Naina stood in the kitchen alone with a heavy heart full of agony, dejection and
many more; her hands were trembling like a patient of Epilepsy as they gripped the
edge of the sink. The thunderstorm was creating havoc in the outer space and the
mother nature was fighting back, but inside, a gloomy and suffocating silence was
ruling over Naina’s life.
The Satanic voice of her husband, Raghav has been echoing in her mind since last
night –“Useless. Can’t you even cook a meal right ? What are exactly good at?”
His words had been sharper than the knife in her hand and the bruise on her arm
throbbed like an unspoken truth. Naina had helplessly embraced such insults and
belittling remarks long back.
But something had shifted last night. Something small but monumental.
Her daughter, Meera, had been playing quietly in the corner; her wide, innocent
eyes were aware of every word, every tone. She had seen Naina flinch at Raghav’s
yelling; she had noticed her shrink in his presence. And that night suddenly, she
had raised her voice –“Don’t talk to Mama like that.” It was a whisper, barely
audible but it had stopped Naina in her tracks. Raghav had scoffed and ignored it,
but Naina couldn’t. Meera’s small voice, full of defiance and love, echoed in her
heart. For the first time, Naina could see what Meera saw — not a weak woman,
rather a mother, a protector. She finally realized that ‘silence’ can never be the
‘survival’.
Today, the thunderstorm inside her raged louder than the one outside. She looked at
the door, knowing what lay beyond it — a world that might be just as harsh, just as
unforgiving, but also filled with possibilities. Naina felt the fear twist in her
stomach, but the fear failed to overpower her self-esteem.
Raghav’s voice broke the silence. “Dinner better be ready, Naina.” She turned, her
heart pounding. “It’s not,” she said with a steady voice “And I’m not cooking it.”
He looked up, stunned. For a moment, he seemed unsure of what to say, as if her
words had short-circuited the power he had always assumed over her. “What did
you just say?” His voice dripped with disbelief, but she met his gaze, unwavering
and said, “Can’t you listen? I’m not cooking any dinner tonight. Neither I will ever
cook dinner for you. I’m leaving you, Raghav.” She grabbed her bag, feeling the
weight of years of silence lifting with every step toward the door.
Raghav stood up and erupted in rage just like a volcano, but Naina was no longer
afraid. Behind her, Meera appeared, clutching her mother’s hand. They walked out
into the rain and the door of abuse and trauma was slammed behind them. The
thunder roared above, but inside Naina, there was only peace, serenity and liberty.
For the first time in years, she wasn’t running from the storm. She was walking
through it, head held high, her voice finally heard.