Today the conversation at office was about the meanest thing that each of us has ever done. Now I could say stories, many many stories about my younger days; not about being mean, but about how hard I tried at being a mean and cunning person. To me being meanness somehow represents a street-smart person capable of conning anyone and getting his / her things done.
There is this one incident etched in my memory. At the age of 12, I stole the pocket money of a class mate of mine. I had forgotten to bring my lunch box and I was so hungry by lunch time that there seemed to be no other way but to steal that money. I remember returning to the classroom with a sandwich in hand and seeing this class-mate crying. When queried she said that she was feeling so hungry (just like me) and that somebody has stolen the money her mom had given her for lunch.
So what did I do? Turned to her and told her that I had a sandwich that I just didn’t feel like eating and whether she would like to have it? Her face lit up like the night sky with thousands of sparkling diamonds. Will I ever forget it that look and the relief I felt. Never and that was the end of my plans of trying to be a mean person. Sure I had been mean, but somehow the universe had other plans for me.
Alright now fast forward to four years back: I can be mean and I have been mean and I still have that small meanness in me. I don’t want to go too much into detail as this is something about me that I find difficult to accept. Through some crooked ways, I got the email password of DH’s ex-wife. So what do you do when you have someone’s email password – you go through their emails right? This is exactly what I did. Sure enough I got enough evidence to show DH that he was being royally used. You see very rarely do I call a person ugly – but DH’s ex-wife is ugly – both as a person and in looks.
To make a long story short, let’s say that I keep myself updated on what happens in “Her” life. These days snooping into her inbox and reading her mails is like reading a never ending novel, like one of those hindi serials. So many things have happened in her life and I am the silent bystander. Sometimes I feel her pain (at not getting a partner and having kids yet), some times I feel like shaking her and asking her what the hell she was doing. But who am I? Just some one who got to marry her ex-husband.
No, I am not proud of what I did and even what I am doing. And there are no excuses for it.
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