A few days has passed since our wedding.We both had a fair share of work to do,Raghav ji with his work, his responsibilities, his role as the dutiful son and me, the wife - filling my role with chores and duties.
Though my mom gave me training for these household chores, by taking my veena away from me right from the time when they started searching a groom for me, I couldn’t help but miss it. I still remember how I used to sit by my grandfather and play it. It brought me peace, a sense of belonging. But my parents had other plans. They wanted me to focus on the household chores, to become a perfect daughter-in-law. And that’s how I found myself in this never-ending cycle.
It’s tiring - cooking for a big family, washing their clothes, cleaning this house. It’s all too much. Every day, I find myself doing one thing after another, with no time to breathe. But I can’t complain.
"Beta, apne pita ji ke liye chai bana do", My mother in law told me
(Beta, make tea for your father.)
I quickly nodded and went to prepare tea. I was used to these little requests, things that kept me busy, always on my toes. As I served the tea to my father-in-law, he looked up at me, giving me a slight nod of approval.
Once I was done, my mother-in-law asked me, "Kapde jo dho kar sukh gaye hain unhe le aao aur dhang se rakh do."
(Take the clothes that have dried after washing and fold them.)
I did as she asked, silently, without any objection. It was just part of my routine. When I returned from hanging the clothes, my father-in-law spoke again, "Jo chai tumne di thi, woh thandi ho gayi hai. Kya tum mujhe aur chai de sakti ho?"
(The tea you gave me is cold now. Can you please bring me another one?)
I didn’t say a word. I just nodded and went back to the kitchen. As I poured fresh tea, my mother-in-law called out from the other room, "Aarti, upar ka kamra saaf kar do. Kaafi din ho gaye hai."
(Aarti, clean the attic. It’s been a while since it was done.)
The attic. It felt like just another task in the long list of things I had to do, but I didn’t mind. I couldn’t say no. As I was about to head towards the attic, exhaustion seemed to hit me all at once. My body ached from the constant work. I wanted to sit down, to relax, to talk to someone. But there was no time for that. No one asked how I felt. No one saw how tired I was.
Except for Raghav ji. He asked, always. Every night, after his tiring day at work, he would come home and tell me about his day. "Kaise tha tumhara din, Aarti jaan?"
(How was your day, Aarti jaan?).
He would ask. I would listen, nod, and then say, "Bas, thoda thaka hua hoon. Neend aa rahi hai."
(I’m just a bit tired. I’m feeling sleepy.)
I could see the concern in his eyes, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him everything. How could I? I didn’t want to burden him with the endless work I was doing every day. He had his own stress to deal with.
So, I kept it simple, told him I was tired, and he would pull me into his embrace and let me sleep. He never questioned me, never pushed for more. And I was grateful for that. But as the days went by, I felt like we were growing distant. We were no longer sharing our thoughts or emotions. He would talk about his day, but I was always too tired to talk about mine. It felt like a routine, not a conversation between two people who once shared everything.
I finally made my way to the attic, the old wooden steps creaking beneath my weight. As I opened the door, I was met with the dust and the musty air. It was a lot of work, but I couldn’t help but smile as my eyes landed on something unexpected.
A veena. A veena just like the one my grandfather used to play.
I froze for a moment, the rush of memories flooding my mind. This was the instrument I had once loved,still love - the one my parents had taken away from me, saying I should focus on the house instead. But here it was, right in front of me, in this dusty attic.
I walked toward it, my fingers lightly grazing the strings, as a feeling of longing and nostalgia washed over me. This was the veena that had once been mine. Everyday thought about it in these years, and yet, here it was, a part of me that I had left behind.
I sat there for a moment, lost in thought, before I heard Raghav ji's voice calling me softly, "Aarti jaan, tum abhi bhi upar ho?"
(Aarti jaan, you’re still up there?)
I sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the day settle on my shoulders. I quickly wiped away the stray tear that had escaped, not wanting him to see me like this.
"Abhi aa rahi hoon ji," (Coming) , I said, trying to sound normal, though inside, I felt like a part of me had just been awakened.)
I went back downstairs, my mind still on the veena, on the life I had left behind. I needed a moment to breathe, to think, but it seemed like there was no time for that. No time for anything other than being a dutiful wife.
Raghav's POV:
When I returned home that evening, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. Aarti looked so tired, and the exhaustion in her eyes seemed to weigh heavier each day. It had been like this for a while now,
ever since we got married, it seemed like she was always busy with something. Cooking, cleaning, taking care of everything, and all I did was come home, share my day with her, and pull her into my arms to help her sleep.
But I had begun to notice the silence between us. Every night, I would tell her about how my day was, and she would listen intently, but when I asked about hers, she would always tell me she was sleepy. I didn’t want to push her; I wanted her to rest, to unwind. But the truth was, there had been no conversation between us in a long time. I was too busy with work, and she, it seemed, was too tired to share anything more than the basic answers.
I would leave early in the morning for work, and when I returned, it was the same. Aarti would tell me she was sleepy again, and I would let it go, thinking maybe she just needed rest. But in my heart, something felt wrong.
I felt like I didn’t even know how much work she was doing once I left for work. Was she feeling overwhelmed? Was she carrying this weight silently, without telling anyone, including me? I had promised myself, when I married her, that I would care for her,unlike other husbands who treated their wives as servants. I wanted her to be comfortable enough to share everything with me, to not feel like she had to bear it all alone.
But I was failing. I knew I wasn’t being the husband I should be. I wanted to give her more time, more space to breathe, to share her feelings without me having to ask. I wanted her to feel safe, not just physically, but emotionally as well.
I walked into the bedroom, and there she was, lying on the bed, her eyes half-closed as if the exhaustion had already claimed her for the night. I sat next to her, my heart heavy with the weight of these unsaid words, these unshared feelings.
"Aarti jaan," I whispered softly, my fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, "I know you're tired... but I want you to know something. I want to be here for you, really here. I want to share your burdens, hear your feelings, and give you the space to share with me whenever you’re ready. I don’t want you to feel alone in this, ever."
Aarti shifted slightly, and though she didn’t speak, I could feel a small shift in the air between us. I kissed her forehead, promising myself that I would do better, that I would make more time for her, no matter how busy life got. I wouldn’t let her carry this weight alone anymore.
As I held her close, I murmured softly, "Bacha, I’m here for you. Always." And I vowed to be the kind of husband she deserved - a husband who would listen, care, and make sure she never felt neglected, no matter what.
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