This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 33; the thirty-third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is 'Celebrations'
If you have done everything right, love might still deceive you, but life never will.
Teenage is a phase where you dream of a prince charming, a knight in shining armor. But after the teen, the desire to live that dream grows way too strong. So strong that you forsake all the logic and reasoning at the first fragrance of the dream turning true. And often too late to repent.
Rehaan, my knight in shining armor, or so I thought.
Sandy hair scattered like waves. Eyes deep and probing. Everything about him was perfect. He always reminded me of Eric, the mermaid’s prince. And more often than not he would make me feel like a Cinderella of after the shoe fitting ceremony. Only in my story, there wasn’t “and they lived happily ever after” thing.
If I ever knew whirlwind it was because our romance was such. Swept off my feet, I was living in a dream, and a dream it was. Dozens and dozens of roses, heart shape chocolates, slow music, and the ballroom dancing. Reminds you of mills and boons, doesn’t it? It was all too good to be true, I had that hunch. May be that was why I still held on to it when he proposed me. Yes, it was Valentine’s Day.
He was as sensual as was romantic. He took me to places I have never been to, I never knew cold exist. His long fingers entangled into my hair, his lips devoured me like a hungry man. His powerful hands would grip my swells, and there was no turning back. I was so addicted to him, his long, sleek, strong physique, and his sweet whispers of love. So addicted that reality faded away from my hindsight. I could not see beyond him. I kept telling myself that all this was way too good to be true, but I never listened to my own self. Life was like a celebration, each day, each moment.
How long a dream could last? How long a celebration could goes on? Not long. And so it ended.
I don’t remember the day the boundaries were broken, the day he flooded me with himself. All I remember was I was somewhere far off, in an ecstatical trance. The moment he dipped himself in to me, I squirmed and sealed my fate.
I was late, this had never happened before. I waited few days, for so many things have been happening lately that never have happened before. I missed my monthly cycle. I was in a daze, my head spinning from the realization. GOD, I was pregnant. I washed my face, stared myself into the mirror for long.
I should tell him.
I knew he wouldn’t be happy, but what happened next was unthinkable to me.
“yes my princess”
“I need to tell you something”
“you are sounding serious. Is everything fine baby?”
“I am pregnant”
“Rehaan say something”
There was an engaged tone. The call had been dropped. I kept calling back frantically, and the phone rang and rang and rang, endlessly. I tried again. The woman on the other side said “the number you are trying to reach is unavailable for the moment. Please try again later.”
And the man with the number had become unavailable for life. But I decided to take the woman’s advice and called later. All in vain. Hoping he would come around once he would get over the initial shock. I desperately wanted him to talk to me, to guide his princess, to take my hand and pull me off the mess. But he was gone, just like that.
Hours turned into days, and days into weeks. It was getting apparent, especially to my mom. She kept pestering me and I kept ducking. But a secret like this one is always hard to keep. One fine day, I gave in to her inquisitions, I broke down, confessed. I was hoping to hear some words of consolation, but it never came. Like my prince charming, my mother went silent too. I had no idea what to expect, what to do. I was just 22.
I sat in my room, weeping softly. Suddenly storm hit me and I fell on my bed face down. My brother, my married elder brother had hit me. Finally someone reacted, though that wasn’t the kind of reaction I needed, but that was expected. I couldn’t figure out what he was yelling, I was too numb for that. But suddenly two hands grabbed me by my shoulders, and I was in a warm consoling embrace. My father.
To keep the child or abort it was a long discussion. And my decision to keep the child was even a longer fight. I was a mother. No way could I have let anyone kill my child. The day I took the decision, I knew it was going to be a long and a tiresome fight. But a mother’s strength is mightier than the whole world combined together. I decided and stood by it. And my father stood by me.
I felt like a stranger in my own house. My mother won’t even look at me. My brother would avoid me like a plague. My sister-in-law, I saw pain and sympathy on her face. She had been married for 8 years now to my brother and could not bear a child, and here I was, unmarried, with a child. The one who so desperately wanted a child could not have it, and the one who have it had to fight the world to keep it. Such is the irony of life. It is a mother who rears a cell with her sweat and blood to turn it into a life. It is she who goes through all that pain and suffering to bring him to the world alive. She is perfectly capable of upbringing her own child fairly well, alone. Then why does she need to be married to bear a child was beyond my logic. A mother is a mother, always, in any condition.
It was Deepawali eve, when a wave of pain hit me. My water broke. No one was at home except my father, who decided to stay back with me. He somehow managed to get me into the car. He decided to call everyone later from hospital. He drove frantically, the roads were jam packed. I was losing my breath. My dad made an urgent call to my brother. I sipped into senselessness. When I woke up next, I was in a hospital room. Before my mind could register anything a sever pain took me again. I could hear people in white dresses screaming my name, asking me to push. Push what? My mind was a huge blank. I heard words but couldn’t register. All I could feel was pain, terrible pain. God definitely was punishing me in hell. I just wanted all this to get over. All I wanted was to sleep.
And suddenly, like a huge weight was being lifted, the pain died down and a loud wail filled the room. I saw smiling faces and I passed. I woke up, heard voices, and slept again. Don’t know for how long. My lids felt heavy, with great effort I opened my lids to see my brother, staring at a tiny bundle in his hands, spellbound. I watched him in silence. A swift smile slowly spread at his face. He saw I was awake. He walked near to my bed with the bundle in his hands.
“Hi mom, I thought you are going to sleep forever”, and he put the bundle into my arms.
A little pink face peeked from under it, angel face. Tiny fingers tightly closed into fist. She slept peacefully. My brother ran his finger over her delicate features softly, and a lone tear betrayed his eyes. My father stood at the door smiling.
“Lets go home”, my brother said with a hoarse throat. And in the background the crackers began to blast happily. Yes, it was a happy diwali celebration indeed. Double celebration.
As I write the story, she sleeps peacefully on the chest of my brother. She is being spoiled and dotted on like a true princes. I now felt I could write. The one who once, had been the shame of the family is now the pride. It took me a huge mistake, a long fight, and a child to find my real prince charming. Yes, I am about to be married. But not everyone is this lucky. Hope celebrations fill in everywhere, in everyone’s life, like it did mine.