“When you’re giving love a second chance, don’t rush”

I am the fifth daughter of a staunch Rajput family based in Jabalpur. Boys were prioritised over girls in my family, and I often felt neglected and unloved. Not being given the same level of importance made me rebellious, a non-conformist of sorts. This feeling of neglect deeply influenced my psyche—I was always seeking love outside.

While my father loved me, my mother struggled to accept having so many daughters. So, when my father suddenly passed away in my late teens, I was devastated. I felt directionless and a complete lack of love and support (how you can help a loved one cope with loss).

That’s when I met Manoj. We were in the same college, and I fell in love instantly and intensely. After a year-long courtship, he promised we’d get married, but when the time came to commit, he was gone. We didn’t have mobiles then, and it felt like he had simply vanished, leaving me heartbroken and wondering why he had walked out of my life. This abrupt end to my first love felt like a major setback with no closure.

Even though my family was well-off, I always felt deprived materially, and therefore chose to work even as a student. It was during this time that I met my (now) ex-husband. He was extremely affectionate, and I fell hard—you know the deep infatuation that follows a period of longing, right? And so, after around six to eight months of courtship, when I was 21 and he was 22, we eloped and married despite religious and socio-cultural differences.

But over time, the differences began to multiply—specifically values around money, ambition and responsibility—leading to a feeling of disconnect. We had a son three years after getting married but our relationship was stressed. I felt like I was constantly mothering him, forcing him to be ambitious and responsible. We moved from Jabalpur to Indore, and the gap between us kept widening, creating a lack of physical intimacy. I decided to address this by scheduling a visit with a doctor. I even hacked into his computer to figure out what was going on. That’s when I caught him chatting with women online, alleging that I had been the one cheating on him.

When I confronted him, he apologised. During this period, a close friend of mine, who often visited us at home, noticed the cracks in our relationship. In an attempt to save our marriage, we tried to conceive, and I gave birth to our daughter. But a year later, at age 31, I realised our relationship was in shambles. I found out he’d been having an affair with my friend.

It felt like a storm had upended my life.

I walked out. He didn’t stop me. I was unable to support my son and daughter as he didn’t support me financially, and so my son stayed with him. I struggled with work, lost jobs, slept on railway platforms, and eventually sent my daughter to live with him. The trauma took a toll on my mental health and I went into a shell—I didn’t seek support from family or friends, or ask for financial help.

This period of turmoil finally culminated in a mutual divorce. That year, since I was quite depressed, my best friend invited me to Mumbai and asked me to spend New Year’s Eve with her as her husband was travelling.

That night, we started talking about Manoj since he was best friends with her jija (brother-in-law). I cursed him, and took joy in news of his divorce; it felt justified after what he’d done to me. Just then, my friend’s jija called to wish her Happy New Year, and Manoj was with him, enquiring about me. It felt serendipitous.

That’s when I reconnected with my first love. I was 32, based in Chandigarh, and taking medication for my depression. I needed to build myself back up because I couldn’t afford not having my life in order. Eventually, I settled in Bhopal and had my kids living with me. I never considered remarrying because I didn’t think anyone would accept me with two children.

For the first three years, my relationship with Manoj was purely platonic. We were both too traumatised from our previous relationships to rush into anything. Gradually, we built a foundation of sympathy, friendship, care and concern.

Eventually, a romantic relationship bloomed. I was 38 when his divorce came through and he proposed. I loved him but I was still extremely wary of marriage, and found ways to test his commitment—would he accept my kids? What if I wanted to stop working someday? He also confronted the guilt he felt for abandoning me the first time around. He was a Brahmin, I wasn’t. As the only son in his family, he had been too young to muster up the courage to tell his parents he wanted to marry me.

But this time around, things were different. He accepted my children, was loving and indulgent as a partner, and looked after me. I didn’t feel the absence of a father figure, a parent, a friend or a philosopher, because he could be all of these to me.

Still, our relationship wasn’t a bed of roses. Despite knowing each other well for more than six years, there were struggles. We were both rigid, having lived independent lives. When we fought, I was terrified by thoughts of this marriage failing as well.

But I soon realised that we could navigate our relationship with greater care and maturity. Of course, everyone had opinions on my second marriage. There were comments about me being ‘too old’ to remarry, and why did I need to when I was independent and successful at work? My ex and his wife even spread word that I had cheated on him, which prompted my son to stop speaking to me. Despite this, I decided to chart my own course, as I always have. I remarried because I wanted to.

Life doesn’t end at age 40, 50, or even 60. I remarried at the age of 40, and had a baby soon after. At 45, I started The Saffron Saga, my sustainable fashion brand. If I focused on societal expectations and opinions, I’d have achieved none of these milestones.

In our sixteen years of marriage, Manoj has never referenced my past. He tolerates my tantrums and treats me like a queen. You can only truly be yourself in a relationship when there is synergy between you and your partner. And so, I must share credit with my partner for creating a space where I can be myself, and for helping me chase my dreams.

I’ve learnt that no man should make you feel like he’s obliged you by marrying you. And when you’re giving love a second chance, don’t rush—take your time. Instead of focusing on superficial things, understand what binds you together.

As told to Chandni Sehgal.