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24 Hours

So it has been 24 hours since I left my married home and returned to my parents. Been a sense of freedom in one way.  This move was long overdue. It is good to be engaging with life again rather than coping.

On the other hand, I am discovering just how much I had hidden away from the world. I lived at home, rarely ventured out, had few friends, lost confidence in everything, totally out of date on all the hep and happening (uninterested too), essentially, my world was my home. That is it. It had happened gradually, from being an outdoor professional, trainer to being totally wall bound. I think I am lucky to have the internet, or I’d be so totally out of sync, that I wouldn’t know where to begin integrating.

Went for a walk yesterday evening. Nisarga was sleeping. Just went out and walked the quieter lanes of Parle. Rain had left everything wet, puddles on the road, green canopy overhead… I had forgotten what this felt like. Felt very good. For the first time in too long, felt good to be out of the home. Headed out into the bustling main roads, made my way to the familiar paanwala. Everyone had moved on, apparently. No familiar faces. Ookay… that felt really alone.

On the home front, things are good and bad. Good in the sense that the father seems to have accepted that it wasn’t working, and surprisingly, isn’t pressuring me at all to make up with my husband or any such thing. At least not now. Not so far. On the other hand, he is so controlling and judgmental, that I can write an epic of comments and opinions for the slutwalk right here, right now. His worst nightmare come to life. Daughter returned back from yet another failed marriage.

On a practical front, the biggest problem is a lack of phone. Not being able to call for help was a problem on the night that changed everything. It has been a problem ever since. The Airtel update is that there are no updates. People call to find out what the matter is, vanish. Same as always. If you guys are listeing. No difference. Problem  To compound this, I can’t buy a cheap card, because the rules have changed since the last time I needed such things. Now, they want passport/driving licence/election card. I never went out of India, nor am I tempted. I don’t have a passport. I don’t drive. I don’t have a driving licence. I don’t vote, I don’t have a voter’s ID. So the guy will not give me a card. When I got my previous Airtel card, a Vodafone card, and a Reliance number before that, my ration card, PAN card and school leaving for address, photo ID and age – respectively did the trick. No go, this time. To top it all, my father refused to allow me to get one on his driving licence before I even asked.

But this is a tip of the ice berg. In the years since the wedding, I have slowly, slowly slid into many, many issues of paperwork.

In other news, there are other things piling up that need done:
  • Nisarga is overdue for some expensive tests. I need to stop dithering and get them done, because his health matters.
  • I am thinking of getting some psychotherapy for the depression and whatever else is found in the garbage in my head. That needs done.
  • Figuring out the scenario with the husband. I’d rather have a quick divorce and get my new documents in my new name, but that is an irresponsible reason to decide
  • Transporting my things I left behind at home, and figuring out a way to do that with a kid in tow.
  • Figuring out income and future. Where am I going?
In the background are constant tapes playing.
  • A relative warns me not to hassle my father with burdens at this age.
  • Neighbour woman I say a random “hi” to after 5-6 years advises me to not get involved with any more men – this resembles my own conclusion, but is beyond insulting as an opening line. Particularly with sympathy to people whose lives I ruined.
  • Father is forever trying to keep me at home. If I go down to the shop, he wants me to return fast. If I go to meet friends, I shouldn’t. They are “bad influence”. Don’t stay awake late, sleep early, don’t speak with men, etc.
  • Apparently, the few people I knew had always felt we were a mismatched couple. So why had they not said something?
  • Another epic from another relative. No one is going to give me a home after this. We shouldn’t complain when “our own coin is fake”. Yeah, “fake coin” is a metaphor for me. Thanks.

And many, many more. All this is running together in my head. Can’t find the space inside me to start cleaning up this debris. Hopefully, writing it all out will let me read it and start prioritizing and fixing.

Good news is that the only direction left from here is upward 🙂

Love you all for your support.

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