Monsoon Clouds - 14. After Divorce
Chapter 14: After Divorce
14.1: A New Beginning, Tested Again
It was 8:00 a.m. when I stepped out of the house, dressed in a light blue saree, beginning yet another new chapter of my life. After the divorce, I had lost track of days and dates—it all felt unreal, as though I had merely survived a storm of challenges rather than lived through them. One relief was that Dad had bought his own house, sparing us the humiliation of searching for a rented place. Finding a house as a divorcee or a bachelor in the city is painfully difficult; strangely, society seems more accepting of widows than of the divorced. The way people look at you changes, and I often wished that this mindset would change too.
The emotional burden became unbearable. If life was to remain the same even after divorce, then what was the point of it all? Mom and Dad finally understood this. They stopped worrying about society and came to terms with the fact that they had done their best for both Ravi and me. From then on, our futures were in our own hands.
Through one of Dad’s friends, I was referred to a job opening and went for the interview with nervous anticipation. It had been a long gap since I last worked, and my confidence was fragile. The Managing Director, almost Dad’s age, spoke warmly and professionally. He was aware of my background but avoided personal questions. By the end of our conversation, he asked just one thing—when I could join.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had smiled or felt genuinely happy. His words felt like a blessing. I struggled to hold back my tears and told him I would confirm after speaking with my parents. They immediately encouraged me and felt happy seeing me step forward into life again.
On my first day, Raghuram, the accounts manager, introduced himself and explained my responsibilities. He was serious, disciplined, and highly work-oriented. Though senior to me, he was unmarried due to family responsibilities. His experience and dedication impressed me, and I felt fortunate to learn accounts under his guidance.
Within a short time, I picked up the work efficiently. Even Raghuram appreciated my performance—something that surprised everyone, as he rarely praised anyone. Gradually, he grew closer, visiting our home occasionally and speaking with Mom and Dad, who were pleased with his presence. I also visited his home; his parents were elderly but independent. Raghuram had shouldered family responsibilities early in life after his father lost his job. He raised his siblings, only to be left alone once they were settled. Fearing that a wife might not care for his parents, he remained unmarried. His mother repeated this story every time I visited.
I respected Raghuram deeply, but nothing more. I was careful with my behavior, ensuring I never sent any wrong signals. Some colleagues warned me about him, but I dismissed their words as jealousy.
It didn’t take long for the truth to surface. During year-end, when work pressure was high, Raghuram insisted we work on a Sunday. It felt unnecessary, but I couldn’t question him or refuse. A quiet alarm rang within me. I couldn’t share my fear with my parents—they would ask me to quit the job. Nor could I speak to anyone at work.
After much thought, I devised a plan. I told Raghuram I would come a little late due to household work, and he agreed. Instead of going straight to the office, I went to his house. Thankfully, his mother wasn’t there. I told his father everything and requested him to come to the office after an hour. If everything seemed normal, he could say he had stepped out for some work. If not, he would be my protection.
When I reached the office, it was empty. Raghuram looked unusually happy, smiling in a way I had never seen before. He had brought snacks, which I refused, urging him to start work. But he remained relaxed, saying there was no hurry. His words made me uneasy. Colleagues’ warnings echoed in my mind—how he had behaved similarly with other women, blaming them later and forcing them to resign.
He began touching my shoulder and hands, pretending it was accidental. Fear gripped me. I silently prayed for his father to arrive. When Raghuram casually said, “Why don’t we have some good time?” my body froze. I wanted to slap him, but fear, age, and hierarchy held me back. I closed my eyes—and then I heard a slap.
“Is this how you behave with women? Is this what I taught you? Now I understand why you’re not married,” thundered Raghuram’s father.
I ran to him and broke down. He held me like a father would, and together we walked out of the office, leaving Raghuram behind to face the truth of his actions.
* * *
14.2: Quiet Victory and Cautious Hope
I didn’t have the courage to return to work immediately and applied for sick leave for two days. When I finally walked back into the office, my eyes instinctively searched for Raghuram, wondering what damage he might have caused during my absence. A colleague came close and whispered, as if sharing a huge secret, that Raghuram had resigned.
For a moment, I felt like dancing with relief, but I controlled myself. I acted surprised, not wanting to fuel her curiosity, and casually asked for the reason—though she had none. Apart from Raghuram, his father, and me, no one knew what had actually happened that day. A few colleagues grew curious and questioned me, but I kept my response simple: I had left after work and had no idea what followed. Some assumed he had found a better opportunity.
Raghuram was replaced by Sarojini madam, a strict and serious woman. After my experience, I resolved to keep clear boundaries at work—nothing beyond professional interactions. Even the women at the office were no different; they always found reasons to gossip and talk back. I knew they spoke about others, and I was sure they would speak about me too. I maintained my distance. Some called it arrogance, others self-respect—but for me, it was about staying safe.
* * *
The dream of seeing me married again still lived strong in Mom and Dad’s hearts. They continued searching for the right match, but with age and a second marriage, the process was slower than expected. During a pooja at a neighbor’s house, Mom met someone who was deeply concerned about me being alone. She introduced the idea of Shekar—a bank manager, about five years older than me, widowed after losing his wife to cancer, and a father to a seven-year-old son.
Mom was immediately excited. She spoke of Shekar as a Kaliyuga Ram, praising the way he had cared for his ill wife. She urged Dad to speak with his family, and things moved quickly. His parents showed interest too—perhaps our neighbor aunty had already portrayed me as Sita in their eyes.
Still, I felt uneasy about going through the traditional marriage-meeting process again. We were no longer young, and even Shekar felt the same. So we mutually decided to meet in a simple, dignified way—at Birla Mandir.
* * *
14.3: A Meeting That Confirmed My Choice
I wore an onion-pink saree and went with Dad. Shekar arrived in a white shirt and black trousers, looking like he had come straight from the bank. Balding, with a protruding belly, dark complexion, and age clearly visible on his face, he was accompanied by his father. We deliberately kept the meeting simple—no Mom, no relatives—deciding that if things went well, the next step could involve everyone.
After exchanging greetings and introductions, we went inside the temple for darshan. Later, we sat in the temple premises while the elders walked away, giving us space to talk and understand each other.
Shekar began by saying that he did not care about my past, as Dad had already explained everything to him openly—about Rahul and Rajesh—without hiding anything. Yet, despite saying that, most of his questions revolved around the same past. Rahul and Rajesh kept returning to the conversation. Some questions were deeply uncomfortable, especially to be discussed in a temple. Though his words sounded polite and simple, answering them was anything but easy. I limited myself to short replies—yes, no, or a single line.
He then spoke about himself and his family. On the surface, everything sounded positive, but subtly, he kept pointing out my shortcomings. The overall tone suggested that marrying him would make me the luckiest woman alive. It didn’t take long for me to understand his mindset—or to imagine what my life would become if I agreed to this marriage.
When I returned home, I explained everything to Mom and Dad. Given their experience with Rajesh, they were able to understand my feelings. I requested them to stop searching for matches for me. I had lost both trust and interest in marriage, and I felt at peace being alone and single.
Mom could do nothing but cry and curse my fate.
* * *
14.4: Lessons from Online Friendships
Dad bought me a desktop so I could learn accounting packages and stay in touch with Sandhya via email, as he didn’t like me going to internet cafés. I was constantly communicating with Sandhya through emails and chats.
Back then, Yahoo Messenger was popular, and we used it whenever Sandhya had time, especially after her kids started school. One day, out of curiosity, I explored Yahoo Rooms and was surprised to receive a message from an unknown person, Abhishek. He asked if I was Rekha, but nothing else matched his description—he was searching for a school teacher named Rekha. I might have stopped there, but I didn’t.
Abhishek, from Bangalore, working as a software engineer and about seven years younger than me, turned out to be an interesting person. We started chatting regularly, mostly about general topics, with no other intentions on my part—and I assumed the same from him. Over time, we became close, and he asked for my contact number, which I gave him.
Soon, our conversations moved to regular phone calls. Life felt happier with Abhishek’s presence. One day, he surprised me by visiting Hyderabad and asked to meet. We met for coffee, and both of us enjoyed meeting in person. His visits to Hyderabad continued occasionally—for birthdays, New Year’s Eve, or special occasions. Most meetings were casual, like coffee or dinner. He would bring gifts, but I never accepted them, which made him feel bad, though I stayed firm.
Once, he missed his flight and asked me to stay with him overnight. I found it inappropriate and refused. That night, he called me while drunk and began revealing hidden feelings, including his old crush on his school teacher. I felt disgusted and immediately reflected on whether I had encouraged him in any way.
Regardless of my behavior, I realized I should have set boundaries earlier. I started maintaining distance from Abhishek. He acknowledged his mistake, apologized, and promised it wouldn’t happen again, but I was firm and kept my distance. Eventually, he found other online friends and gradually stopped contacting me.
Even after the Abhishek incident, I had a couple of similar experiences, so intense that I had to change my mobile number. Thinking about them now, I feel how naive I was.
These experiences made me realize that after the divorce, my life often felt dictated by others, leaving me little control over my own path.
* * *
14.5: My Life, My Way
It was 6:00 a.m. when I opened the main door to clean the verandah. The sun was just beginning to rise, and the morning was still dim. Suddenly, I saw someone standing at the gate. My heart skipped a beat, and fear gripped me for a moment. I switched on the light and cautiously moved closer.
There he was—someone in a black t-shirt and blue jeans, looking right at me. My heart started racing, and an overwhelming wave of joy spread through me. A smile appeared on my face before I even realized it.
“Oh my God… it’s really him!” I whispered to myself. I wanted to jump, shout, dance, and cry all at once. It was RAHUL—my Rahul—back in my life, back for me. Thank God for giving me Rahul again.
I wanted to ask him so many things, but my voice failed me. He smiled at me just like he did the first time I saw him on Sandhya’s birthday. I wanted to hug him, scold him playfully, kiss him—so many emotions overwhelmed me.
I opened the gate to welcome him, and he knelt on the ground, plucked a random flower nearby, and looked at me with love sparkling in his eyes. With a gentle smile, he proposed again, “Will you marry me?”
Tears flowed endlessly. I couldn’t lift him up; instead, I sat on the ground beside him and nodded. He insisted I say it out loud. I tried, but my voice refused to come. I wanted to shout so the world could hear, but the words were trapped.
Suddenly, the alarm blared, followed by Mom’s voice, pulling me back to reality. Yes, it was a dream—a sweet, beautiful dream. Perhaps in a movie, such a climax would exist, but in real life, dreams don’t always come true.
I never got to see Rahul again, nor did Sandhya. Rajesh was completely out of my life. Satya uncle called regularly but never mentioned Rajesh, and I never asked. Sandhya, Ravi, and Satish all settled in the US and became citizens there.
I became more active online, making good friends and well-wishers. Everyone worried I might remain alone, wondering how I would manage life by myself. After experiences with Abhishek and a few other online friends, I learned to be cautious and maintain strict boundaries.
Life taught me hard lessons: everything may seem beautiful in the beginning, but it can turn painful and unbearable. Even in marriage, there’s no guarantee of permanence, and a past can never be fully forgotten. I realized I am happiest being alone and single, finding joy in caring for myself and staying close to my parents.
And that’s how I started living—My Life, My Way.
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