Weaving patterns of life…


‘Bhaiya ji..kaise dull colours aur boring kapde dikha rahe ho? Meri gudiya chamakni chahiye , kuch aisa dikhao’ (What kind of dull clothes are you showing!! Show me something in which my little girl will look like sunshine)

It was Sunday morning and Aarti was happily shopping today. She had received her first salary and she wanted to spend it all on the person who actually gave a new meaning to her life. Her yet to be born daughter. She went back home, relaxed for some time, after all, it was her 5th month running, then opened her shopping bags. She was fascinating and feeling happy about her baby doll in those little cute frocks.

Things were not the same few months before. Aarti’s life had become a mix of only a sad patterns. She was living those patterns for 2 years with Jignesh, whom she was married to when she turned 17. She wanted to study more and make herself independent but the society forced her parents to get her married. Like any other girl, she hoped for a loving and caring future.

Her parents were able to find Jignesh who worked in a Diamond factory as a junior officer. All these two years she did whatever she could to make this marriage work. Every morning she woke up with pain and bruises on her body but did not occur a word of complain to anyone. Jignesh used to hit her for no reason. It was just his favourite time pass.

One day she found herself to be pregnant. Hoping things would change for the better she shared the good news with Jignesh.

‘Sham ko doctor k paas check up k liye jayenge, taiyaar rehna.’ (We will go to meet the doctor this evening, be ready) .The words were enough to console her for all the suffering that she bore for two years now. Jignesh came back from work and then they headed to meet the doctor. Aarti was glad to know that her husband at least cares for the child.

The doctor examined Aarti only to make her more emotional, as it was for the first time that she could hear a heartbeat running so fast. It was her baby living inside her womb. Jignesh told Aarti to wait outside as he pays the doctor’s fees.

While coming back home, a mom’s heart was weaving stories for the unborn child. For the first time, she realised that she could love someone without even looking at him/her. On reaching home Jignesh uttered, ‘Kal fir jana hai!!.’ (we have to go tomorrow, again). Aarti was amazed at this as the doctor while examining told her that the baby was doing fine and she can come back for check up after 15 days and now Jignesh was saying that they had to visit again tomorrow. ‘Kyun’.

‘I don’t want a female child, we are getting it aborted tomorrow’ said Jignesh as he shut the door leaving Aarti alone in the house.

The words fell so heavily on Aarti. She sat on the floor with her dreams of a happy family all shattered with the tears rolling down. But the next moment she realised she was not alone in the room. There was a life living inside her. She had the power of two. She had to wipe her tears off for her new found love.

Jignesh came back and asked for food. Aarti was late to bring the plate by 5 minutes. Jignesh’ drunk ego was hurt with this and he lifted his hand to hit Aarti. Aarti dropped the plate but held his wrist tightly this time and roared a big ‘No’. That was the end of it. She made an exit from Jignesh’ cage that day.

Today she was living with her parents but not as a burden on them. She was living a life on her own terms independently. She was creating beautiful patterns, for her and her beautiful life to come. building her individuality at a Khadi weaving factory.


This can be a piece of fiction for many of us..but for few that is life. They need to understand that it cannot be a way of leading a life for any human being and voicing it out is important.


OEM Autodesk MEP Fabrication Suite 2017 I am taking part in The Write Tribe Problogger October 2017 Blogging Challenge  for prompt 1 ‘Patterns’


My new identity is I am a mother of a two year old. I am a teacher and a learner too but as of now a SAHM or rather WFHM as I always like to be financially independent...

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