The Sweetness of "Pain"

Bathed in beautiful hues and steeped in the sweetness of sugar syrup, the *Gulab Jamuns* looked truly special. For many, this isn't merely a way to celebrate happiness; it serves as a treasure trove of memories. These small *Mawa* balls—drenched in sweetness—represent, for me, the very presence of a specific person. People often turn to sweets when they are happy, but for me, sweetness has always been a companion during times of sorrow. The beautiful nostalgia associated with him transformed this otherwise ordinary-looking *Gulab Jamun* recipe into something truly extraordinary. I never knew how he managed to make them, but with every bite, one could catch the faint fragrance of dried roses.

       I remember the first time I met him after our marriage; our interactions consisted of very little conversation and a great deal of bickering. Neither our words nor our mindsets aligned. Amidst all this, I didn't even feel like a part of his life; after all, I wasn't the one he had chosen. He had married me solely under pressure from his parents. He and I were merely fulfilling the obligations of our respective families and upholding a relationship that had been arranged between them. As we continued to go through the motions of this relationship, the discord between us only deepened. Yet, we both remained silent; ultimately, neither of us—neither he nor I—wanted to be the first to initiate the end of this bond. However, as time passed, I realized that this relationship was becoming an increasingly heavy burden for him. This realization dawned on me, perhaps, because I had begun to care for him. I wanted him to be with me—either with complete honesty and sincerity—or for the relationship to be brought to an end once and for all. 

      One day, my patience finally snapped. We had a massive argument, but in the end—though I cannot say what exactly he felt—it was the very first time that, following a quarrel, he apologized to me. It was a peculiar moment: he walked up to me, holding a *Gulab Jamun* in his own hands, and simply offered his apology. It was a small gesture, yet that very small gesture became, for me, a beacon of hope—a sign that this relationship could still be brought back to life. The days that followed were filled with a profound sense of peace; he and I focused solely on fulfilling our mutual responsibilities. But then, one day, I found myself feeling utterly broken. I wanted to make one last attempt—to ensure that this relationship, once and for all... I had hoped that this bond would be more than just a relationship in name—that it would blossom into one of true love. But I lost. I saw him with someone else; I saw him becoming the source of someone else's happiness. I had always known that I might not be particularly special in his life, but on that day, I realized that—in reality—I held no place in his existence whatsoever. Yet, even that wasn't his fault. I came to understand that when we truly love someone, we often become entirely consumed by them. After all, this was a forced relationship—one that I alone was trying to sustain. I watched him yearn for the woman he truly loved—the one he wanted to be with—and I made a firm decision: it was time to end this relationship. I don't know exactly what was going through my mind, but on that day, I made *Gulab Jamuns*. I beautifully arranged the meal and dessert on the dining table, served everyone with great affection, and then—as I scooped the small, sweet balls into little glass bowls—I looked at my in-laws and my husband and said, "I want to be free from this relationship now. I want a divorce." Hearing my words, everyone stared at me in utter astonishment. There were so many things left unsaid, so much advice offered by my elders, and so many questions hanging in the air that day at the dining table—amidst the *Gulab Jamuns*. I had steeled myself completely, for I knew that the moment I spoke those words, my in-laws—whom I regarded as my own parents—would ask me why I was saying such a thing. They would try to convince me that I was making a mistake. But I had to stand firm in my decision. Today, I am far away—far from that city, that house, and those people. Yet, sometimes I find myself wondering: perhaps he is truly happy now, with the person he always wanted to be with. Sometimes, I use the sweetness of these *Gulab Jamuns* to mask my own pain, the love that still lingers within me, and all the unspoken things. And the scent of dried roses reminds me that perhaps this is what love truly is: sometimes, we must break apart just to find ourselves again.......!!