A Sweet Peroration..

The relationship had cracked under the excruciating pressure from my house. All understanding and trust began slowly fading away, like a huge sandcastle pounded and torn away gradually by a cold blooded sea. There seemed an barren plateau in place of a splendid forest, each flora and fauna that had earlier, represented moments of mirth and melancholy.

My issues with mother had been forcibly replaced with work pressure. Although I continued blaming my Mother for the separation, I came to realise that some of my foolish actions had caused the cleaving.

Only a few months had passed since the day I took Abhigna to meet my mother. Ma felt wounded by my brashness and refused to accept my arguments. Pa seemed comfortable with the idea of intercaste marriage until I questioned my mothers authority and accused her of being irrational. Abhigna stayed a silent spectator which incensed me further. Very few words were actually spoken that day, the blinding display of emotions had broken every single brick of my life. I cut everyone off.

The weeks of estrangement from my parents and my girlfriend caused a terrible depression. I missed all of them terribly. Every single object around me triggered a memory which in turn brought out the tears. I was a very emotional person and without love I seemed gravely lost.

I decided to make amends. First, Ma and then the world. I was going to display all my affection and respect and win them over with a new cliched weapon – Love.

I called Home. I apologised. They listened and laughed.

In an interesting turn of events, my sensible mother had reached out to my soul mate. Having discussed a few things, my unmanageable eccentricity among them, they had warmed up to each other. Abhigna had convinced my Ma that we were all going to stay together. My Mother conveyed this, quite happily, bit by bit, like one of her usual stories .

Looking back, I think I had been quite selfish. Parents are always looking out for their kids well being, in this case, even after they turn thirty.

A few weeks of despair, few words of foolishness and a bucketful of rage can not wipe away even an iota of their love.

Sometimes it true, that a story isn’t finished until its all happy in the end.

– Viche

(concluding part)

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