Light At The End of The Road

This post has been published by me as a part of Blog-a-Ton 55; the fifty-fifth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with ​Rashmi Kumar, the author of Hooked, Lined and Single and Jyoti Arora, the author of Lemon Girl


The rain pelted the aluminium sheet on the roof bringing respite to the otherwise ominous silence pervading the house. She had always loved the rains, they brought her comfort and peace no matter what Renu was going through. Tonight too, they would take her away to her dreamland.

Not wanting to get late to reach office yet again, Renu hurriedly got dressed and stepped out of her room. Her mother was busy packing her father’s tiffin box, her father was in his room ironing his shirt. The silence pervading the house could be interpreted as the calm harmonious silence as the three people worked in sync and did their duties. Only Renu knew, this was the lull before yet another storm began.


The steaming idlis were ready on the table, so was her plate. As Renu dried her hands and was about to step in to the kitchen to get the bowl of sambar, her mother, her darling mother scolded her for the umpteenth time in the last few days, “No. Stay where you are. Don’t enter my kitchen.”


Renu knew better than to reply back. In silence, she finished her breakfast, unmindful of the scalding tea that she gulped down, much more was getting burnt than just her tongue. Fighting back tears became much more difficult, but she was adamant not to fall apart in front of her unreasonable mother. She left the plate on the table, rinsed her mouth and stepped out of the house, ready to go to work. As she was wondering what sandals to wear that day, she heard her mother grumble something about a  Maharani whose bangles would lose their sheen if she washed her own plate. Renu wanted to tell her mother that she was the one who forbade her from entering the kitchen. Swallowing her words, she put on a pair of sandals that matched with the purple salwar kameez she was wearing.


It was June already and the skies were clearly indicative of the torrential rains to follow. The whole week had been like this, grey skies and claps of thunder that left you trembling. It was as if, the climate was mimicking all that was going on in Renu’s life at that particular moment. She had not expected her parents to react in such a manner to what she had told them. Instead, they had come to the point of even disowning her.


It all started when she sat down her parents to talk to them. She told them how she had met a boy, how that boy cared for her and how she wanted to be cared by him, how he loved her and how he wanted to marry her. She had said yes, she could not say no, because she loved him so. Wouldn’t they, her parents meet him and give them their blessings?


What followed, nobody could describe correctly. Her mother started wailing and cursing, asking what fault of theirs had given them such a daughter. Her father, surprisingly did not react for some time. He watched as his wife wailed her eyes out, while his daughter was trying to understand what went wrong. In a fit of rage, her mother had told her she did not want such a daughter, that they should just have not had her at all. The world as she knew, ended for Renu at that precise moment. She could not make head or tail of what her parents told her after that. At night, over dinner, her father had said, “We don’t care even if the PM of some country wants to marry you. We will not allow you to do that as long as we are alive.”


Her phone had been confiscated, even her boss knew her situation. Her parents had called him to keep an eye on her. What further humiliation was there for a young heart? Why this harsh a punishment for falling in love?


Does that mean that I have no say in what I do with my life? Don’t I get to choose whom to be with? Do I blindly go along the path you show me, like a horse with blinkers? Am I yours to be given off to anyone you fancy? These and many questions haunted her as she kept walking towards her office. She wanted to ask her parents why they thought she was not bright enough to make choices for herself, she wanted to ask why they thought that him being shorter than her was such an issue, could they not see how big his heart was? She wished they would see him like she did, that they would try to know what kind of person he was before outright saying no to him. She wished she had the courage to convince her parents that their daughter was not wrong, that they had indeed raised their daughter well and that all she needed was their blessings. A hundred questions swam in her mind, the unshed tears clouded her eyes.


Perhaps, the rains affected the lorry driver’s sight, perhaps she intentionally walked towards the only source of light that she saw at that point in her life, perhaps, it was destiny.


The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count:03. Image Credits: Monsoon by Yann (Wikimedia Commons). Shared with GNU Free Documentation License CC Attribution-Share Alike.
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7 thoughts on “Light At The End of The Road”

  1. It hurts, Bhavya. Seriously, if parents do this to their children, how would they trust them? Perhaps, the light was not from the lorry, but of the car of his love, which stopped before her and took her to a place she belonged to!

    Keep writing for BAT! All the best!

    Someone is Special
    Someone is Special’s latest…The RainMy Profile

  2. Hi,

    I’m visiting you from Blogaton.
    This was a very sad and heart breaking story, I hope a fictitious one. Each word echos pain and turmoil the protagonist was going through.
    A very different take..On the prompt.
    I like the way how you voiced out the feelings of this young heart.



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