This is the story of Mira, whose life revolves around her obsession to be the ‘perfect wife’. Having lost her mother at a very young age, and being brought up by her disciplinarian father, Mira longs to feel loved and cherished. Her husband of 10 years, Venu, is a chartered accountant who lives in his own world of profits and losses. Does he love Mira? One can only safely come to the conclusion that if he does not love her, he doesn’t hate her either. For Venu, Mira is someone who is there to take care of the minor essentials of everyday living; so that he can continue to exist peacefully in his magical world of numbers . The fact that the couples are childless doesn’t help matters and they continue to live their separate lives under the same roof.
She spends each day in a frenzy of activities to live up to her self constructed image of the ‘prefect wife’. This she hopes will make her worthy of being loved with desperation and frustration mounting and nobody to talk to; Mira begins to sink into a deep depression, which sways dangerously into suicidal tendencies. Then out of the blue, Venu and Mira are invited by a university friend whom they have not seen in 10 years, to spend a weekend at their house in Bangalore. Not able to refuse, the couple ends up taking that trip without the slightest clue that their lives would never be the same again. A series of events which takes place over the two days changes the equation between Mira and Vasu, some thing that 10 years of life together failed to do. Will Venu be able to love Mira the way she so desperately wants him to? Or does life have more surprises in store for her?
What makes it real
This story is about a woman who has spent most of her life waiting to be loved. This story has been inspired by the narrator's observations of real life people. It is about how the greatest of love stories can start with the simple act of loving oneself first. Love need not always be a fairy tale romance, it can be that little bit of magic within ourselves that makes us happy.
Mira let out sigh. This was her favorite part of the day. With her husband at work, and the maid sent out for grocery shopping, she had the whole house to herself. She let herself into the kitchen. Every time she entered her kitchen, she felt a sense of pleasure. It was warm and comforting, designed like a farmhouse kitchen; no cold steel and metal kitchen for her. As if there wasn’t enough coldness in her life already she thought wryly, as she put the kettle on to make herself a big mug of cardamom tea. The olive green pods wrinkled and purged, waiting to be discarded, just like moth scented dreams from a faraway time.
This is my entry for the HarperCollins-IndiBlogger Get Publishedcontest, which is being run with inputs from Yashodhara Lal and HarperCollinsIndia
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