saying, "This is my answer. It's my work, my passion which stands for me when I am so desolate and lost. It's my work which gives me the confidence that I am capable enough to fight these social obligations".
"But Why did it take days to get the answer", questions Anjali to herself in the mirror.
Her mirror image replies,"Because you were searching your answers in "who", while your answered lied in "which"".
PS: Anjali after getting married realized, she was never married to a man and the family but to her work. The family already knew that they never married Anjali, but to the money she earns. Today Anjali gets breakfast on time and her mother-in-law pleases her in all the best ways she can. Anjali is proud to be a beautician and looks forward to make more and more ladies beautiful, painting them in the colors of self-confidence and courage. A true inspiration.