“Is it love or is it Dove?” teased her colleague, referring to a well known brand of soap guaranteed to bring the glow back on every overworked and under-appreciated woman’s visage.
She smiled in reply as she thought of her new-found love.
She remembered the nth fight she had had with him.
It was a fortnight ago. It had promised to be a few days respite from work. A time to get away from the grime of the city. To spend time, strolling mountain walks and holding hands. She could imagine the unhurried discussions and the return of smiles.
Whatever had gone wrong would be set right. It would be a return to old times.
All it took was a question from her. About breakfast. That was enough to ignite the flames. The lovely morning was spoilt. She listened once again to the tirade of how she could not make good omelettes, how she could never take care of the house, how even the kids (they were adults now, for god’s sake!) had not been brought up properly by her…. and this gem - how she had brainwashed them to take her side, not his.
All thoughts of reconciliation flew out of the window.
And then she had done something that surprised even her. But at last she was free. Free to make omelettes and place furniture the way she wanted. Free to read a book or nap at any hour of the day or night. Free to just do nothing, for a while. There was no one to please. No exacting standards to be met. No one from whom to cringe in fear.
Freedom. She revelled in it.
She smiled as she thought of this new found love.
(c) Alaka Yeravadekar
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