Chapter 4 - Log Kya Kahenge
No office.
No school bus.
No hurried breakfast.
Just sunlight falling quietly across the living room floor and the faint sound of cartoons coming from the television. Kabir lay on the rug, building a cricket stadium with his blocks.
Neha sat nearby, folding freshly dried clothes into neat piles.
T-shirts.
School uniforms.
Tiny socks that somehow always disappeared in pairs.
For a few hours, life felt almost normal.
The doorbell rang. Kabir looked up.
“Main dekhu?”
“Ruko, beta.”
Neha opened the door. Her aunt stood there, smiling warmly, carrying a box of sweets.
“Achanak aa gayi. Socha milte chalte.”
“Come in, Maasi.”
Kabir ran forward. “Namaste Naani Ji”
“Namaste Beta, Arrey, kitna bada ho gaya hai mera bacha.”
Tea was served. Conversations began with familiar topics.
School.
Weather.
Health.
Then, as often happens, the tone shifted. Her aunt placed the teacup down gently.
“Neha… tumhari age hi kya hai?”
Neha looked down at her cup. “I’m managing.”
Her aunt nodded. “Haan, woh toh tum kar hi rahi ho.”
A pause.
Then the sentence arrived. “Lekin beta… log bhi toh dekhte hain.”
Neha said nothing.
Her aunt continued. “Akeli aurat ki zindagi aasaan nahi hoti.”
Kabir, still on the floor, was pretending not to listen. But children hear more than adults realize.
Her aunt spoke softly, almost kindly. “Main bas tumhari bhalai ke liye keh rahi hoon.”
“Log kya kahenge…”
The words were not harsh. They were familiar. And somehow, that made them heavier.
Neha had heard them before, When she chose to work. When she chose not to remarry. When a male colleague dropped her home after a late meeting. When she laughed after months of silence.
Always the same invisible audience. Always the same question. As if her life needed public approval.
She set her cup down. For a moment, she considered staying silent. It would have been easier.
Polite. Expected. But something inside her had changed over the past few months.
Not loudly. Just steadily.
She looked at her aunt and smiled gently. “Maasi, log har haal mein kuch na kuch kahenge.”
Her aunt remained quiet. Neha continued.
“Jab main roti hoon, log kehte hain move on karo.”
“Jab main strong banti hoon, log kehte hain itni jaldi kaise sambhal gayi.”
“Jab main kaam karti hoon, log kehte hain bachche ko time nahi deti.”
“Jab ghar par rehti hoon, log kehte hain apne pairon par kyun nahi khadi hoti.”
A small pause.
“So I’ve stopped living for ‘log.’”
The room became still. Only the cartoon sounds continued in the background. Her aunt looked at her for a long moment. Then she sighed.
“Tum sach mein bahut strong ho.”
Neha shook her head. “Nahi… bas thak gayi hoon sabko samjhate samjhate.”
Kabir stood up and came to sit beside her. Without saying anything, he rested his head on her shoulder. Neha placed one hand on his hair. That simple gesture said more than any explanation.
When her aunt left, the house grew quiet again. Kabir looked up.
“Mumma…”
“Haan?”
“Log kaun hote hain?”
Neha laughed softly for the first time that day.
“Koi important nahi.”
Kabir thought for a second. “Phir unki baat kyun sunte hain?”
Neha looked at him.
Children have a way of asking the simplest and most honest questions.
She kissed his forehead. “Ab nahi sunte.”
That evening, while putting Kabir to bed, Neha felt lighter not because society had changed. But because she had stopped asking society for permission.
Some voices never disappear. But their power fades the moment you stop living for them.
And that day, Neha understood something important— Peace begins where public opinion ends.
If you've ever felt guilty about balancing work and motherhood, read:
Comments
Post a Comment