I lost my memory when I was eighteen. And gained it when I became twenty five. And if you ask me what the years in between were like- well , I honestly don’t remember. Or choose not to.
Like for instance, my sixteenth birthday. The day Ronnie gave me a single red rose. Or my seventeenth, when John took me out to the first dance. I was like a flower then- all tender, soft and in full bloom, waiting for spring.
Well spring never came. At least, not my kind of spring. At eighteen, I was Mrs. X – X being my husband. Yes, he does have a name, but it is not worth mentioning. X would more than suffice.
And yes, in the city where I live, people have a fetish for perfection.
The perfect groom, the perfect bride, the perfect wedding, the perfect kid. And if any of this is less than perfect, well then, tongues start wagging.
So there I was at eighteen, looking at the world like every other 18 year old and seeing nothing, but an end to my life of romance and laughter.
But then, I had the perfect boy. Or so everyone said. And a perfect marriage. So now it was my turn to be the perfect wife. At eighteen. And just after Sunil and I had parted, tears in our eyes, like the lovers in the movies I saw.
I tried my best to be the perfect wife. Whether I succeeded or not, you will have to ask Mr. X. He was like a Colossus, making his presence felt everywhere, all the time. He was more a father figure--- well almost. Young as I was, I look it for granted that he could do whatever he liked to me, whenever he liked. I was never asked.
And so I did not ask when I met Mihir for the first time. I did not ask if this would lead to any thing I did not ask whether X would mind. I first played, head long.
Mihir was elusive at first. I met him on the net during a chat session. He would not divulge his name or age, just that he was an Indian male, looking for the perfect friendship.
There again, I had to be perfect. So win his friendship. To put an end to my boredom. To put X out of my mind . At least here, I know I succeeded. In a short while, our chats ended with `bye, bye sweet. Miss you…love u’…
It was the perfect friendship. But we had never met. Or even spoken over the phone. That made it all the more exciting.
One fine day, Mihir asked me out. To have coffee. In my excitement I let slip my secret to Mr. X, and there ended our friendship.
The time had come; I decided, to give my misery the perfect ending. Like every other perfect act. And so in the twenty fifth year of my life, after six unbearable years with Mr. X, I poisoned his coffee. With pesticide. But the perfect husband that he was, he made me take a sip first. And there I fell. Not dead. But paralysed. And X soon left me.
I am in hospital now, recovering. No once is there to look after me. But yes, X is out of my life now, forever.. I don’t know whether I was foolish, but there was no other way. The world had become too perfect for me.