A WIFE’S LETTER TO HER HUSBAND
BY LARA ZUBERI
Why do men take their wives for granted and marriage so lightly as if it’s all disposable? Things would be much better if they could only learn to see things from the other person’s eyes
To,
The man,
I married.
I was young, very young. Studying and planning a future ahead of me. Then you came into my life.
My mother told me that there was a proposal from a good-looking, highly-qualified young man from a respectable family, earning well and settled in America. Weigh the pros and cons? There were no cons to weigh. My first natural reaction was ‘No’. I’m only eighteen. I need to get an education, and plus, I need to be mentally prepared before making such a major decision. My second, delayed reaction. Why not? If he is the Mr Right, then other problems can be resolved. Also, America would offer more opportunities for a better education if I was determined to continue. I would consider.
I met you. I liked you. You seemed like the person who would love me, take care of me and never bear the sight of tears in my eyes. Besides being broad minded, you were fun loving, and I was sure that your good sense of humour would never let the smile on my face fade away. Your conversation exuded intelligence and your eyes seemed to emanate a warmth which I can never forget - a warmth that I always yearned to see, but never saw again.
I was happy. I said yes, without once thinking again. I was on top of the world - in the sky - in the seventh heaven of my fools paradise. The wedding day arrived - I was a little anxious, knowing little of the direction in which my boat was going to sail. I did not know then, that the rough tides would not allow it to sail at all. I was worried about adjusting to American lifestyle, but loved you, and nothing else seemed to matter.
The first few days seemed to be part of a fairy tale and I, the princess - you told me that you cared about me, that life without me would be meaningless to you, like a bare ground, like an empty shell, like a blank canvas you had said. You probably don’t remember. But I remember. Every word you said, is etched in my memory, more vividly than my own name. That, perhaps, till today was the happiest day of my life. I had left behind my family, my dearest friends, my home, my country - all of which were very special to me -just to be with you. It had not seemed like a sacrifice then. Somehow, it doesn’t even seem like a sacrifice now. I was your wife, and would be, till the day I died.
Slowly, you started to change. You told me I couldn’t study - I readily complied, without even feeling the pinch, despite my ambitions, and without even realising that you were breaking your promise, and my heart. I was content in being a housewife and a mother (a role I had never pictured myself in). Anything that made you happy would make me happy. Then you started losing your temper - and at the most unreasonable of issues - but they didn’t seem unreasonable then. I would simply listen, shed a few tears, and end up saying sorry in the end. I would blame myself for things you did wrong. Then you told me not to go anywhere. Not to meet anybody. I was not accustomed to living in isolation, but after all, compromise was a part of marriage, wasn’t it?
Then one day you said you didn’t love me. That you had not wanted to marry me in the first place. That I was a nagging wife and a nuisance. And a burden. Those had been your exact words. That you loved someone else. I felt shattered and betrayed, and I felt as if something within me had died. But not once did I think of leaving you. Not once.
I was not going to retaliate. I was going to put everything into this marriage - everything that the last vestiges of my being had to offer. I would only give, and let you take all. I had become more patient, and more submissive than ever before, and I thought that one day my endurance would reach its threshold. But it never did. I had become your slave, and I didn’t mind being treated like one. If torturing me and cursing me was giving you any pleasure, that was good enough for me. One day maybe you would realise; and change, and become the man of my dreams - the dreams that had never come true.
Then you sent me to Pakistan. By this time, things had improved, and you were being kind and gentle towards me. I thought I had finally won the battle. I was elated. A few days after coming to Pakistan, I was walking in my garden, and saw a neat looking envelope lying on the grass. I quickly opened it, thinking it was from you. And indeed it was - an innocent looking printout which had the same word written thrice - DIVORCE.
I had heard of people get divorced but I had never thought it could happen to someone who was so committed to a marriage. And I never thought it could happen to me. If you had put a knife through me, it wouldn’t have hurt more than those casually written words. I am still in the period of recovering from this shock, I don’t know if I ever will. But I want to ask you what right you had to ruin my life. Did I, and the days you spent with me, mean nothing to you? Were the vows you made so worthless that you discarded them without a blink of an eye? Is the institution of marriage a joke to you?
Your life will go on unchanged, undeterred, but my family and I have suffered more than you can ever imagine. I will never know why you married me at all. But I am still not angry at you. I am only hurt. Hurt beyond _expression.
Your disillusioned,
X-wife.
http://www.umiacs.umd.edu/users/sawweb/sawnet/news/dawn1.html
