By 11 a.m., Sheila felt like she had already lived a full day. Tiffins packed, breakfast served, lunch cooked, her mother-in-law fed. Her back ached, her eyes burned, and all she wanted was ten minutes of silence.
She dropped onto the sofa with cucumber slices on her eyes. Just then, the phone rang.
“Hey Sheila!” Jyoti’s cheerful voice boomed. “Kitty party today, pink theme. Come with me!”
Sheila sighed. “I’m dead tired, yaar.”
“Exactly why you should come. Trust me, you’ll love it.”
Something in Sheila stirred—a craving for a break. “Okay,” she said, surprising herself.
By afternoon, she stood before her wardrobe, draping a pink saree. No matching purse, no shoes. She muttered, scrolling through Amazon, adding a pink clutch and sandals to her cart. For today I’ll manage, but next time I’ll be ready, she thought with a small smile.
When Jyoti picked her up, Sheila felt oddly nervous, like a schoolgirl sneaking off for a picnic. But the moment she entered the lively drawing room, warmth swept over her. Laughter, chatter, bright sarees—the air buzzed with energy. Compliments on her outfit made her cheeks glow.
Tambola began, and Sheila found herself squealing with the others. When she won a hundred rupees, she clapped like a child, giddy with delight. Lunch followed—paneer pakodas, dal makhni, hot parathas—and conversations tumbled over each other.
Aisha twirled in her new dress. “Fifty thousand, gift from my mother-in-law,” she said casually.
“Lucky you,” groaned Ruchi. “Mine just complains. And my husband takes her side every time.”
Lalita admired Neha’s solitaire. “Wow. Still waiting for Pradeep to get me one.”
Neha beamed. “Sandeep always brings jewelry from abroad. He’s better than me at shopping now.”
Soon the talk shifted—beauty apps, keratin treatments, maids, vacations, saas-bahu drama. Sheila listened wide-eyed, then laughed, then shared her own stories. For the first time in years, she wasn’t just someone’s mother, wife, or daughter-in-law. She was simply Sheila—smiling, glowing, alive.
Back home, nothing had changed. The kitchen waited. Dinner had to be cooked. Her mother-in-law called sharply from the living room. “Where were you? Don’t tell me you wasted time gossiping!”
“Haan,” her husband muttered without looking up from his phone. “Kitty parties are useless.”
Sheila stirred the dal quietly, a secret smile on her lips.
Useless? Maybe for them. For me, it was the first time in years I felt alive.
And with that thought warming her, she began planning for the next kitty.