That day had begun on a happy note. At the office, I had joined a few of my colleagues who had taken the day off to attend the naming ceremony of a former colleague’s baby. I had even purchased a small earring as gift for the baby.

Sheila Iyer was someone whom I considered like a sister. We had joined work on the same day and from the very first day, we had become inseparable. She was the only person in the world who knew my innermost fears and wishes. Though she left the job after marriage, she had kept in touch with all of us, especially me. She called me every day. Though I had initially decided not to attend the function, she had convinced me to go.

Everything was going fine. I was enjoying the function as it reminded me of many such functions from my past. The ambience of flowers, the sacred chants, the happy faces, the fragrance of sandal wood and jasmine; everything was reminiscent of a carefree past, a vivacious childhood and teenage, when I too had dared to dream. With a rejuvenated mind, I had gone to greet Sheila and had handed over the gift to her. Sheila insisted that I bless her child and I accepted the ceremonial rice, to perform the ritual. Suddenly, someone pushed me aside harshly. I staggered and fell on the stage. Looking up, I found Sheila’s mother glowering at me.

“How dare you pollute this sacred ceremony? Don’t you have any shame? I won’t allow my grandchild to be cursed by your presence. Get out from here, this moment,” she shouted.

No one reacted. All were startled by the sudden turn of events. Many hadn’t understood the reason for her anger. Those who understood were too stunned to react. A few might have thought that her anger was justified. Embarrassed, I ran out of the auditorium through the rear entrance. The sweltering afternoon and the meandering roads did nothing to calm down my racing heart as I walked blindly. Tears continued to flow down my cheeks and I bitterly wiped them away.

Humiliation was nothing new to me. It had been my only faithful friend for more than six years by then. So what indeed was my fault? I dived into my story and the baggage of my faults then, inevitably.

Was it my mistake that my parents had forced me into an arranged marriage during the first year of my engineering course?

Wasn’t it the ‘fault in my stars’ that had led to the car accident that claimed my husband’s life, a mere two weeks after our marriage?

Obviously it was. The society had branded me a widow at the age of nineteen. My in-laws had thrown me out of the house, naming me as the banshee who had devoured their only son. It didn’t matter that for my husband, it had been a marriage of convenience. No one cared that on that fateful day he had got drunk at the house of his gay friend, whom he visited every night. No one cared that he had never been my husband in the real sense.

I had been his wife only for namesake. I was a veil they had acquired, together with a huge dowry, to cover up the secret life of their son. It was a clever disguise to declare to the world that their son was one with a normal sex life. My husband had confessed to me the horrible truth on our wedding night that he was gay. He had begged me to be an accomplice in the camouflage. Though all my dreams for a normal married life had crashed at that moment, I had agreed. I had no choice. Divorce was a taboo in the society that I belonged to. And I didn’t have the courage to face the cruel taunts that society would heap on me if I walked out of my marriage.

My days and nights continued to be the same as that before marriage. Only difference was that I became an excellent actress. I learned to act before everyone that I was happily married. Then that day arrived when my husband left as usual for his nightly outing.

The life of a pretend-happy wife had not been a curse. It had been just an irritating ache, but bearable. The next day dawned with the news of my husband’s death. From the proverbial frying pan, I was tossed into the fire, unceremoniously. The life of a widow was lifeless in the Brahmin community into which I was born. Widows were ostracized from society after the death of their husbands. Some elderly women lived on their own or in decrepit ghetto areas as even their kids forsake them. They were prevented from participating in religious festivals and other important communal events. Many are considered as cursed and some leave their home forever to take refuge in Ashrams which sometimes are kind to them, other less lucky ones are reduced to begging on the streets.

But my parents had embraced me then and had encouraged me to look ahead. I had resumed my studies, but the life that was once filled with happiness did not exist anymore. My own relatives found ways to exclude me from every function as I had suddenly become a bad omen. My classmates didn’t care but I took care to keep their happy functions blemish free with my absence. Life had moved ahead and eventually I had got placement during campus recruitment in the software firm where I still work.

The sound of a car screeching to a halt near me ended my reverie. My colleagues had followed me. I quickly wiped my face with the pallu of my sari and tried to compose my traumatized heart.

“Shweta, get in. Why did you run away like that? Poor darling,” Rajitha said, getting out of the car and pulling me into a hug. There were tears in her eyes.

“Sheila was so upset. She would have come after you if we had not stopped her. She didn’t expect her mother to react that way,” she said, once we had settled into the backseat.

“But still, we should have supported you. We didn’t understand what was happening initially. We are so sorry, Shweta.” It was Priya, another colleague.

“And why did you remain silent? You should not have been weak. You should have blasted that idiotic woman,” said Sharan, who was seated in the front passenger seat. I remained silent but a teardrop slid down from my eyes.

“Shut up, Sharan. Why are you questioning her? Step into her place and feel her pain. Don’t accuse Shweta of being weak.” It was Gaurav, who had been driving the car. I silently thanked Gaurav. Rajitha changed the topic. A lone muscle throbbing on Gaurav’s jaw told me that he was still seething with anger. A set of fond memories danced unbidden into my mind’s eye.

Gaurav had been my senior in engineering college. Right from the first moment that I had met him, there had been a subtle current of attraction between us that had grown steadily. He always visited me during lunch breaks throughout my first year in college along with a few of his other friends.  I had begun to hero worship him silently. I had chided myself to behave and obey my parents when they had fixed my marriage to a boy of their choice while in the second year. When I had handed over my wedding invitation to Gaurav, he had blanched like paper. I had understood what that meant then. In that moment, I had lost perhaps forever, the chance to be happy in life.

Two months later when I had walked back into college as a widow, he had been among the throng of sympathizers. I crept into a shell to escape from the many eyes that pitied my existence. Studies and books had become my world. A year later, he graduated. I didn’t meet him again until six months ago, when he had got transferred to our branch in Chennai from Delhi, three years after we had last met.

He was our team leader, but interactions were few and to the point. I had taught my heart to behave as I knew it was futile to hope.

After that incident at Sheila’s, there occurred a perceptible change in Gaurav. He became very protective of me and I saw glimpses of the old Gaurav whom I had known in college. He would make sure that I got into the office transportation before he left office. He started spoiling me with treats. Sometimes he would bring me a cup of tea. Some days he would drop a chocolate on my desk while on his way to his desk. On some other days, he would just come, sit with me during lunch break and make me laugh with his ready stock of jokes. And every day I fell a little more in love with him.

Then one day, we met accidently at a mall where I had gone shopping with Rajitha. Rajitha received a call then and she informed me that she had to leave. A friend of hers required urgent help. I would have tagged after her but Gaurav asked me to stay with him for a while. Reluctantly, I agreed. We headed to an ice-cream shop nearby.

“Order whatever you want. It’s my treat. I am so happy today. Today is special,” he said and something in his tone spelled dread to my heart. May be he was going to tell me about a girl. God! I didn’t even know whether he was married or whether he had a girlfriend.

“What is special, Gaurav?”I asked, flashing a brave smile.

“Today is the day that I succeeded in taking the girl of my dreams on a date. You don’t know how fussy she is. She is as slippery as an eel. You don’t know how many of my best laid plans she has ruined,” said he, and his every word was like fresh dagger to my already wounded heart.

“Who is the lucky girl? Someone I know?” I managed to ask.

“You might know her. Wait, I will show you her photo,” said Gaurav, pulling out his cell phone.

After browsing, he passed it to me. I took it from him with a heavy heart and glared at the photo. Next moment, I burst into tears.

The photo was mine – one he had taken stealthily while in college.

Gaurav slowly took my hands and covered with his.

“I have never been able to forget you, Shweta. I have regretted every moment that I missed telling you how special you were to me. I have stalked you like the world’s worst stalker. I kept watch on every step you took in life. I fought with my superiors to be transferred to Chennai. Yet, I never had the courage to confess what I always felt for you. I love you, Shweta. I always have. I can’t imagine a life without you. Make me the happiest person alive. Will you marry me?”He declared passionately and I was stunned.

“But Gaurav, you know what I am. I am a hated pronoun- an ‘it’; society don’t even give me the privilege of being an unlucky female. I am an ill-omen. You saw how people treat me like dirt. I have always loved you. For that very reason, I cannot think of sharing a future with you. I am sorry,” I said, and hushed my tears.

“No, Shweta. I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Don’t you realize that I want to rub off that so called ‘taint’ with the vermillion that I want to colour you with? I have never believed in such outdated beliefs. The very reason I had shouted at Sheila’s mother that day. I had given her an earful for the humiliation she had caused you. Would she have dared to do that to her own child?” said Gaurav.

I hadn’t known that! His words were like a balm to my still hurting heart.

“Please Shweta, tell me you will marry me. Don’t break my heart the way you did years ago,” he pleaded. I was humbled by his love and his persistence. He was accepting me even though half the society still considered me as an ill-omen. His offer of marriage was not born out of sympathy, but out of the sincere love he had harbored for years. This time I decided to listen to my heart. I nodded.

A smile immediately lit up his face. He took out a ring from his pocket and slipped it onto my trembling fingers. Tears ran down my cheeks and Gaurav wiped them away lovingly.

“Never again, my dear, I wish to see you smile always,” said Gaurav and patted my cheeks. What was it about him that made me wish to rise and shine? In the twinkle in his eyes, I envisioned happier days— a time when there would not be the shadow of unhappiness looming around us.

His mobile rang then. Looking at the caller ID, he answered.

“Yes, yes. She agreed. Come here all of you. Treat time,” said he and within minutes Sharan, Rajitha and Priya came to us shouting ‘Congratulations.’ It had been a cleverly hatched proposal!

That moment, five years ago, began my transformation from being a hated pronoun into a happy and content person. With Gaurav beside me, I learned to look up and smile at the world. Life, I believe, had put hardships in my path to show me the purpose of my life. I started an NGO ‘Karunya’ with Gaurav’s support to help hapless widows who were struggling to live a decent life. We organized workshops to teach them skills like tailoring, candle making and other home based industrial skills that will enable that them to become financially independent. We organized charity events and exhibitions to sell and market their creations. Widow remarriage, education and rehabilitation were our other concerns. Till this day, we have been able to help thousands of widows.

For all this, I have just one person to thank – my husband Gaurav. He had come into my life when I was facing my darkest of times and brightened it with his support. He made me into the strong woman that I have become, by becoming my strength. He taught me that a life lived fearing the society was not the one worth living. Eradicating the evils that crowd the lives of widows in my country has become my motto. Every day became a new day for me. Every morning brought in new sunshine.

 I am no longer the hated pronoun. I am a mother to twins – two girls – a proud wife and a loving daughter to my parents. My protégées at ‘Karunya’ look up to me with hope.

The smiles that lit up their face inspire me to find and emancipate the many hated-pronouns who still hide behind the walls of dilapidated houses in fear or are out begging on the streets in tears. I want to bring them hope and tell that every dark cloud doesn’t herald a storm; some come with silver borders which are the harbinger of sunshine into their dark world.