This story has been written from the main character’s perspective i.e. Megha,
“It had been an exhausting day for me, as usual. Another big deal was waiting to be concluded. Everything was done. Most of staff had already left except some, who were on their extra shift, and my secretary. I looked up at the clock, 7.00 pm. My mother face flashed in my mind. I sighed as I recalled my mother’s words,” Come back early today, I am making Dosa for you”. She had come to my three- bedroom-hallow-apartment after almost seven years. But I couldn’t make it to leave early. A tide of anger rose and fall inside me as my contemplation shifted from my mother’s woeful eyes to some documents on my desk that required my authorization. In a bid to release some steam I rose my chair and moved to the window and gazed at the down pour outside for few minutes before drawing the curtains to veil the diamond rain drops falling to dissolve on my cabin’s windowpane. I ordered a steaming hot coffee, took a stroll around the cabin and finally again sat on my chair. But something inside me was unsettled. I let my eyes wander around my cluttered table when the small business card caught my attention, “Umeedh Bhavan, an orphanage”. In my ears the words of lady, from the orphanage that came for some donation stuff, was reverberating,” There are many children without mother and many mothers without children, Ms. Megha”.
My cell phone buzzed. I saw my best friend picture smiling within the frame bounded by that calling ring. As soon as I picked up the call, She started scolded me like she used to do when we were in college and I have forgot her birthday. A smile ran on my otherwise stubborn face but as she continued with her talks, I felt getting detached. Her voices were turning into a rattle with every bit of my strangling thoughts. It seemed hard to continue the conversation so I ended it abruptly with an easy excuse knowing that it would hurt her and me too.
As I sat propping my head on my hands, peon knocked to place my coffee on the table. I looked at the clock again, 7.45 pm. I was still couldn’t drag myself away from my desk to go home. Then, my secretary entered and told me that she’s leaving. I, hastily, said yes and tried to sign the papers that I needed to handover to her. In the haste to sign it, I spilled the hot coffee all over the documents and I instantly yelled, “Shit! Papers!”. She, with a bizarre expression on her face asked,” Don’t you love yourself?”I felt like the floor beneath me has faced an earthquake. I shivered and a cold sweat drenched me. I could hear the rain falling outside. “Don’t worry Ma’am, I will print another copy”, she continued after an awkward silence. Completely shaken by her words, I replied, “its okay, you may go now, and it’s already late”. She replied politely” Thanks Ma’am and take care of the burn”. Her words made me aware of the burn. But the burns were not the only hurt I received. Her comment, ” Don’t you love yourself?”, stung me even more.
The last time I had endured such anguish was when,
Seven years ago……
“Mom, I want this child” brimming confidence
“Don’t be mad, we have a society to answer” shrugs
“Is society more important than your child’s child?” An unanswered question
“Yes, when your child’s father has left you and you’re too young” voice trembles
“But my child is innocent and I am still here for it!” Strong words
“Megha, Don’t forget I’m your mother” Voice reaching its height
“And I will be a mother!” Words trying to win
A mother triumphed over a mother to be.
With the conversation that day, I lost my child and a part of myself. From that day, my life took a harsh turn where I was like a machine which couldn’t feel anything so as not to feel the pain and guilt. I never blamed my mother or that man as they did their part but the one who didn’t was me.
I picked up the visiting card and “What’s stopping me now?”, I asked myself. “Exactly, nothing”, the reply came. Then I opened my laptop but this time to follow my heart. It’s a long time that I again felt my lost thrill. I looked at my burn and smiled as it has extinguished a burn within. My fingers trembled from excitement as I typed the website address. And my renowned typing speed turned surprisingly slow like it’s was my first try at typing. The time it took to load made my heart to throb. And then, I finally the moment arrived when I clicked on “Adopt A Child”.
Five years later…..
“Tie your seat belt, Khush”Mom, Chaya said I wrote it wrong but I didn’t. See”
“My homework diary, Mom”
“What? Gimme then”
I felt like thousands of crackers were bursting in the sky. I felt a missing contentment to finally accomplish me as I read the details filled by my daughter on the first page,
Mother’s Name: Ms.Megha Sharma
Father’s Name: Ms.Megha Sharma
I pulled my daughter into a tight hug, “It’s correct, Khushi”.
I wiped away my tears on my sleeve still hugging my daughter.”