What you don’t know could fill a library.
***
We watch her sashay down the aisle, resplendent, picture perfect. Right into the arms of the perfect man – handsome, NRI. What we don’t know is that her heart is full, bursting with love for the man who welcomed her son into his life with open arms.
We watch her pig out on her Maharaja MacCheese and wonder how lucky she is to be able to eat anything she wants and still be rail thin. What we don’t know is her deep self-hate that has her bent over the pot at 12, the sound of her retching filling the quiet night.
We watch him sneer at the lady driver and throw a misogynistic comment her way before zooming past her, dangerously close. What we don’t know about are the nights he spent between ages three and fifteen watching his father beating his mother to pulp and then raping her.
We watch her red pout, her belly piercing, the miles of chocolate leg on display, and the cigarette carelessly held between the fingers and look away, because of course, we are better than that, aren’t we? What we don’t know is the courage she had to walk out of an abusive marriage at 21, the courage to gather her scattered self-worth, and the courage to unsee and unhear all the judgement thrown her way.
We watch his updates on depression on his social media profiles and dismiss them as a call for attention, call him needy. What we don’t know is that the desperate call for help, if left unanswered, could end his happiness, worse, his life.
***
