Imagine doing a love marriage in a haste, sedated with the drug of ‘Infatuation’ and pressed by unfavorable conditions, whom you thought would be the love of your life turns out to be the very reason you lose yourself.

Living with a dominating man under the same roof and the fact that you have disposed of your job to serve him and now you’re living on his money, doesn’t mark for a good trade. Does it?

You get used and sucked like a gum. When your man is happy, you feel relieved that now there won’t be any fights or dreaded silence filling up the room -the same silence and emptiness won’t be stifling your soul the whole night,why? Because he is happy today and so you’re allowed to breathe and make jokes. When you try to feel warm and cosy, there in the back of your mind weeds this constant worry of, ‘what if’ — What if he gets angry at something? What if I put more salt than required in the food?What if he had a bad day at work? What if he gets a mood swing? — and your warmth and comfort is switched with constant unrest, delirium and dread.

I certainly don’t have experience of what it’s like to be with a dominating husband inflated with pride and patriarchy but I have seen a woman who has.

A woman who puts up with this utter nonsense of this man, a woman who drowns and garrottes her wishes just because the man wasn’t feeling it at that moment. It was none other than my own mother.

I have watched her very closely, almost as closely as I was the one being tortured. I have sensed the risen tension between them, I have seen her succumbing to him just to prevent the fights, I have seen her crying in the dark terrace under the stars so no one will find out, I have seen her smiling when she wanted to cry, I have seen her put up with our nonsense when she wanted to run away, I have seen her murder her dreams to render the time and attention to bastards like us.

To my mom who shed her petal over the years,

To my dad who failed her, as a best friend.

Today was one of the many last straws I had encountered over the months. Today was supposed to be vibrant, beautiful, rose and rainbow like — Today was their 21th anniversary. I was happy, my brother was too, my mum was enthralled but my dad was the same — annoyed picky narcissistic man.

I am astounded by the fact my father has evolved over the years, he has been an immaculate father to me and my brother but he has failed miserably as a husband.

He does provide me and my brother with the needed luxury — stationery? We have them. Separate room? We have one we share. Plethora of food? We have our racks filled. Chicken? We eat very often. A spacious place to grow? We have a good house. Personal transport? We have a car. Clothes? We have the freedom to purchase whatever we want. He is a good father, he stuffs us with the basic amenities many fathers fail to provide, he outstretches himself to get food on our plates. He is no doubt a good father, he isn’t a perfect (I ain’t his perfect daughter either)ideal father though — he provides us the luxury on the expanse of our relation, him and I merely spend time together. He leaves for his office at 11AM and lands home at 9PM. And before 11AM he has his schedule of working out and asana to adhere to.

I am happy he is my father. I can say proudly he has built himself from the scratch, from a single room he has stretched to 4 rooms, a dining room, a living room, a hall, 2 bathrooms and a kitchen and a terrace — a bigass size terrace. I am proud of his sweat and wits he’d put to establish his present so concrete. Besides having this good father role, he has anger issues, he is an impatient man, he has mood swings and acute depressions with tragic phases.

I was proudest of him up until I became conscious, I began reading the transparent yet thick tension between him and her. Between my father and my mother.

He has been sedated with the strong doses of chauvinism and male dominance since his childhood. He doesn’t treat her right. He doesn’t. NO, HE DOESN’T !

Today was their anniversary and he presented her some of his absurd typical jokes (of how his other wife is waiting on the other side of the road, of how he’s bored of her, of how he needs a new chic), his monotonous face, his work and his zero contribution to make her happy.

We had lunch at this restaurant, Boring experience. Materialistic nothing pensive.

We came home.

My brother and I didn't do anything special to please my mum either. Because the truth is,

Me and my brother are bastards just like our dad.

We both are fucking selfish, just like our dad.

We both are idiots just like our dad.

But what we are not is — blind. We both are not blind like our dad, we both are not absent like our dad. I have seen the eyes of my mother at times, I have seen the tears reaching the brink of the lower eyelid and her pulling them inside.

My mum and my dad aren’t in a depressing relationship, Nope not the case here. It’s just they aren’t a fit for each other.

I hate this about relationships. I hate to see my father failing as a husband. As a best friend to my mother.

So this evening my mum was all blooming and dancing around the house looking young and beautiful as ever. She was flocking and jumping around the house in her brown dress with a net slit neckline, she had patted blush on her shimmering cheeks, she had stroked that crimson color to compliment her lips, she had pumped and done her hairs, she had hung that gorgeous piece of earring on her earlobe, she had worn the best accessory — her smile and she was looking breathtaking.her charm beats me, my young skin, my round and heavy belly, my lethargic flesh. I love her, I fancied seeing her this alive. She was excited for dad to see her in the way she was looking today.

Bell rang, she flew to undo the doorknob — Dad’s silhouette emerged to show him in the light, his face — deadpan, gestures — haughty and mood — furious. He ignored her, he ignored me and slammed the room shut. Mum froze in her spot and I knew her warm aura was treated with ice again, she was disrespected again, she was dejected again, she was rejected again.

There is something that tells my dad to act however way he wants around the house,

There’s something that has given him the credibility to treat his wife however way his mood wants to — I hate this about him because the tables don’t turn in this case.

He gets to play the fuckboy part, my mother doesn’t.

My mother doesn’t hold the liberty to counter his statements.

My mother doesn’t get to have a say in most things. And even when her opinions are invited and if proven wrong or not lucrative, she is beaten down with ruthless and snarky comments.

She goes through a lot in this madhouse. She is a strong woman. She is the strongest woman, the most altruistic one, the most masculine one, the most fragile one, the most alive one.

Her heart sank seeing his solemn face, I felt disgusted. Later, I slam him with this suggestion to dissect the cake after dinner, he rejects.

Bland, Blunt, Barbaric, Bash.

He rejects it without thinking, just because he was in a bad temper. Furious, I came into my room and went about decorating it with lights to cheer up mum, because I saw her face when he was playing the bastard. She was having dinner, quietly and I saw her eyes fill up, I saw her holding back that fucking tear again.

I was almost done with the lights when she slipped in my room, her eyes gave away everything she was trying to hide.

I came and hugged her, she hugged me. I wanted her to cry it out, to blast it out, to let that out — only she didn’t shed a single drop of her failed marriage before me.

She is a strong woman, she has always been. I have never been this broke but today. Seeing her holding back that tear fucked and sliced my mind bad. But it doesn’t matter, it never did. Seeing her being brave, made me too. I too held back my tears. We both were listening to the silence, breathing emptiness, viewing the dim lights of the room. Neither of us said anything, and she left again. To cater to her husband. To cater to that tragic human.