DANCING DIVORCEE: The beginning of the end

A chronicle of getting divorced and the odd sort-of situations one faces when one does that
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First Published: Thu, Nov 08 2012. 09 56 PM IST
Photo: Thinkstock
Photo: Thinkstock
Updated: Thu, Nov 15 2012. 11 17 AM IST
There comes a time, when one person asks ‘Can we work it out?’, and the other shakes their head as a slow tear rolls down and the sniffles begin to make their presence felt.
Or.
You open your eyes and you see the hand that flaunts the wedding ring, you so lovingly put on, is encircling your throat in an attempt to make you history. A swift kick of the leg (yours) stops that.
Or.
Drunk. Jobless. Drug Addict. Abuser. Evil. Pure Evil.
Or.
Is boredom a valid feeling? Ennui? That feeling when you turn your head and see the person who shares your bed, bank account, progeny, sometimes even a toothbrush—and you feel nothing. Zero. Zilch. The panipuri plate down the road inspires more emotions.
Or.
That thing called sex walked out of your house and never came back. You searched intensely for it, tried to seduce it with temptation, faked it hoping magically the lie would turn true, nothing worked. It had gone forever.
Or.
The only thing that remained was love. Everything else had been shredded by words, anger, immaturity and you couldn’t go back to that love, though you saw it, shining, standing there, waiting, begging you.
Or.
The mother-in-law hates you. The father-in-law hates you. The sister-in-law hates you. The brother-in-law hates you. The dog-in-law hates you. The banker-in-law hates you.
Or.
The child died. The only way to run away from that never-ending, mind-numbing, happiness-swallowing grief was to run away from what made the child.
Or.
It was stay-at-home vs let’s-go-somewhere. Salad-with-brown-bread-and-no-cheese vs chicken-tikka-with-extra-butter-roti. Wake-up-at-5am-and-do-yoga vs stay-up-till-3am-drinking-whisky-and-quoting-rumi.
Or.
You know that he’s having an affair and he knows that you know he’s having an affair and one day you walk in on both of them, doing the things he stopped doing with you.
Or.
There was no reason except for the word ‘Over’. It came into your heart and grew roots there, settling down with a ferocious tenacity that spread all over your body, till every atom of you chanted ‘Over, Over, Over’ and you could do nothing but submit to this force that came uninvited.
It doesn’t matter what the cause for a divorce is, but more of us are getting divorced. (Yes, me included) and this weekly series tries to make sense of what happened to what was considered ‘normalcy.’ Maybe making sense is too ambitious. Let me rephrase that. This series is a chronicle of getting divorced and the odd sort-of situations one faces when one does that.
These life windows are a mixed-bag. Some are side-splittingly funny, while others are heartbreakingly sad. Some are obnoxiously unbelievable, while others are the wings of inspiration. What you read is not written to mock; instead it is spoken so that we can laugh together at this strange absurdity of a situation that life has brought us to.
Perhaps, in my sharing, you will take courage and loudly sing ‘I will Survive’ in the bathroom without embarrassment. For now you’ll know, there are lots of us out there, belting out the same song at this precise moment.
Dancing Divorcee is a weekly happy, sad, funny, obnoxious blog on the misadventure called divorce. It will appear every Thursday. Arathi Menon is a dancing divorcee who also blogs, writes, tweets and repairs brands.
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First Published: Thu, Nov 08 2012. 09 56 PM IST
More Topics: DANCING DIVORCEE | Divorce | Marriage | Blog | Love |
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