But soon, this love, whose manifestation up until a while ago was squeaky platonic, began turning non-platonic. Feelings of possessiveness, of obsession and of jealousy began overpowering her.
I don’t care much about labels too, and I wouldn’t name the title of this blog Pen Friends, if I didn’t have anything better – More like “I-Don’t-Know-What-Kind-Of-Friend” – But, that’s too long and unromantic anyway.
Natasha had taken the last line of my blog to heart, where I had said, that the easiest way to switch from being the daughter-in-law to the daughter, is to make the in-laws your parents.
They don’t know me – They don’t know what I do – They don’t know who I was before I moved here, and they don't even care – But here we are, talking to each other, our relationship with each other, nothing more than having the same address – This Earth.
As if acting on a fully charged electric impetus, the moment that swish of scarlet sindoor was smeared on the parting of my hair, I took upon myself the role of the newly-wedded biwi – Blame it on my over-exposure to Bollywood or just my self-sketched character, I was on!
I lived in a huge house, in a joint family of sorts, and since in those days, I was the only child living full-time in the house, I was pampered to bits. I roamed around in nothing but a pair of shorts in the summer heat, running up and down the flight of stairs of the majestic house, the house that held years of historical enigma, and gave birth to one of the greatest writers of the time.