The Crimson Cat

Foreword:  My story is no different from that of a lot of people out there. It is not as special as I think it is. This is a page from my journal. I hope at least one woman going through a similar phase reads this and finds solace. “Hello You! I understand your struggle. I understand your pain. This too shall pass and you will rise again”. Returning from a stressful workday with a terrible headache that put death to shame I realized there was no reason to hurry to get back home. It was anyway just an empty space that drank the last few drops of my passion and hope. There was no little D to welcome me with an endless tight hug; there was no Amma (mom) to apprise me of each minute of the day I missed. This place was a scary skeleton of what I had imagined my new home would be. I kicked my shoes off, dropped the bag right in the middle of the room, and threw myself on the bed with a sinking heart. This had become me. This is it-this is what ‘rock bottom’ would feel like. There is no ...

Where is the finishing line and who is tracking time? We have all been running so fast for so long that some of us have clearly forgotten the ‘why’s. We were born and asked to join the marathon and sure, we did. Where are our kids, spouses and friends? I saw some of mine run past me and some are left behind. ‘To each his own’ and ‘you snooze, you lose’ define most of our core purpose at least at a superficial level. We have been asked to win the race, no matter what. We are allowed to push our friends, our fellow runners and take their spots, it’s OK to shoot and stab people where it doesn’t kill them to grab a more favourable position in the race. Who started it? Who gets to call the shots and choose the winner? Out of the corner of my eye I see a few onlookers with ecstatic faces and glowing lives. They are the ones who opted out; they are what ‘the runners’ call ‘losers’. I see them have time to sing, dance and smell the rain. I hear their laughter, I sense their bliss...