The wise saying ,"Give someone a fish and you feed him for a day.Teach him to fish and you feed him for life" indeed came true in my case. Am Chime had prepared me for my entire lifetime by teaching me the art of weaving.
It did feel weird to go looking for a job after having lived life in my own terms for two years.But definitely not out of place for deep within my heart I always knew that I was born to struggle in life. Being born in a country where everybody wore their national dress in their day to day life was a blessing for people like me who didn't have the blessing of formal eucation to push our snout forward in life. I took shelter in a weaving centre which not only promised me a better knowledge of the weaving art but provided me with a life I never thought existed for me.
I made lot of friends for the first time in my life. Meeting many women who had faced the worst storms of life made my pain seem less painful.
It was a total new world. Yet! Every night I felt cold sweat of fearful anticipation of the same path of pain and struggle awaiting with its harness to hook me. I knew my fate had not yet changed it's course, it was just waiting to allow me to sink into the system of joyousness so that I could feel the pain of sorrows more.
But during the day,sitting in rows of our looms I forgot all about the tugging reminder of more pain waiting for me somewhere in the niche of fate's cruel hand,waiting to pounce on me.
One year ended happily with my fellow weavers. I had even forgotten that I was married once and had a husband who kicked me out of his house simply because his sisters told him so. The winter sun in the azure sky was telling me about the tales I had forgotten and in my reverie I didn't see the figure of my dreams drawing near me.
"Zangmo!" I kept on staring at the sky knowing that sound was from my memory world. But the sound from your dreams doesn't tug the sleeves of your tego. It was Dorji. In his flesh and blood,staring at me like a big reminder of a lifetime from the previous generation. Seeing him after a year was nothing like seeing him in my dreams. He looked more handsome and mature.
I opened my mouth to talk but fell short of words; what to tell him?what to ask? There were thousand and one things I wanted to shoot from my heart but my lips couldn't get in sync with my heart .
"How are you?" he asked. I was being silly,that's what I should have asked him; isn't that always the first question one asks upon meeting with anybody.I gave him the response that everyone gives,"I am good." Although I wanted to tell him that I missed him and missed the warm security of having one's own home no matter whatsoever differences we might have with one' s spouse. But being a woman ties up one's tongue when in such situation of emotions.
"I want you back," he pulled my hands as if doing so would harness positive response from me. I pulled my hands back. All the horror of that unfateful day returned and I wept;wept for the shame with which I was thrown out of his house simply because his sisters felt that he should drive a car not a scooter ;should be a father but not a husband. I wanted to spit at all four of them and make my life in the weaving centre my world. But something in me reminded me that if my mom had been alive she would have supported my miserable married life with my husband rather than being a successful spinster in a weaving centre.
So, I listened to my inner voice like I had always done and once again I packed my bags...to return and make a HOME for myself.
(to be continued...)
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