My Possessive Scars and Wounds

Mr. and Mrs. Mehta left my home with a sweet smile on their lips. My next door neighbours, the happy couple  had come to invite me for their daughter’s wedding. I promised them that I would definitely be there to bless the newly married couple.

I looked at the card. Glossy, cream coloured with a golden border, the card depicted the image of Lord Ganesha on its cover. I dreaded opening the card. I read the lines inside the card, slowly and carefully, “ Mr and  Mrs. Mehta cordially invite you to grace the wedding of their daughter, Minal Mehta on.....

Tears welled up in my eyes. I could hear my mother screaming at me, “If you dare to put our names in your wedding card, I will call the police”. Circa 1985. I was barely 18, just over the legal marriageable age. My parents had learnt of my relationship with a boy whom they despised just because he belonged to another community. They had not bothered to even find out who he was or to speak to him to know if he was a good human being. Our age played against us and I was advised by one and all to not think of getting married to the boy in the picture.

My husband, Bharat, then my boyfriend, was my age and barely had any source of income. I agreed that we should not get married. I was not dying to get married either. But the condition of staying away from each other forever for a couple of years and not being in touch in any other way was unbearable to us. My husband reminded me of ‘Ek Duje Ke Liye’ ( a runaway hit movie in the late 80’s) type situation wherein under similar conditions the girl’s family succeeded in poisoning the mind of the girl against her lover and kept them parted forever to be united only by death.

Though I entertained the idea of experimenting by staying away, he was completely against the idea and I finally had to give in to his wishes. The marriage date was fixed by his parents. My father slumped in sorrow. My mother blazed in anger. They were helpless as legally they could not do anything. They did not attend the wedding nor did they bless me when we went to seek their blessings.

In grief, my mother did everything that has left a scar on me. Apart from being physically hit, (the bruises disappeared long back) I was badly hit deep inside my soul. The experience left a gaping hole inside me. This hole sucks hard at me whenever I encounter happy weddings. Happy parents, happy occasions all gnaw at me. My mother’s grief was unfounded. She found great joy when her grandchild was born two years after the wedding. She discarded every spiteful bone she had in her and transformed herself into the most loving grandmother a grandchild could have. Today, my son at 23, cannot resist her signature ‘sambhar’ and she never tires of tending to his needs.

All is well that ends well. But here is a pain that doesn’t seem to end. The pain comes back whenever I open a wedding greeting. Mr and Mrs. So and so cordially invite you to the wedding of their...

The learned have said...“ Forgive and forget”. I find forgiving easy, but forgetting seems to be a trait that is missing in me. So whenever I open a wedding card, I also open a deep wound in my heart...and then it pains and aches for a while. Slowly it subsides as I get busy with the mundane activities that comprise my day, only to be opened when there is a new wedding around the corner...