I"m the author of this story. I"m sitting here on platform number 2 which remains mostly empty at this time of the day. I"m at the abyss of the platform. As I sit here planning to jump deep and free, a second before it struck me that before I end this life, I should firstly pen-down everything related to it for the policemen, society, media, and the world to read.It"s 4 am in the morning. The clouds are gushing in my praise; heavy, black, gleeful. I live in a place where I die every day with sweat, heat, and prayers. People around me have told me that this place is called India. I don"t know which state I"m in right now.
I"m an eighteen-year-old girl. I was betrothed to the son of a far-away cousin of my uncle. I don"t know what my parents looked like. My aunt called me as Sheela"s daughter and my uncle called me Abla. For a long time, I believed that that was my original name. I remember seeing the name Abhilasha on my wedding card. I was shaken a bit and remained in an unbelievable trauma for two days. Abhilasha seemed to me like a completely different person. All the unknown who attended my wedding called me Abhilasha. It was like, it wasn"t my marriage but of some other girl, named, Abhilasha. She seemed to me like a mystery that needs to be solved.
Belonging to an orthodox kind of family, I ought not to utter my husband"s name. I should confess that I had an unwanted urge to kill the person I was engaged to. Being a teenager, who have seen all the romantic movies, it felt like an injustice to me. But I never said a word against it. All my rage melted away when I first saw him after years. Actually, I first saw him in my imagination. Or probably, when I was a year old.
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I shouldn"t lie, as it is the last day of this life. My first glimpse of him was awestruck, exciting, and expressed unnatural happiness at the decision of my parents to bind me to him at a young age of one. After our marriage, on our first night, he sat near me. He made me talk to him for hours. Firstly, he told me everything about him and then, I told him everything about me.
I want to digress here. I"m feeling a little conscious now about the plot I"m planning to employ very soon. It"s around 6 am right now. The clouds have started to express there gushing glee. I have sat on some random train before. Right now, I"m at some station near Faridabad as I heard a random person telling someone. I don"t know exactly where I"m. I remember once after I was coming back from the school, I was told by my aunt to keep my face covered while stepping out of the house. I was in sixth back then. I have followed so ever since. Oh!
One more thing. I never went to school; I never wanted to. I have always believed more in experience and common sense, than a prescribed book. My aunt told me when I was five that I should just learn the domestic skills. It was my uncle who used to encourage me to think, read, and write. I was allowed to sit at the porch when he taught science to other young boys. I was also allowed to sit on the entrance of cla.s.srooms of the government school building at times. But I have never been to any school as a student myself. Cla.s.ses, which I iterate in this story here and there, is just a fraction of my expectation and imagination. I have my own world inside my head. It always tries to knock my forehead, sneak out and jump into reality.
I wish to tell the incidence where I got to know about my betrothal. It was in the year 2010. My aunt and her friend were having a conversation about the person I can"t say the name of. They giggled; her friend uttered, "See Abla, he is your future husband." I commented, "Yes, a gorgeous, charming, impeccable, and foreigner to the mainstream." I felt that they saw the images that wondered and flowed inside my head.
My aunt"s friend came home to meet us again after a year. Almost at once, she started to describe him to us (especially me) through her lips, which actually looked like a loudspeaker. "He is developing into a really handsome boy. His charm is beyond international actors. Bhaijaan, I bet you, he seems to be so mature already. He is much intelligent than Enstenn! You don"t know about Enstenn? See. My son told me about Enstenn. Genius! Genius! Only your Abla is going through p.u.b.erty with all this chubbiness and pimples. My son has such fair skin. He can fight the strongest of the men. He looks so tall as if he"ll break the roof apart ..." And she continued this thesis for hours. My uncle had the hearing problem by the time she went away. We had to take him to the hospital.
Anyway, I did have a lot of pimples during my teenage. That"s the reason why my aunt said to keep my face covered always. Then when I turned seventeen, my aunt said, "You look more gorgeous than the prost.i.tutes or angels. Keep your face covered always."
It was during this age when I started to eat every book I got. Every word opened to me a different picture. And so, soon, after a few significant incidents, I decided to put an end to this life.
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