Marina Finds Her Voice
Marina, a young girl, was torn between religions, relationships, and rejection. From being a bullied schoolchild to surviving an abusive marriage, her journey of pain, self-discovery, and redemption unfolds against the serene backdrop of Gangtok.
Marina climbed uphill to her school in tears. She had been scolded by her class teacher in front of her jeering classmates and told to clean her scraped, bleeding knees.
The entire school was on the ground, quite far away from the castle-like building. The seven-year-old made her way back to the washroom in tears.
She washed her knees and cried her lonely tears. Then, wiping her face, she walked towards the grotto. Born to a Hindu father and a Buddhist mother, her eyes welled up again at the sight of the figure in white and blue holding baby Jesus.
She thought of her mother—she was hurting and in pain—and whispered her name, crying her heart out.
She was studying at St Helen’s Convent School, one of the most prestigious schools for girls. Her parents wanted her to receive the best education. It was this belief that had made her mother leave Marina in the care of her father and grandmother.
An introvert, and thus good at being socially awkward, Marina failed to make friends with the rest of her class. While others merrily played hide-and-seek and chase during recess, little Marina would find herself up in the chapel, looking at the Virgin Mother and missing her own mother.
The statue seemed to smile at her lovingly, and she always felt calm and peaceful inside the school chapel.
She was a slow learner, and hence not popular with the teachers. She wanted to be a teacher one day—but the kind who wouldn’t shout at shy, lonely children.
She was happy only when her mother visited or when her dad took her on his Enfield, down the slopes and then up again, to her favourite place in the world—Gangtok.
Sometimes, it isn’t the place you love, but the memories tied to it that make you love or hate it.
She met her lovely mother. How beautiful she looked—so sophisticated and perfect, just like the Virgin Mary, Marina used to feel.
She hugged her mother, but when the time came to beg her to stay, her father’s face made her change her decision. At a young age, Marina had learnt to put others first and herself last.
Her father used to tell her how much he loved her and how much he needed her. Her mother had her younger brother, but her father was alone. She thought she had to remain miserable for fear of hurting her handsome father—the only man she ever truly loved in her life.
She shut herself off, bottled her feelings, and let others ventilate. Her emotions remained hidden, out of fear of offending her loved ones.
She grew up confused, a good girl always doing what her family dictated. Having never made a single decision in her life, the one major decision she did make ruined everything.
She met Ravi in college, and after a whirlwind romance, they got married. For the first time in her life, she had rebelled against her family and tied the knot.
Within a month, her family’s worst fears came true—Ravi was an alcoholic. To make matters worse, he was a womaniser.
Marina never complained to her family about her husband. How could she, when the choice had been hers—and hers alone—and it had turned out to be so wrong?
Things spiralled out of control when Ravi started hitting her. It began the day her best friend, Karma, told her that Ravi was dating a girl from their school. When confronted, he slapped her.
The impact was so forceful that she was flung across the room. The blue bruise on her cheek was hidden under foundation—but that was just the beginning. She found herself running out of foundation creams more often than ever.
Ravi stopped attending work and was eventually sacked. Marina became the sole breadwinner and also had to buy his bottles.
One day, she returned home early from work, running a fever. She opened the front door, which was unlocked, placed the groceries on the kitchen table, and went into the bedroom.
There he was—Ravi—in a passionate embrace with a young girl on their bed, moaning someone else’s name.
He looked her straight in the eyes. There was no emotion.
He loathed her—her sense of inferiority, her meekness, her weakness. He felt that he had become a villain because she willingly played the role of a victim.
Marina’s hand remained on the doorknob. She had known he was sleeping around, but seeing him like that, on their bed, triggered something deep within.
She felt a heat, a warmth rise inside her like magma.
Years of indifference, isolation, disrespect, and misery surged to the surface. She entered the room, looked around, grabbed a heavy statue of Mahadev, and flung it at her husband.
It landed on his head and fell to the floor in pieces. Blood started pouring from his scalp. The girl ran out naked, screaming. Marina opened the door wide to let her pass.
She didn’t blame the girl—or any woman—for sleeping with her loser husband. She partly blamed herself, for being too weak to stop things from reaching this point.
Ravi began mumbling something, but she couldn’t make it out. She called Pemba, her best friend, and asked him to come immediately.
Ravi covered his bleeding head with his mistress’s dupatta. What an irony.
Pemba entered the bedroom and was shocked. He told Ravi to get out. Ravi, weak and humiliated, didn’t dare utter a word to this well-built man. He came out, covering his lower body with the bedsheet, and groaned his way out.
Pemba looked at Marina. He realised this wasn’t the Marina he had known. The old Marina had died. This new Marina was better. She had learnt to protect herself and respect herself so no one could play with her emotions again.
Marina lay still. Pemba drew close, hugged her, and she cried. She cried and cried, but after that day, she never cried in self-pity again.
Today, she looked beautiful—and truly happy. Her family and relatives surrounded her. She looked radiant in that gown.
As she entered the church, she saw the Virgin Mother smile at her. Then she saw her man—soon to be her husband.
Pemba Lepcha, a Roman Catholic—and more than his religion, it was his way of loving her, of being her friend, her supporter—that finally made her say yes.
Outside the church, a lone, shabbily dressed man walked away. He was heavily drunk. He cursed a man who bumped into him as he staggered out—a broken man.
He glanced at the grotto outside, looked at Her face—Her sublime, serene face.
He closed his eyes and prayed for Marina’s happiness.
A tear rolled down each cheek. Ravi trudged past the rushing Gangtokian crowd.
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