To Touch A Looking Glass

It had seemed the easiest thing to do - walk into a courtroom, sign some papers and walk out of it free from the chains of my defunct marriage. However walking out had seemed so much more difficult, why had my legs felt so leaden as I made my way back?

Guess it’s not easy to admit defeat and that’s what this moment was. Admitting defeat that I had failed to prevent my three-year-old marriage from floundering.

What had gone so horribly wrong? Why was I not able to manage it better? Why was the person now walking ahead of me seem so dear and yet so distant?

It wasn't that long ago that we had walked like this in a circle around a fire asking it to be the witness to a relation that was to last through seven births.

It had looked like the perfect match, age gap not withstanding. Everyone had commented on how perfect we looked together and he had been really glad that our names too were so similar almost as if destiny had planned us to be together always. Though the cynic in me had even then held back from thinking of it as the perfect fairy tale but I did feel content, safe to be with him. The idea of spending the rest of my life with him had not seemed a difficult task.

When did I first notice the change in his persona? He had always projected an image of a liberated metrosexual, happy with his station in life and giving me the freedom to pursue what I wanted for myself. Infact when before marriage I had told him that I would not adopt his surname as my own he had not debated it at all making all my planned speeches on the subject redundant.

I guess the changes had been so subtle that initially I had failed to notice them. Snatches of conversation, a look, an expression had formed a chain of sorts, which one-day had yanked and made me wake up and take notice at the kind of bondage I had allowed myself to walk into.

Once awake I couldn’t stop myself from scrutinizing everything, listening intently to every said and unsaid word in trying to decipher what lay beneath that smiling, confident, loving exterior of the man I had married.

I found a very complex maze, just when I would think I had found the core it would turn out to be yet another blind corner and I would have to look again for a hidden door, a shaft which would take me closer to the answer I seeked.

Before marriage he had told me he was interested in the arts theatre, music, films, literature all that I deemed important for a person to live. I remember being surprised at his home lacking a single book and he had told me that his books had been lost in transit and he was waiting for us to be married so that there would be a place for everything. I had believed him. Why shouldn't I? There was no reason for him to lie after all.

Life had gone on smoothly and for those who had visited our home we seemed like the perfect couple with a nice, warm, welcoming home. A friend once jokingly branded us the Super Dinks (Double Income No Kids). It had set me thinking, as I realised that more than the 'double income' I was happy with the 'no kids ' tag. The longer I lived with and studied him the more difficult it seemed to ever get to know the real man within and I had no intention of forming a family with a man whom I didn't understand.

It had actually taken a drunken brawl to finally reveal his true colours.

We were at one of his many boring office parties where I was expected to accompany him; though there never was one person I could chat to for beyond the customary hello and namasteji. The boredom and irritation at wasting a perfect Saturday evening had made me drink more than usual and then a colleague had called up to ask for advice on some personal matter.

To escape from the loud music I had walked out of the venue and moved to the parking lot. As I chatted I had failed to notice the minutes tick by and then suddenly found myself confronted by him and his assistant from office. Before I could utter a word he had snatched the phone from my hand and then lashed out, "You can never be satisfied with one".

I had been shocked into silence and the journey back home had been quiet. Once home the dam had broken and all the questions, doubts that had flitted through my mind over the past many months had come out in torrents. He had perhaps not expected such a vehement attack and had been at a loss for words or even enough anger to retaliate with. With a "will speak about it in the morning" he had tried to end the conversation.

Anger and humiliation had perhaps made me bolder and I had told him that either he answers now or I would walk out of the home right then. The sneering look with which he had answered my outburst had made me shrink back in horror.

I had sat through the night wondering how a person like me who prided herself in reading people had made such a big mistake in recognizing the shallow man behind the magnanimous exterior. I had pondered long over what kind of sorcery had kept me from reality.

The answer had hit home when I looked up to find myself staring back from the mirror opposite.

He is actually like the magic mirror from Harry Potter, which reflects back what a person, most desires. He has an uncanny habit of understanding what a person would like him to be and then moulds his behavior to fit the image.

Its all very well to look into a looking glass and see what you desire but the moment you reach out to touch it you hit a cold unyielding surface.

That’s what I had done, tried to touch a looking glass.