There was a New Year’s warmth in the air of Goa.

 

As soon as I got off the plane, I felt as if a heavy stone had been lifted from my shoulders. I took a deep breath. There was no one screaming. No one is going to dictate. There were no eyes that were looking to see if the salt in the food was right or not. It was just me.

I checked in at a small hotel near the sea. It wasn’t very luxurious, but it was clean and peaceful. I couldn’t sleep the first night. Not because of sadness—but because of the silence I wasn’t used to. From the balcony I was looking out at the sea. Firecrackers were bursting somewhere far away. New Year.

I suddenly remembered—not a single new year had been a “new beginning” for me in the last three years. I was always in the kitchen, making biryani and sweets for the guests.

That night I opened my laptop. I did what I should have done a long time ago. I sent an email to my old company: “Hi, I’m Navya. If my old position is still vacant, I’m ready to come back. I pressed the ‘send’ button. There is no drama, no tears. Just a decision.

The next day my phone was ringing continuously. Mother-in-law (Manju Devi)—17 missed calls. I didn’t answer. Then came a message from my husband, Vikram: “Mom just made a mistake. Now stop the drama and come back home. ”

I smiled. For three years, I made “mistakes” every day (in their eyes). Today I just left home once, and I was being asked to come “back.” I deleted the chat and blocked the number.

A week later I got a call from the company: “Welcome Navya, we need you.” When I hung up, tears welled up in my eyes. It wasn’t tears of pain, but of the dignity I had regained.

I came back to the city and rented a small apartment. There was a kitchen there too—but now I used to cook there for my pleasure, not for compulsion. With my first salary, I bought two things: a new suitcase and a pair of beautiful sandals for myself.

Three months passed. One day an envelope arrived from the Malhotra family (in-laws). Inside were the divorce papers. Accompanying it was a handwritten note from the mother-in-law: “As a daughter-in-law, you failed. But as a woman, hopefully you’ll learn to bend over. ”

I didn’t get angry. I saw and realized their signatures: people who don’t know how to love often label your self-esteem as ‘vanity’. I signed the papers without hesitation.

A year later, during a business dinner, a gracious and calm man came up to me. “Can I take you out for coffee?” I smiled. “Sure.” But there is one condition—I don’t know how to suppress or endure myself to be called a ‘good wife’. He laughed. “And I’m not looking for a woman who knows how to endure.” ”

In that moment, I understood—not every new beginning is accompanied by wounds. Sometimes it starts with respect.

Epilogue:

In the end, I didn’t leave the house because of that fish bite. I came because I was a thorn in the neck of a family who only knew how to bend and squeeze the daughter-in-law. That day I decided that I would no longer be a ‘dish’ to be served on anyone’s table.

Happy New Year. Happy new life.

— End —