Listen to Torn by Ava Max.  It's my new favourite song!

(These events occur in the past. Make sure you're not confused by the time transition)

Meera Bagwat

***Twelve years ago***

"You don't have anything to lose." 

My older sister Kanaka's voice throbbed in my head like a constant piercing siren. 

"You're a selfish crocodile, you know that? You only think about yourself.  You are a disgrace to the family." 

I was visiting Kanaka's house for Diwali, India's favourite festival. We were all dressed up for the occasion and the cold rattle of her gold earrings was getting under my skin, along with her painful words.  I gritted my teeth, concentrating all my energy to keep calm while my mind pictured prying out her hair one by one.   

While the other guest were in the living room, she had pulled me into her bedroom to give me yet another scolding.

"I don't want to give birth," I mumbled.

It's been two months since I took my decision.  And I had never been sure about anything before. 

"Why can't you just have a baby?"

I didn't hear her say that.

"Who told you it's a choice to have or not have a child?"

I didn't hear it.

"You are trying to kill your generation."

I didn't hear it either.  

"Do you even know how hurt your husband is?  You're ruining his dreams too with all these..."  She looked like she was going to spit on me.  "All these dreadful ideas.  What are you going to do with your life without a child?"

I didn't hear anything she said.

I didn't want a baby. I didn't want to give birth.  

"Look!  My husband and I agreed upon adopting a child before we got married.  I just don't understand why he wants me to bear a child now.  Kanaka, I was there with you when you went through your pregnancy.  You know about the horrible nightmares I used to have.  I still get those nightmares.  I know I can't do it."

And I was struggling to express my feelings to my family.

I knew that this was not the predominantly seen motherly emotions, but I firmly believed that I could choose what I did with my body.  

I would choose whether I wanted to give birth or not.  Even if my husband would have a say on it, I didn't want him or my parents to decide for me.

Suddenly I felt Kanaka hands on my shoulders. "Adoption?" she spat with disgust.

I shrugged.  I knew this is how she would react.

You see, we're Indians and the culture stays with us everywhere we go. Even though my parents have been living away from our country since they were in their twenties, these kinds of things stick. The practices, the food, the people, the names.  Some are good, some are terrible.

Guilt surged in my heart again. She scolded me every time she talked to me these days.  Why was it so difficult to satisfy myself and others alike?

"Why?" she asked. "Why can't you just get knocked up and forget about this stupid idea of yours?"

I couldn't see her face. My eyes drifted to the beige wall behind her. Right now, to even confess my desire felt like I was sinning. "This is what I wa-want." 

I didn't realize that my words held truth until I actually said it out aloud. It felt like a bombshell just exploded. And the calm that follows lingered after that.

But calm is not the end, is it?

Tears followed. I burst into a cry all of a sudden, releasing all the contained emotions through the crack that emerged from the bomb. I immediately searched for my mother. I pushed Kanaka away, put my face in my hands and sobbed uncontrollably.

Did she even know how broken I was?  Does she see how hard I was trying to keep the pieces of my heart plastered together?  

The plasters were threatening to come off, to let go, to give up. 

I didn't know what to do.

I wanted someone to tell me solutions, guide me. I wanted my Amma.  I wanted Ranjit's comforting words.  

Kanaka didn't know about the horrendous, unnerving nightmares that kept me awake. 

She just wouldn't understand. 

There was a knock on the door. Amma entered and a worried expression passed her face when she perceived my state. I shot her an accusing glare with my bloodshot eyes. If only she'd been here to stop Kanaka. She deliberately let Kanaka take me alone. 

Amma slowly made her way to the bed, her soft foot making no sound, and sat beside me. I slid into my mother's lap immediately, sobbing my eyes out. She didn't ask questions. In fact, she hadn't really grilled me after I made my decision. Did she approve? I didn't know. Will she support me? I didn't know.  I stayed on Amma's lap till well after the sun had set.

_

I wanted to go home. I wanted Ranjit right now, even though we weren't happy with each other. I wanted my husband to hold me, just hold me.

I got up from my mother's lap and rubbed at my eyes that had already dried out. I felt hideous and I knew my face mirrored that too. The eyeliner and mascara I carefully drew on my face for the festival must have crawled down the entirety of my face into an ugly mess.

"Amma, I'm leaving." My mother lived with Kanaka and her family.

"Are you sure you can go alone?" her soft, concerned voice ruffled my ear.

I nodded, dusted my crumpled blue Diwali saree and made my way out.

Britney Spears sang through the console as I rode home, yearning for Ranjit's comfort. I wished he'd come to an agreement with my decision. But just like Amma, when he realized that I wouldn't give in, the distance between us grew. Last night, he looked at me like a stranger when I poured him his evening coffee.

My heart hurt to think that I was breaking my marriage.

When I reached home, it was locked. Ranjit wasn't home. I fished my phone out of my purse and dialled his number. He didn't pick up.

"Aghhh!" I screamed and kicked the door.

I was in an indescribable frustration. I felt like nothing can comfort me now.

I was hurting everyone.  I was hurting everyone that loved me. Am I crazy?  Am I doing something wrong?

"Mrs Bagwat!" I heard someone shout.

I turned at the sound of my name, then quickly bent down when I remembered how miserable I must look.

Dixie and her cousin sat there on their porch like they do most times after nightfall.

"Mrs Bagwat!" Dixie called again, stepping out onto the road to look closer at me. "Your clothes look so pretty. Come over here. I just saw Mr Bagwat leave somewhere." The younger child sat on the porch reading a book, eyes only rising to see if I was accepting her cousin's invitation.

I hesitated, considering my terrible mental state. I was about to say no when Dixie yelled again.

"Please come, Mrs Bagwat. We made udon today. It tastes like heaven. You don't want to miss it." Dixie was practically begging by this time, so I couldn't say no.

My knees felt weak as I walked to their porch. The girl's face changed pallid when she saw me. "What's wrong? Oh my God," she breathed. She scanned me for a few more seconds, then pulled me closer for a hug, and I desperately took it, hugging her as if I'm not gonna be in human touch after this. I let my tears pool again at my eyes. It was shocking to know how much a person can cry. The water keeps coming, keeps leaking, keeps telling me that I haven't wept enough. "Oh my God, are you okay?" She smoothed my hair in an attempt to pacify me. 

I felt like laughing. I had nobody to comfort me, except this college girl who lived next door.

She pulled apart then, and ran into the house, shouting "Wait, lemme get you some tissues."

Dixie's drawings were strewn across the porch floor with pencils and a scale. She was an architecture student. And a hard worker too from the sight of it.

Little Diane was staring intently at me with her little black eyes before she said something. I didn't even hear what she said.

"What?" I asked, wiping my bleary eyes and wondering if I could humiliate myself any more.

"I said Hi." She motioned for me to sit by her side.

I collapsed on the steps, a few feet away from her on the porch. I felt so heavy, like a humongous burden.

Diane's brows quirked up.  They seemed to ask What's wrong? 

It surprised me Diane was showing interest even the size of a speck of dust.  She wasn't much of a talker. My husband and I moved to this neighbourhood only half a year ago, but from what I had seen, she was a sad child who cared about nobody else's business. 

Her raven black hair fluttered in the breeze. "How old are you, Diane?" I asked, oddly feeling calm.

"Eleven."

I nodded, smiling a little.

"Why are you sad?" she asked.  She sounded pretty unbothered, but she looked pretty unbothered all the time.  Maybe it was in her personality.  

I sighed halfheartedly, looking afar at a streetlight. "I'm torn between what I want and what the people I love expect from me."

I wasn't sure she understood what I said.  It felt absurd to rant about my problems to a kid.

She turned her body toward me. "Sometimes, you have to love yourself more," she whispered, eyes boring into mine.

I sat unmoving for a few seconds. Will I ever be able to love myself more?

"Mrs Bagwat?"

"Hm?"

"I'm not like Dixie. I don't like hugging people. But maybe," she lifted her little pink hand off her skirt and stretched it towards me, "we can hold hands."

I took it.

Please vote and make me smile.  

Question:  If stuck in a situation like this, will you try your best to convince your family?  Or is it easier to give up?