Traditions

                                       “Every day should be mother’s day”

The sun was low on the horizon. The reddish golden glow filtered in through the window blinds into the increasingly darkening room. The door to the balcony was open. I sat on an easy chair, calmly looking at the fluffy white clouds. Somewhere in the house a clock chimed. I looked around, ready to get back to the household chores once again. Then I realized that I didn’t have any today. My husband had taken our son to the zoo. The whole day they were gone. They had found a father-son ritual of their own. This was also my husband’s idea of giving me a break. I leaned back again and closed my eyes. Today, I had the house to myself.

I belonged to an upper middle class family. I was a well educated, independent woman with modern sensibilities. I had a successful career, loving husband and a happy and lively son. I lived in a posh area in a luxurious flat. In short, I had everything a middle class family would want for their daughter. Most importantly, I was happy and content with my life.

The soft breeze washed over me. I could hear the happy shouts of children playing downstairs. I smiled to myself as I remembered how much I loved lazy evenings when I was younger. I could just sit around all day long doing nothing but reflecting on my own, or making up an alternate reality in my head where I had all the things I actually have now. The light all around me faded a little more. I got up to make tea. This thought surprised me a little. I never liked tea, my husband did. Initially I made myself a separate cup of coffee but then I took to tea as well because I was too lazy to make both. Over the years I became used to it. And today somehow my husband’s choice triumphed over my own even in his absence.

A strange thought struck me. I realized how much I had changed for the sake of my husband, not because he wanted me to, but because I wanted to. In a family, the woman is expected to adjust; to take upon the family name, the likes, dislikes, even traditions. The culture or ambience in which the woman was brought up all her life just ceases to be important. But I was always very proud to point out that I was never under that pressure. My husband and his family accepted me for who I was, the way I was. Even after marriage, my husband never imposed anything on me, all our decisions were mutual. He even gave in to my tantrums more often than not. But still, unnoticed by both of us, I had changed. I had made adjustments, changed my likes and dislikes without even realizing it. My love for coffee made way for my husband’s love for tea, my favorite colors got replaced with my husband’s and then my son’s. My favorite shows made way for football matches. My hobbies took a backseat, because I didn’t have time for them anymore. These are major changes, not that I mind much, but still. The funniest part of it was, I never realized when the changes crept in to become a part of me. I remembered how my mother taught me that sacrifices are a part of being a woman. The small things that I had given up may not be great sacrifices but they counted all the same. Women like me have come long way. Became independent, strong but at the same time, we have always preferred to keep ourselves after everyone around us, a sacrifice which mostly goes unnoticed; and when the realization dawns, we even surprise ourselves.

The sun had gone down. My surroundings had become darker. The dirty golden light had almost faded to black. The laughter of the children below had also faded, except for the occasional loud “bye”, the playground below was quiet. Smiling to myself I went to the kitchen. I looked at the small bottle of coffee which my husband had bought for me. Nonchalantly I reached for the tea leaves.

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