“If I waited till I felt like
writing, I’d never write at all.” Anne Tyler.
“Tshering, hung ancha?”
Karma’s voice announced her arrival before she enters my room.
“Chowa cha thab thob thur de
ne wai.” I replied without looking at her, continuing to
write what I started.
“Awoo…mala na nan ta.
Laptop kam rang
hung ancha mo mastong?” she openly revealed her displeasure for always
staying glued with laptop. I closed my laptop and gave her my undivided
attention with guilty smile asking her to understand.
Meanwhile, we
imposed a judgment on world through our lengthy conversation; I brewed a lemon
tea for both of us. With an ease, we drank it in between the talk. We created a
harmony with her variant talk and my laughter.
She asked me with boredom in her eyes “Why do you
always write?”
Though ‘always’ was little exaggerated “That’s because I love to write.
You must be having something you love doing, for me its reading and writing.
It’s my stress reliever and my playmate. It’s my passion. ” I grinned.
“Were your parents involved in domestic violence?”
I spilled tea on
table with u-turn of question.
“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to ask a personal
question. Forget that I asked you.” She passed me a tissue paper transparently
wearing guilt on her face.
I didn’t know what was going inside her mind but I
was clearly amazed with the conclusion she drew. She thought I was offended
with her question when my thought was running wild with ‘what gave her an idea
that I was part of domestic violence?’
I decided to continue the game she started, “You
shouldn’t ask if you don’t know the full story.” I acted as if I was hit on my
Achilles’ heel. From an empowering redness of her cheek and avoidance of eye
contact, I knew I acted well to deserve an Oscar.
Mercy! She was melting
with guilt and start blabbering apologies “I
am so sorry. I didn’t know it is sensitive subject for you. Never mind…..“
I couldn’t continue with the play as I roared with
laughter. I laughed for few good minutes enough to hold my tummy with both hands
as it hurts from continuous laughing. I juggled the words between laughter and
asked why did she ask that question?
The color returned to her face as she stared at my
face for a while. “Awoo thub thai nan ta.”
she was little irritated, I guess.
“Yeg cho lae.” I playfully nudged her shoulder with mine
demanding the reason and tightly clamping my lips with each other to stop
embarrassing her.
I insisted her to tell the reason ‘You wrote
couple of articles on domestic violence in your blog and noticed you are
always sensitive when someone talks about domestic abuses. Then I thought may
be your father abuses mother and you might be bottling up your emotion and
suffering alone. I thought if you can find someone to talk with, you’ll be
relieved.”
Her simple gestures touched me and I felt bad for
scaring her with the prank. I explained honestly that I have never witnessed
domestic violence in my house though there is an exchange of arguments
sometimes; in fact I said that I am in love with the way my parents are in love
with each other. No doubt their marriage was a love marriage. I got carried
away with the past as I narrated how my father’s leg was almost paralyzed with
the fatigue when I was in class 4. Our financial situation crumbled in his medication,
relatives turned their back to us and everything got exhausted except their
love which binds us together. That ‘love’ lights our path of distress. When
everyone thought he wouldn’t survive a year, my mother refused to believe them
and fought till she won over his illness. It’s more than a decade and my father
is in a perfect health and walks without slightest
limp.
However, I explained her that I have seen
domestic violence in neighborhood and society. Next door woman would show with
the swollen and blue eyes after quarreling with
husband for whole night. When asked her to leave her husband, she would say “If
I was alone, I would have left him long time back but I have children to think
about.” That’s every wife’s excuses to bear yet another blow from husband. It’s
sad to see that women accept it as usual things between husband and wife. I
said that I am against it and real men don’t hit woman. I wish those men
can stop talking with hands. I don’t know their inside story still violence is
not the way to deal with.
As time dragged long, my stomach growled with hunger
demanding a break from our little conversation. We looked at each other,
laughed and got up to dine in the mess.
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