MADE IN HEAVEN

A fair face, sparkling crystals for eyes, silky strands of tress, a charming smile, a
melodious voice; who wouldn’t love to betroth Kaira? The lady in every
prospective suitor’s dreams, the damsel of vivid masculine imaginations. Men
from all classes and diverse jobs wanted her hand in marriage. But she need
not be personally pleased: her father’s nod to an impressive resumé would seal
the deal. A proposal beyond business.
And presumably she got a hand-in-glove prince Nihal. A manager at a
software giant being drenched in lakhs of bucks every month, who wouldn’t
refuse the luxurious apartment and Audi car that escorted the Mr. Richie
Handsome? Vows exchanged, the match of a lifetime secured with pomp and
show. Not exactly with sheer pleasure, but purchased with tags like ‘sovereigns
of gold jewellery’, ‘status’ and ‘affluence’.
Kaira believed she was a queen entitled to fulfilment of her desires. Until
she saw the other side of the coin called ‘marriage’.
‘I’m getting a promotion next week. I’ll be earning Rs. 10,000 extra!’ she
exclaimed, hoping her significant other would be elated.
‘Why are you even going for work when I’m here to earn for you?’ replied
the other, ‘You should probably quit your job from now.’
‘But I wanna earn my own money.’
‘I’ll buy you anything you need, honey.’ Nihal replied with pursed lips.
Despite working six days a week, she still had to cook breakfast and wash
vessels after dinner. And on Sundays, when she wanted to fall on the bed after
a hectic week, all work fell upon her, for the maid wouldn’t arrive on weekends.
‘Can you wash the vessels for me today?’ she asked, exhausted.
‘Well, I’m not used to it.’ He coolly replied.
Sorting the laundry, dusting carpets, sweeping and mopping the floor,
Kaira was nothing but an anti-Cinderella.
Months passed; the couple was blessed with a baby boy.
‘You are resigning after your maternity leave, you get it?’ the husband
threatened his wife while she cradled the child.
 Staying at her mom’s place postpartum was a transient solace; but when
she poured her heart out, all her father said was, ‘Nihal’s right: being a mother
brings a ton of responsibilities, and you won’t be able to maintain a work-life
balance. And don’t come here often to fret about your worries; you must learn
to be silent and obey your in-laws.
‘Could you ask your parents to stay here for a while?’ Kaira pleaded, ‘If
only they could look after the domestic chores, I’d be able to nurture the baby.’
‘My parents are too old,’ Nihal intervened, ‘Besides, they say they don’t
wanna intrude upon our privacy, as it may lead to petty quarrels.’
After a year, Kaira attended her friend’s daughter’s birthday bash,
dressed in a sleeveless, knee-length gown, coupled with a Gucci handbag,
Rolex watch and gold accessories. But her face wasn’t radiant enough to match
her glamorous attire.
‘Oh my, Kaira! I’ve never seen you this gloomy. Tell me what’s up?’
pleaded her long-time college peers.
‘I never realised that a marriage would be harder than handcuffs.’
And she narrated her plight, how she was forced to give up on her only
key to emancipation, and instead became an unpaid, under-appreciated
servant.
‘Don’t worry,’ her friends consoled, ‘Karma does exist. He will reap his
fruit someday for his deeds.’
After hours of leisurely conversation, she reached home at 9:30, which
infuriated Nihal.
‘Seriously? Is this the time to reach home? Who’ll look after the baby?’
‘Well, I just had good time with my friends. Besides, my mom took care
of him while I wasn’t here.’
‘What would people think if you dress like this?’
‘You’re afraid that everyone would judge YOU, not me. Even you have
attended parties and even drank to your heart’s content, didn’t you ponder
what people thought of you back then? Anyways, when did you ever consider
my opinions?’
 Nihal was snubbed for a moment. But days later, arguments ensued and
aggravated into a cold war, and Kaira stomped out with her son in her arms.
‘You don’t have a job now,’ Nihal jeered, ‘and you know your dad won’t
allow you in his doorstep. I bet, you won’t survive a day out, and you’ll come
back tonight.’
But Kaira was determined to never return. She instead went to
Mahima’s house. Mahima was an acid attack victim, but she too was pretty five
years before. Her mother was undergoing treatment for breast cancer, and a
lorry rode over her father’s right leg. Her husband had vitiligo, and they had a
son with ASD.
But she was a brave woman. When she reported to the management
about some bullies in her college who ragged the junior boys and eve-teased
the girls, the criminals splashed the cruel corrosive on her a week later. She
spent months to imprison the drunken lorry driver. She was extremely diligent
at work, so that she could earn enough for her mom’s medical expenses and
her son’s special schooling. Despite all this, she volunteered to help Kaira at the
party.
‘I know that I’m an obvious burden to you,’ Kaira turned red with guilt,
‘but I’ll help you at home and leave once I get my job back.’
‘You can stay here as long as you wish,’ Mahima smiled, ‘and I’m more
than willing to help others.’
‘But how do you have the time to work and look after your family?’
‘My in-laws are helpful. They look after the house when I’m at work.’
‘And your son? Is there any way to,’ Kaira paused, hesitant.
‘Ayush is a very gifted child,’ Mahima spoke just like every mother, ‘You
should see his paintings and how he plays the keyboard and violin.’
‘So, he’s not a burden?’ Kaira blurted out.
‘Burden? That’s a very harsh thing to say,’ Mahima chided, ‘but he
communicates not through words, but via art. Yes, maybe he can’t be socially
interactive, but he can survive on his own.’
‘And your husband?’ Kaira couldn’t control her curiosity, ‘does he treat
you well?’
 ‘He’s a gem, trust me,’ Mahima replied, ‘we share our workload equally
as much as possible. I cook, whereas he washes the vessels. I do the laundry,
whereas he mops the floor, dusts the ceiling and cleans the bathroom. We take
alternate turns in dropping each other at our offices. Besides, he also spends
time looking after Ayush.’
‘Hmm, I had a fairytale wedding alone, whereas you truly enjoy the
ending part “Happily ever after”.’ Kaira sighed.
‘Well, not exactly “Happily ever after”’. Mahima interjected. ‘Remember,
during our first year of college when we used to babble endlessly about who
would be our husbands? We were all pretty, and you still are. We believed in
beauty alone to enamour men. A couple of years later, I decided to stand up
and raise my voice for our juniors, and my face got ruined,’ she quivered, ‘I lost
all hope of ever marrying someone. Every ounce of courage I had, got
shattered into pieces. I too resented men, so I joined an activism group to
campaign for feminist rights.
‘It was in one such campaign near Mount Road where I ran into my
future husband. He scrutinised me not with a look of pity, but with awe. He
had severe vitiligo, and he must have stood in my shoes through all those
tribulations, the societal stigma, the feeling of being perceived differently, you
know?
‘And even on our wedding day, people whispered, “The right lid for the
jar!” that we pondered on the double meaning. But we broke odds, led a
harmonious life so far. Now I’ve come to terms with life: you don’t buy
affection with beauty, money or power. Those who genuinely love you will be
on your side, no matter what. Nothing interferes with this relationship, rather
the society can only gape at you awestruck. A marriage isn’t a one-way traffic
where one partner can be dominant and the other ought to be subservient. It’s
a mutual investment, where both parties have a right to speak and make
decisions. To be honest, my acid attack has been a blessing in disguise, because
it has revealed the other side of human mentality, the true perspective of life.’
That night, Kaira lay on the bed, awake.