They
say Indian marriages are a matter of commitment. A rule, to start life anew
with a perfect stranger and act happy. They are more of compulsion than
compassion. But I lead a long life to prove them wrong.
Watching
the time pass I sat on my rocking chair, deep in thoughts .Just eleven hours
and seven minutes.. Amongst colorful pomp, lavish guests, bounty blesses and
happy triumphant we shared the same last name 35 years ago. And today remising
these moments just make my eyes wet.
Marriage
is one of the most relished moments of life. But for me it was everything. His presence made my life beautiful.He held my hand and consoled me when I was caught in the trap of unanswered
questions and unspoken fears of leaving my parents and stood up for me in every
strife. He did respect my opinions and loved me bounty
Wonder
how time flew by turning me fifty eight. Memories of moments we spent seem to
struck my life in rewind. He did give me eternal love since these grandma
blessings were shiny black. Even after two long years, tears roll down my cheeks,
when I remember the last moments we spent. It was the hardest moment of my
life. Yet, well treasured.
Now, I turned old. The dimpled cheeks he once
kissed developed wrinkles. The smooth hands he always held are now fragile and rough.
I couldn’t talk; I couldn’t laugh as I once did. I just lay on our bed alone,
tossing and smiling at our memories. And at times shedding tears knowing how
much I miss him.
And I
write this to express my love and to let the younger versions know that
marriage is not just about sharing the same last name and responsibilities.
It’s about how two hearts are bound tight enough to feel love all their life.