Sorry, I haven't written for a long time; the blisters took longer to heal than I anticipated.

Kishan finally allowed me to return home early today. He threatens to deduct my salary, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I have other matters to tend to at the moment; tomorrow's a big day.

I return home to find baby Shyam bellowing away on the cot and Ram pummelling Mohan for the losses they had incurred in their most recent gamble. Seeing me, they stop, scuffling to hide their money, the bewilderment on their faces apparent.

"Ma!" Ram chimed as if he wasn't beating his brother to near death a few moments ago, "How fortunate that you got off work early today! Earned yourself a bit of leisure till Baba comes home! Mohan and I were just having a brotherly fight, Ma. Don't you trouble yourself about it. Right, Mohan?'

Mohan, the younger and leaner of the two, nodded his head in agreement, the tears brimming in his eyes threatening to fall over any minute.

I ignore them. In their father's eyes, they are perfect, and who am I to question this perfection, but a mere woman?

I feed the baby and put it to sleep. I sweep broom the small apartment and prepare a meal. We're almost out of gas; we’ll worry about that later.

It's past midnight now, my husband hasn't come home yet. He has probably been drinking all his worries away, a luxury only the man of this house can afford. 

I sit on the cot and rest my head against the wall, closing my eyes. That day is still etched in my mind; when my parents brazenly haggled a reasonable dowry, the same parents who found it unreasonable to pay my school fees. 

I felt like a commodity on a shop's shelf, waiting to find purpose and reason when used by a customer, who augmented my worth in society. The "reputable" household I was married into, did little to better my condition, viewing me as nothing more than a means of continuing their abominable lineage. 

As I'm lost in my thoughts, my husband, after the day's carousing, returns home, his clothes letting out the most wretched smell ever. 

"Kishan's been telling me that you've been leaving work early. Now is this true, dear Lata?"

I can discern the sarcasm with which his words are laced. I can sense the lull before the storm. As he fetches a belt from the cupboard, a tear slips through the corner of my eye. 

It wasn't the Gods I cried to this time, as this was now beyond them. I was calling out to my mother.

It's three in the morning now. The wounds are still fresh on my body. 

With every ounce of strength within my miserable being, I stand.

I wrap myself in a shawl and head out, breathing in the fresh air with every stride. 

At six in the morning, the bus I had boarded reaches the government school.

 I thank my stars for this regime introduced by the government, where women like me, can now acquire vocational training at their nearest government school. I see women like me, from all walks of life entering the gates of the school, with a twinkle in their eyes that could put the stars to shame. 

Suddenly, the wounds hurt a little less. 

I find myself smiling for the first time in years.