Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference
Finally. After almost two years of planning, the day I leave this home to move into another one arrives. Only its not a simple move. I am not just packing up bags, child maid and husband and moving into a penthouse in Gurgaon. Though, having said that, it would not be a great idea, given the water and electricity situation in the millennium city!!
I am actually leaving the home of the person I had known for the last 20 years almost. With my son. And my maid. And most of the stuff that I had bought over the years. What makes this move even more fun is that I am now without a job for the past 10 months and I have no source of income what so ever to support myself or my son.
But hey, the die, which had been cast now for the past 6 years or so had started to crumble. There was no way back. There was only a way forward. And there were two roads in front of me. One was the road less travelled. I chose that. Did it make a difference? I would like to think so. Will I get out of this alive? I would hope so, even though it seems a distant possibility now.
After all, wouldn’t it have been the easiest thing to do, to go back under the protection of my father in Calcutta. I haven’t had a job for the past ten months. No means of supporting my self, except by way of the small project I had undertaken. Monthly EMI’s to be paid, rent to be paid, expenses to be sorted out. Was I crazy then, to not take the more saner advice of going back to Calcutta, under the protection of my father, where I would not have to haggle for five rupees with the rickshaw wallah? Was I out of my mind to hope that one day things would be better and I could carve a life out for myself in a City I started living in only 4 years earlier? May be. May be not. I was, after all, in my thirties, a mother to a 5 year old, a well respected professional. Why should I have to run away at the sign of trouble? Why would I not be able to stand up with my head held high, protecting my child and giving him the best the world has to offer? After all, I had the best education the country had to offer. Why should I crumble and break down, just because my marriage withered away and my job was a victim to recession and internal office politics? I still had myself. And my beliefs. And the ability to face the world bravely.
This was a time to test my self. This was a time to see if I sank or survived, when I reached the end of the road less travelled by.