The Woman My Grandmother Loved.

Chapter Twenty-four

1978, India.

The number of cases reported for atrocities against Harijans during 1996-1997 was revealed to be 40,000.

The Air Chief Marshal Idris Hassan becomes the first Muslim Air Chief Marshal.

Indias first test-tube baby Durga is born. Pioneered by three Calcutta doctors; detailed in a confidential report submitted to the West Bengal Government.

The Chopra Kidnapping and Murders takes the nation by a storm. The murder of teenagers Geeta and Sanjay Chopra leads to a massive manhunt and outrage among the populace. The culprit Billa and Ranga Khush are captured and the nation demands them to be publicly hanged.

My Anita,

Your last letter pained me. There, I put it simply. When I wrote to you about the distance coming in between us, I had hoped that you would hold on a bit tighter, make me believe again, and do the Anita-thing you do which makes the world rosy and serene. And it was mighty selfish of me. I shouldn't ask you to save me when you're drowning as well. And I am so sorry that I couldn't be there for you. The years have not been very kind to you and I have been demanding. I am sorry that it has been exhausting for you and the only consolation I can offer is that; I know. I know what it feels like to be so consumed by somebody that everything else pales in front of them. I know this because I have loved you and I still do. And Anita, I am done. I have spent eight years of my life trying to pretend to be something that I am not.

And all of that in vain. I have separated from Jeremy.

Shortly after I sent you the letter and before I received yours, it happened. It had never happened before but once he hit me, he didn't stop. I should have seen it coming; he had been disagreeable for quite some years now. I know I never told you this; I never allowed myself to think of it. I was so afraid that admitting that our marriage was problematic would make it real. I didn't want to face it and then it was suddenly too late.

The first time he hit me, he cried and promised never to do it again. We were in Italy and had been there for quite a while. I still remember the way my body was unable to register the shock. I can remember the blue flecks on the floor from the paintbrush which had scattered from my hand and fell. Then he cried, he promised never to do it again. He made love that night, I have never in the due course of the marriage.

The second time, he apologized remorsefully. The third time around, he kicked me and called me a whore. The last time, he dragged me by the hair and held a knife up to my neck. I finally had enough sense to walk out on him. I don't have any idea of his whereabouts and I have relocated where he can never hope to find me. I have begun teaching art again; funny isn't it how my life comes a full circle? But there is no you. After all these years of traveling, I have understood that I will never be great. But I can learn to impart these teachings to some future prodigy.

I am deeply embarrassed. At having endured all these things with Jeremy. I should've walked out on him the first time he hit. But I kept staying and telling myself he is a good man. And he had been good for most of our marriage.

What really is "good"? It seems to me the meanings are so very different for men and women. The moment I flirt with a man other than my husband, I become an immoral woman. But husbands can kick their wives and still be considered a man of good standing. Does it not affect their psyche or does guilt not plague them? Are they so emboldened by their superiority over women that they have forgotten that we are both humans? Questions, I hope will stay unanswered. For to answer them, I must acquaint myself with another man and now I have decided I will never do the same.