Homemade Painal

Homemade Painal
It felt as if that night wouldn't pass. I had a throbbing headache and couldn't stop crying. I don't remember when I slept off. I woke up to find my husband standing in front of my bed with last night's question: "So, what have you decided? Is your answer yes or no?"
I didn't know what to say. I gathered some courage to speak up and mumbled: "Please go to the office, I'll call you by evening and let you know my answer, I promise."
He threatened: "I will call you myself at 4pm. I want the answer and it should be 'yes'. Otherwise be ready to get punished."
By punishment, he meant anal sex. He knew that it was extremely painful for me and he used it as a tool to torture me.
He and his elder sister left for the office. I was now alone and struggling with my thoughts.
After a few hours I gathered the courage to dial my father's number and told him that I couldn't live with my husband anymore.
#HerChoice is a series of true life-stories of 12 Indian women. These accounts challenge and broaden the idea of the "modern Indian woman" - her life choices, aspirations, priorities and desires.
I was afraid that my father would be angry but his response amazed me. "Pack your bags and get out of there," he said.
I took a book, gathered my educational certificates and rushed towards the bus station.
After boarding the bus, I sent a message to my husband. "My answer is 'no' and I am going back home," it said. After that I switched off my mobile phone.
After a few hours, I was home, surrounded by my family. I had left my husband's house after only two months of marriage.
I met my husband, Sahil, when I was in the final year of graduation. He was a jovial man. I liked being around him and with time we fell in love.
We used to go on dates, talk for countless hours on phone. It seemed as if life was almost too kind to me.
But this rosy romance did not continue for long. Gradually I started realising that our relationship lacked equality. It wasn't what I had been looking for.
Our relationship was becoming like my parents' relationship. The only difference; my mother kept silent while I could not stop myself from speaking up.
My father used to scream at my mother for petty things. He would even hit her and the only thing she responded with was tears.
When Sahil and I had an argument, it would often turn into a scuffle. He would use force to get intimate with me and scream at me if I refused.
I remember him once asking me: "Suppose I hit you someday, then what would you do?"
The question stunned me. I controlled my anger with great difficulty and replied, "I would break up with you that very day."
What he said next shocked me even more. He said, "It means you don't love me. Love should be unconditional."
After this, we didn't talk for almost a month.
Our fights became more frequent. Many times I'd try to end our relationship but he would apologise every time. I wanted to get rid of him forever and don't know why I wasn't able to do it.
Meanwhile, I was being pressured into marriage.
I was a teacher now. I'd be in class, teaching children and my parents would call me.
The same conversation would be repeated. "What have you thought about marriage? Why don't you marry Sahil? If not him then let us find a suitable match for you. At least think about your younger sisters…"
If anything went wrong at home, it would be blamed on my staying single.
Mother fell sick because I wasn't getting married. My father's business suffered losses because I wasn't getting married.
I was so frustrated that I finally said yes to marriage. I was still not ready for it and didn't believe Sahil's promise that he would change his attitude.
My fears came true after our wedding. Sahil made me a puppet, dancing to his tunes.
I was fond of poetry and used to my write my poems on Facebook. He forbade me from doing it. He even started dictating what I should wear.
One day he told me that I should finish all my reading and writing work by night. "If you leave me dissatisfied in bed, I will have to go to someone else."
He'd say that I wasn't making him happy and would advise me to watch pornography so I could learn some techniques.
And then he got this obsession with seeking work in Mumbai.
He said: "You stay here, do your job and send me money to support me there, and then you take out a loan so I can buy a house."
This is what he wanted me to say yes to. That night he had pushed me on the bed and forced me into anal sex just for that yes.
A line had been crossed. I left him the morning after.
I was a well-educated woman who could earn and live on her own. Yet, my heart was sinking when I left Sahil's home.
There was a fear of being judged by my own family and society. But even bigger than that was the pain in my heart.
When I reached home, my hair was dishevelled and eyes swollen as I had cried all night.
Newly married women look ravishing when they visit home for the first time after marriage. But my face was pale and the keen eyes of my neighbours guessed why.
People started pouring in. Some would say: "Such a terrible thing has happened to you." Others consoled me that Sahil would come to apologise and take me back.
Then there were a few who thought that a woman should not make such a harsh choice over petty issues.
Everyone had something to say but their opinions could not change my decision.
It has been seven months since I left Sahil's home and now I am choosing my own path. I have received a fellowship; I am doing a job and studying as well.
We have been going to police stations and courts as the legal procedure of divorce is not over yet.
I still wake up with a start at night. I still have nightmares.
I haven't been able to forget what I had to face but I am trying to move on in earnest.
My trust in love and relationships is definitely shaken, but not broken yet. I have decided to take some time for myself. I am proud that I didn't stay silent and got out of this abusive relationship before it was too late.
That is why I believe that my future will be better than my past and present.
This is a true life-story of a woman who lives in western India as told to BBC reporter Sindhuvasini Tripathi, produced by Divya Arya. The woman's identity has been kept anonymous on request.
BBC 100 Women names 100 influential and inspirational women around the world every year and shares their stories. Find us on Facebook , Instagram and Twitter and use #100Women
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Christine Leeb--Speaker and Christian Family Coach specializing in Parenting and Child Discipline. Founder of Real Life Families --a non-profit organization building better families through free classes and resources. Mother to three awesome (and exhausting) children from whom she shamefully hides brownies. Wife to one patient (and polar-opposite) husband with whom she constantly quotes "Friends". www.RealLifeFamilies.org
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It was Day 3 of our honeymoon…dun…dun…dun! A day I will never forget. A day I learned what marriage was really about.
It was just three days after our big wedding, our “I Do’s,” our commitment to spend the rest of our lives together. For better or worse. In sickness and in health.
My husband had no idea how quickly I would bank on those vows!
Day 1 and Day 2 of our honeymoon were filled with splashes in the pool, walks along the beach, sunset watching, giant bike riding in the ocean, and seeing each other at our best–our sexiest outfits, our most agreeable moods, and our most fun and adventurous spirits.
On the evening of Day 2, we dined at a gorgeous beach side restaurant. We ate. We drank wine–all while gazing into each other’s eyes as the waves crashed on the shore nearby. It was so romantic. However, the next morning on day 3, I awoke to a gurgling stomach – churning – aching.
I knew that something was going to come out somewhere. It was just a matter of time. NOOOOOOOOOO! Not on my honeymoon!
I wanted to hide my pain. I wanted to pretend all was well so we could go snorkeling and continue being flirty and sexy and enjoying our fairy tale of love and romance and happiness and fun.
I was about to ruin it all with a reality check of “the runs.”
I couldn’t hide it any longer. I had to tell my husband of 3 days that I had the stomach bug. Every 20 minutes throughout the entire morning, I was running to the bathroom and then crawling back to bed. My sexy new spouse was right there. He was getting me sips of water. He was dabbing my sweaty head with a cool wash rag. He sat in a chair next to the bed as I groaned and complained – helping me – encouraging me – being there for me.
As the trips to the bathroom started winding down, all my strength and energy and modesty were gone. I simply quit putting my clothes back on. I quit caring that we were on our honeymoon. I quit caring that I was pooping every 20 minutes in our Honeymoon Suite right in front of my new forever man. I quit caring that I was a mess. I flopped over onto the bed falling face first into the pillows, and I hear my husband of less than 72 hour’s voice whisper to me….”Honey, you have some poop on your butt.”
And I thought I couldn’t feel worse. I didn’t care though. I couldn’t move. I just wanted to die of pain and now, of embarrassment. I was just lying there – hot, sweaty, stinky, naked – with poop on my sun-kissed butt.
Without saying another word, my brand new mate for life went into the bathroom, grabbed some toilet paper, sat next to me on the bed, and——-wiped my butt. Yes, he wiped my butt. Now that’s love!
This moment will forever be known as our “Welcome to Marriage Moment!”
I was mortified, but at the same time, I was given a gift. A gift to see that my husband was going to be there for me no matter what. That he was going to be someone I could laugh with, have romantic dinners with, walk on the beach with, and enjoy the good times with, but he was also going to be someone who would stay by my side when I was at my worst. And that’s what matters most in life and in marriage.
We still laugh together, even after almost 17 years of marriage, as we reflect on Day 3 of our honeymoon. We recognize how much Day 3 prepared us (especially for my husband) for what was to come. He has seen me even more vulnerable, at my most disgusting, at my very, very, very worst. He has been there for the birth via C-Section of our three children. He has been there for countless stomach bugs, flu bugs, cold bugs, and even depression bugs.
He’s been there–by my side–through it all.
It hasn’t been easy. We’ve even been near divorce, but I’m so thankful that we both have been able to move forward, press on, and persevere through some really rough times, tough conversations, and painful moments. We have both grown and allowed God to shape us into the individuals and into the couple that we are today. Through our struggles, we’ve gained strength, wisdom, trust, and confidence in ourselves and in each other. Our marriage gets stronger with every year…with every day.
Even now, on Day 6,052 of our marriage, the honeymoon is well over, but we continue to celebrate those moments throughout our lives that have brought us closer together – more committed to one another – forever. Best friends by each other’s side no matter what comes our way – poopy butts and all!
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I lay face down on the floor, praying. Praying in the loosest sense of the word. Praying in the Romans 8:26 way—you know, when the Spirit “intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.” Because I could not utter any actual coherent thoughts at that point. I was weary and beaten down. Day after day I had been in combat, battling an opponent I didn’t anticipate: one of my children. My own child, one of the people I had lovingly grown inside my body and loved sacrificially for all these years, had staunchly and repeatedly put himself in opposition...
How do you get it back? How do you get back the love you once had? Everyone told me marriage was hard and having kids was hard, but I had no idea it would be this hard. I thought everyone was lying because our relationship was solid before marriage. We were best friends. Some days I feel like we’re roommates who share the same kids. It disgusts me even to say that, but it’s the truth. Marriage is hard and has ugly sides to it that everyone seems afraid to talk about. RELATED: Keep Showing Up Even When Marriage is...
That was not the plan. What just happened in there? We walked out a bit defeated. More than a bit. I felt deflated. Things were supposed to be different by now. This wasn’t what I asked for or expected. This wasn’t even what they told me would happen. We cross the street in silence. Headed to the car and as soon as I shut the car door, I could no longer hold it in. I let the tears flow. All this unknown. I don’t understand. This is life. This is foster care. This is what we chose. That doesn’t make...
I came to motherhood knowing nothing about the job. My mother’s example wasn’t an example at all, more of something to forget, and maybe even get therapy for. My own son was the first newborn I’d ever held. When I became a mom, I was 23 and clueless. Because of my personality, I wanted to do everything right and parenthood was no exception. I read all the books on parenting I could. I talked to older moms and soaked up all the advice they gave me. Having no idea what I was doing made me look to outside sources to inform...
I grew up in a family where we knew who God was. We went to church, and we were involved in church. However, when we weren’t at church, time spent in the Word fell to the wayside. Don’t get me wrong, my parents were wonderful people, but we didn’t make that a priority in my house. Going into adulthood, I realized I had deceived myself into believing I had a relationship with God. I knew God loved me, but I questioned whether I loved Him. I wasn’t living life in a way that was glorifying to Him. I’m not only...
“I can’t afford a new one,” I thought to myself as I shampooed another stain. This can’t keep happening. Maybe I made a mistake. I have to make this last. And the couch. And the clothes. And all the things. We are done having babies. The price of food has doubled. It’s astronomical to fill the cars with gas. Things are closing in on me. How can I best serve my family? Survival mode engaged. When I read the news, when I follow the headlines, when I listen to the conversations around me . . . I hear fear. Loss....

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