Engagement, wet clay and winds of change.

It’s been a while.

After I decided to marry her, she seemed to be a quiet woman I hadn’t previously seen. At times she used to seem unruly. Not really the Mama’s girl, and that’s because there were people in her life who’s words mattered. At least for a while. I learnt about her through books, people and passive listening of gossip. I read the Bible since that was important and often compared whether she lived accordingly. She wasn’t exactly what  seemed to be. But then Jesus hasn’t really told us what she would look or be like, and there’s lies the possibility. He didn’t fit her into water tight descriptions or even a recipe. He just talked about people who’d marry her. Anyone could. It took me long to decide.

I would have to give up some deals in my life if I were to agree. That was tough. That, still is. But the promise . . . It was going to be worth it. “No eyes have seen, no ears have heard…”

* * *

It was the time to prepare. The time away. Rowing in the back waters, trying to catch up with folks on the bank, catching up with people I knew, meeting new people who had come, who had made new house along the bank, over time.

There wasn’t much to be worried about. There certainly was a feeling of , ” I’ll just get past”.  I couldn’t foresee any stumbling blocks , God forbid, some accident or some untoward incident. Otherwise, it was a smooth sail. I didn’t over work. But I did work. I took it pretty seriously, not wanting to be too overconfident.



Another feather on the cap given by the Gracious creator, making me the centre point in the arguments of people who brandished their arguments called  “UNFAIR”. It all seemed too easy at the end of it.

The feeling is creeping in. Sajeev who also got engaged along with me and the other twenty-three, seemed unable to cope with the pressure that was seeping in, like flood waters from underneath house doors into the rooms where unsuspecting families sat watching TV. It was contagious. We sat on the bus riding home in the twilight, with flood waters rising in our heads. We were silent. Molding into to something. Allowing to be molded. But, is it the Potter who’s molding the wet clay? That’s the question. To see those hands as the Potter’s – that’s the difficult part. After all,  they obviously look like human hands.

Winds of change swept at us as we walked up the slope only to walk down in a few moments. I won’t change. I wont’ change who I am. I’ll meet change at the boundaries and then put up my fences. Yeah, that’s what I will do. I’ll meet it where it comes and meets me, face to face. I’m not going to build 8 foot tall walls, right now. I will never do that. I’ll be me. At least, what I believe is me.

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