"I don't want to become a mother."
This line is a taboo for women in some parts of the world, and so was for Khusi Mukherjee. At the age of 25, independent and single, she wanted to live her life according to her rules. But everything changed when...
She was signing her divorce papers. A permanent separation for the one man she had ever loved in her life. Her heart beated furiously against her chest and she fisted her dress, unable to stop her quivering hands.
Bhaskar saw the contemplation on Khusi's face and he knew how to handle it. Mohit silently stood up and let Bhaskar sit beside Khusi.
For a tiny spam of time, Khusi eyes settled on Bhaskar, looking for what, she didn't know. Hope maybe? A sign, any indication that he too would be in terrible grief with Khusi's departure.
But the last rays of hope disappeared as soon as Bhaskar uttered his next words. It felt like harsh slap against Khusi's cheeks, as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water on her.
"Don't you love me Khusi? Didn't you say you can easily give up your life for my happiness? This is the only thing I want Khusi. Only thing which will make me happy. Your signature on those papers."
Khusi didn't need to be told twice. Harshly wiping the tears that had leaked down her cheeks, she morphed her face into a cold look, every sign of any emotion vanishing from her visage, and signed the documents bitterly.
When it was time for Khusi's departure, Bhaskar decided to see Khusi off. Sanjana stood on the balcony of the apartment, looking down at the result of her blunder from the third floor.
"Where are you going exactly?" Bhaskar asked, as he tried to grab her trolley, for loading it in the dickey of the taxi. Khusi didn't give him any answer and loaded the suitcase herself, after dumping her bag in the passenger seat.
"Don't forget the deal." That was Khusi's last words to her ex-husband, before the cab roared to life and left the apartment premises.
Pulling the old sim card out of her phone, Khusi threw it out of the car window as it rode over a river bridge, and inserted the new sim card she had got just a few days ago.
*******
The cold crisp air slapped against Khusi's cheeks, as she rubbed her gloved palms and tucked them beneath her arms. The sun was up a long time ago, but the day was dull and stygian.
ओह! यह छवि हमारे सामग्री दिशानिर्देशों का पालन नहीं करती है। प्रकाशन जारी रखने के लिए, कृपया इसे हटा दें या कोई भिन्न छवि अपलोड करें।
"Mrs. Khusi?" A voice rang behind Khusi and she swiftly turned backwards glaring at the ward boy who was standing there with a broom and mop.
"That's miss Khusi Mukherjee," Khusi clipped, glowering at the boy.
"I am sorry ma'am. I assumed you might be married cause you've vermillion on your hairline and sakha pola clasped around your wrist. Um ... your quarter is ready," the teenage boy stammered, taking a step back.
(Nuptial bangles in Bengali culture)
Without bothering to reply, Khusi sauntered away from the balcony and strode inside the quarter arranged by the school authorities, slamming shut the door. Her harsh gaze fell on the set of bangles around her wrist and she brutally yanked them off, flinging it across the room.
Dumping her luggage on a chair, she sat down on the iron bed, the bedsheets icy. Goosebumps pimped on Khusi's body, a notification from the bank pinging on her phone. Her new account was verified and the old one was closed.
Sighing deeply, her eyes fell on the window of the room. Pushing herself on her feet, she touched the window pane and hissed at it's iciness. Dead and crispy branches of trees slapped furiously against each other, and snow started raining down the sky.
ओह! यह छवि हमारे सामग्री दिशानिर्देशों का पालन नहीं करती है। प्रकाशन जारी रखने के लिए, कृपया इसे हटा दें या कोई भिन्न छवि अपलोड करें।
She was stuck here, alone and deserted. Despondence and melancholy enveloping the city.
The iron bed creaked as soon as Khusi slumped down on it and cupped her face. Tears were threatening to break out of her eyes, but she shook her head, her nose flaring with emotions choking her. Her throat tightened with a lump forming in it.
How ironical it was that she hated wintry and chilly places , but now, had no choice but to live in one.
