//Breaking of stereotypes

Breaking of stereotypes

By |2020-02-19T13:26:04+00:00February 19th, 2020|Inspiring Story|

Raghav was not prepared for this get together and yet he had to attend it. These tantrums have taken a severe structure from last year. No matter how hard he tries he remains unable to make his family understand that he is not ready for marriage. He has started to hate women from the very day he got to know that women are always capable of doing the things he can’t.

Raghav , an investment banker , was always fascinated by dancing from the very first day he got to know their values in his life. He was not like other boys right from his childhood. He would tie his sister’s “ghungroos” around his legs and would replicate the exact steps he saw his sister doing. His mother would slap him to remind that he is a “boy”. Abuses , ill treatments , ignorance from family, neighbors , friends started to increase rapidly as he was turning into an adult with the same choices he had earlier.
The dreams he dreamt for himself didn’t evaporate after those incidents but started to accumulate with a freezing intensity.
He started to take online courses and continued his passion behind his family’s stereotypical eyes. There was also someone else within him nobody knew about.

The get-together was supposed to be the final meeting of both the families sharing their consent for the marriage.
Raghav didn’t bother to look at Ananya until he found her reluctantly stuffed in between her parents. Her face clearly indicated she was not happy.

Both the families became busy with the wedding ceremony and suddenly one day the wedding day popped up and they were married in a blink of an eye.

They treated each other neither as a friend nor even couples.
A week passed and Raghav couldn’t contact with his online dance mentor. He filled her inbox with mails and texts but all in vain.
There were no replies.
But he noticed a weird incident when took a look at Ananya’s laptop as it got connected with the Wi-Fi. In a couple of seconds it was flooded with messages sent from his fake profile.
He could do nothing but startle how on the earth is it possible for such a thing to happen in his life. The whole astonishment broke when he decided to make his dream work in reality

Ananya completed all her household chores and returned to their bedroom after a long tiresome day but could not find Raghav. She didn’t try to talk to him since they were married. She was preparing her bed and suddenly she saw Raghav stepping in. He covered himself with a shawl and called Ananya by her name. Her reverie broke as she for the first time heard him say her name. She didn’t answer but stared at him. He put off his shawl and Ananya found a classical dancer. He was no more that Raghav Ananya got married to. He was her student Vedantika.

Raghav narrated his whole life to Ananya and started to cry like an immmature child. The abuses so long he had absorbed vented out suddenly.

Ananya started to cry too as she remembered the time her parents forced her to stop dancing for her sister had eloped with a dance teacher and thus dance was marked as a taboo in her family and she had to hide herself just to continue her passion.
They hugged each other and promised to help each other out.

When whole family thought that the two newly wed love birds are busy in baby making business they aided each other to break the shell and rejuvenate their true selves.

At last the day came. Raghav’s first onstage performance. He was bubbling with excitement and was frightened too. He touched Ananya’s feet and she blessed him wholeheartedly like a fulfilled teacher.
Ananya asked her in-laws to come and cherish this programme as they get bored at home .

When they saw Raghav performing they couldn’t hold their tears. They felt guilty as they had restricted him for so long , they forced him to follow social abnormalities in the name of rules. They saw nothing but a dancer in him and they were proud to be his parents.

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Very shy and out of the box thinker. Like to share views but use pseudo name.

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