Blossoming Bonds: A Journey of Understanding and Love

When the car stopped at the door of a house in a middle-class area of ​​Delhi, Reema's heart fluttered like a bird's. Wrapped in a heavy red saree, she saw everything blurred behind her veil. Her world had changed completely in the past twenty-four hours. Until yesterday, she had been her father's darling and her mother's favorite in Faridabad; today, she had become the wife and daughter-in-law of this house in Delhi.

The car door opened, and her sister-in-law, Muskaan, took her hand and helped her down. "Sister-in-law, take it easy."

At the door, her mother-in-law, Kamala ji, stood holding the aarti plate. Her face held a mixed expression—part joy, part scrutiny, and part authority. Reema slowly stepped forward. When she knocked over the pot of rice placed on the door, some rice stuck to her feet. She felt as if these were the responsibilities of her new home, ones that would remain with her forever.

The atmosphere inside was bustling with relatives, laughter, and excitement to see the new bride. Reema was seated on a sofa. Her husband, Aarav, came and sat next to her. The two looked at each other slowly. Aarav had a slight smile on his face, perhaps understanding Reema's nervousness.

One by one, the rituals continued. During the 'Mooh Dikhai' ceremony, everyone would come, lift the veil, someone would compliment, "The bride is like a piece of the moon," another would whisper, "Her complexion is a little dull, but her features are sharp." Reema, like a stone statue, listened. Every sound, every glance pierced her. She missed her mother. If she were alive, no one would have dared to speak like that.

By nightfall, the house was empty. Muskaan left her in Aarav's room. The room was decorated with flowers, but Reema felt a strangeness even in the fragrance of those flowers.  She huddled in a corner of the bed.

A little while later, Aarav came into the room. Closing the door, he asked, "Are you okay?"

Reema simply shook her head. Her voice seemed lost somewhere.

Aarav took his clothes out of the closet and went to change. When he returned, Reema was still sitting. Aarav came over and sat down next to her on the bed.

"Look, Reema," he said softly, "I know this is all very new to you. A new home, new people... Delhi isn't new to you, but this home is. I know you must be missing Faridabad, your home."

Reema's eyes welled up at the mention of Faridabad. The softness in Aarav's voice shattered her patience. Tears began to stream down her cheeks.

"I... I miss my mother so much," she said through sobs.

Aarav didn't say anything, just placed his hand on hers. "You can talk to her whenever you want. And don't worry, I'm with you."

They didn't talk much that night, but there was a comfort in the silence. Reema felt that perhaps there was someone in this strange house who understood her.

The next morning, Reema woke early. She remembered her mother's words: "Waking up early in the morning is a daughter-in-law's first duty in her in-laws' house."  She showered, put on a heavy sari, and left the room. Kamala ji was already in the kitchen.

"Are you up?" she asked without a smile. "Go, do your puja first. Then there's your first kitchen ritual."

Reema lit a lamp in the prayer room. With folded hands, she prayed to God, "God, give me courage."

It was decided to make halwa for the kitchen ritual. Reema's mother had taught her how to make halwa, but today her hands were shaking. Everyone was watching her.

"Add sugar properly, Aarav's father doesn't like sweets," Kamala ji instructed.

"Add ghee properly, don't be stingy," an aunt said from behind.

Reema somehow made the halwa. When everyone tasted it, they received mixed reactions.

Father-in-law said, "It's very well made, son."

But Kamala ji said, "Okay, but next time, fry the semolina a little more. It looks raw."

Reema's face fell. She had worked very hard. She felt like she was taking an exam that was impossible to pass.

Two days later, Aarav and Reema were to leave for Shimla for their honeymoon. Reema was a little excited. She thought that perhaps this trip would give her a chance to understand Aarav and feel comfortable in their new relationship.

The cool breezes of Shimla welcomed Reema. The beauty of the mountains lightened her mood. Aarav was proving to be a good companion. He was taking great care of her. Walking on Mall Road and chatting on the ridge, they were growing closer.

One evening, they were sitting on the hotel balcony drinking coffee. Aarav asked, "How do you feel being here?"

"Very good," Reema said sincerely.  "It's so peaceful and beautiful here. Completely different from the hustle and bustle of Delhi."

"Yes, that's why I wanted to bring you here. So that we can spend some time with each other, away from the hustle and bustle of the wedding."

Reema smiled and looked at him. "You're very nice, Aarav."

"Not you, you," Aarav said, holding her hand. "We're husband and wife now, Reema. There shouldn't be a wall of 'you' between us."

Reema felt very happy at that moment. They didn't realize how those four days of honeymoon passed. When they left for Delhi, Reema felt heavy at heart. She feared that everything would return to normal once they returned.

And her fears proved true. Once they returned to Delhi, the same routine resumed. Kamla ji's strict attitude and Reema's striving to prove herself in everything she did.

One day, Reema put on her old jeans and top, which she often wore in Faridabad.  As soon as she left the room, Kamala ji saw her.

"What are you wearing?" she said, glaring at her sharply. "Daughters-in-law in this house don't wear such clothes. Go change and wear a saree."

Reema felt deeply humiliated. Tears welled up in her eyes. She returned to her room without saying anything. She took a saree from the wardrobe and began putting it on. Her hands were shaking.

When Aarav came in that night, he found Reema silent and sad.

"What happened?" he asked.

Reema told him about the day's events. "What should I do, Aarav? How do I adapt to this house? I feel suffocated even breathing here."

Aarav took a deep breath. "Mom is old-fashioned, Reema. It will take time for her to change. I'll talk to her."

The next day, Aarav tried to talk to his mother.  "Mom, Reema has a habit of dressing like that. Why do you interrupt her?"

"Then she'll have to change her habit," Kamala said flatly. "She's a daughter-in-law now, not a college student. Her father-in-law lives at home, and other people come and go. This won't work."

Aarav and his mother had an argument. Reema stood behind the door, listening in. She felt bad that she was the reason for the mother-son fight. She quickly left.

Days passed. Reema tried to keep herself busy with household chores, but she felt lonely all the time.

One evening, while drying clothes on the terrace, she saw her father-in-law, Ramesh, looking at his old album. His eyes were moist.

Reema mustered up the courage to go up to him. "Papa, are you okay?"

Ramesh looked up, startled. "Hey, son, you? Come, sit."

Reema sat down next to him. She saw that the album contained photographs of Kamala ji in her youth. In one photo, she was standing wearing jeans, just like Reema.

Reema was surprised. "Papa ji, is this mother?""

Ramesh Ji smiled. "Yes, son, she's your mother-in-law. Before marriage, she was like that too... bubbly, independent. She also loved wearing jeans and going out."

"Then... how has she changed so much now?" Reema asked softly.

Ramesh Ji took a deep breath. "Responsibilities changed her, son. When she came to this house as a daughter-in-law, she too had many restrictions. Her mother-in-law, my mother, was very strict. She completely changed Kamala. Perhaps now she is unconsciously doing what happened to her."

That day, Reema felt sympathy for her mother-in-law, not anger. She realized that her mother-in-law, like her, was once a new bud, whom someone had tried to mold.

A few days later, Reema fell ill. She had a high fever. Kamala Ji had seen her that morning.  She told Reema, "Take a rest, don't come to the kitchen today."

Reema wasn't expecting this. She thought she would taunt her.

In the afternoon, while she was napping, Kamala brought her hot soup. She placed her hand on Reema's forehead and said, "Your fever is very high. I'll tell Aarav to take you to the doctor."

Reema looked at her in surprise. Today, there was no harshness in her eyes, but a tenderness.

"Mother, why are you bothering me..."

"Drink the soup quietly," she scolded lovingly. "And call me 'Mother,' not 'Mother.' It feels like a stranger."

Tears welled up in Reema's eyes, but today they were tears of affection, not sadness.

In the evening, Aarav took her to the doctor. On the way back, he asked, "How are you feeling now?"

"I'm fine," Reema said with a smile. Today, her smile was genuine.  "Aarav, Mom took such good care of me today."

Aarav held her hand. "I told you, she just needs some time."

That night, when Reema was sleeping after taking her medicine, she took out a photo from her cupboard in which Kamala ji was standing wearing jeans. She looked at the photo and smiled.

The next morning, Reema wore her most beautiful saree and went to the kitchen. Kamala ji was making tea.

"Mom, I'll make it," Reema said.

"No, you sit. I'm making it."

Reema stood beside her. "Mom, yesterday Dad was showing you your old album. You looked so good in jeans."

Kamala ji looked at her in surprise. Then a slight shyness and a smile came to her face. "Oh, those are old things."

"Why, Mom?" Reema said courageously. "You can wear them today too. You're just as beautiful today."

Kamala ji said nothing, just stared at Reema with moist eyes. Perhaps after years, someone had recognized the girl inside her, lost somewhere under the burden of responsibilities.

After that day, the atmosphere at home slowly began to change. Kamala ji no longer interrupted Reema, but instead taught her. Sometimes, they would sit together and talk about their past. Reema would tell her stories of Faridabad, and Kamala ji would tell her stories of her time.

One Sunday, when everyone was home, Reema went to Kamala ji's room. "Mom, you'll wear this today."

She had a new, beautiful salwar-suit in her hand.

"This... how can I wear this?" Kamala ji hesitated.

"Just like I wear it," Reema said with a smile. "Come on, today we'll both wear the same clothes, mother and daughter."

That day, when Kamala ji stepped out wearing a salwar-suit, Ramesh ji and Aarav kept looking at her. Years later, her face had regained its former glow.

Today, a few months after her marriage, Reema felt for the first time that she hadn't lost her home, but had found another. A home she had built with Aarav and the entire family, and that she had to decorate. The journey was difficult, but not impossible. She understood that her in-laws' home isn't just a home; it's a garden of relationships. There are some old, sturdy trees and some new shoots. New shoots take time to take root. They need the shade and support of the old trees. With a little effort and patience from both sides, one day that new shoot becomes the most beautiful flower in the garden.

This emotional journey of Reema and Kamala ji taught us that relationships require time, understanding, and a little love.

Read more : -  Embracing Life's Departures