Dear Marie

Dear Marie,

I am writing you after such a long time because I’ve been a total mess from the last time.

I haven’t been able to gather my pieces together ever since. Like they keep proving difficult the farther I go, is there some Rubik’s Cube joke going on here that I don’t know?

I know you are doing so well, I just don’t understand how you manage to pull off all the exceptionalities you pull off. You say I took after you, but our lives are on two extremes that I feel that statement is delusional.

I’m writing you because I need someone to talk to, someone to hit, hug, kiss and caress. Just about anything to reduce the weight of this humongous burden on my shoulders.

I don’t even know how to keep a home, I wonder what will become of the kids by the time they are grown. Will they ever be like our Prime Minister Modi? I have no idea Marie, how do I ensure they grow to become exceptional – like you.

I wish I had listened to you earlier on before I started this journey. I’ve become so lonely. No new friends, the old ones are gone. Only the scavengers remain. This wasn’t the life you promised me.

Ree, you once told me to be positive, you said the happier I was, the brighter my future. I’m in the future now, and all those years of smiling sheepishly hasn’t done me any good. What way is there?

I don’t want to be like John Pierpont, I don’t want to wait anymore. I fear my strength slowly fading away. I fear I may no longer hold on when it’s all gone.

I even realised my most prized asset – humility, is all gone. I’m too proud now Marie, I can’t even say “please” anymore. The more I remain stoic, the more I worry for the future of the kids. Will they ever have someone to call “dad”? This whole brouhaha has turned me into my worst nightmare. I am slowly becoming that person I told people to steer away from.

I may bear the thought of living out a wrecked life, but I will not be able to bear the thought of dumping the kids on the path to wretchedness. I won’t.

Marie, I am slowly dying. Help me before it’s too late. You let all this happen in the first place. Fix it, Marie, fix it.

Yours,

Tayna.

Tayna, a single mom, wrote from Calcutta.

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