150 rupees a day – three years of patience and a farewell that stunned me
Early days of marriage

My name is Rakesh, I live in Lucknow. Before marriage, my wife, Anita, worked as an accountant for an import-export company, earning a monthly salary of 30,000 rupees. I calculated: her salary was enough to cover family expenses, and my salary, 60,000 rupees, would be used for savings, buying gold, and saving for the future.

Less than two months into our marriage, Anita became pregnant. This news came unexpectedly, without any preparation or planning. After just over a month of pregnancy, Anita miscarried. The doctor advised her to take a long rest, but the company refused, forcing her to leave her job.

Thus, from an independent woman, Anita became an involuntary housewife, completely dependent on me. I thought irritably: “She just got married, and I already have to bear her expenses.”

From that day on, I made a strict rule:

“I’ll give you 150 rupees every day to go to the market and cook. I won’t eat breakfast or lunch at home; just a hot meal will suffice.”

Anita looked at me, her eyes both sad and helpless, but she didn’t argue. She just nodded slightly.

Three Years of Patience
In the early days, Anita had to struggle with those 150 rupees. Some vegetables, some potatoes, a little rice, a box of salt—everything had to be accounted for. Many days, she would even secretly fast to save money for me and the children.

I never paid any attention. In my eyes, she just had to complete her “household chores.” Seeing roti and a little curry for dinner, I naturally assumed 150 rupees was enough.

My friends advised me: “Rakesh, what can you eat with 150 rupees? Your wife and children have suffered a lot.” I sarcastically retorted: “Anita spends lavishly. I’ve saved so much gold thanks to her.”

But I didn’t see that behind that artificial smile lay Anita’s long nights of silent weeping. Looking at her skinny child, who occasionally fell ill due to malnutrition, her heart ached. She remembered the days when she still worked, could buy any sari she wanted, and sometimes take her mother to the market without asking anyone. Now, every penny had to be accounted for, and every item for the child required hours of hesitation.

Silent indignation

Anita once suggested:
—”Honey, the baby needs better milk, why don’t we increase the market price a little?”

I brushed her off:
—“When we were growing up, we didn’t have packaged milk, but we were still healthy. Just manage, don’t make a fuss.”

This sentence was like a knife stabbing the woman in the heart. Anita smiled faintly, turned away, and said nothing.

At night, she hugged her son and whispered:
—“Son, I’m sorry. If you were a little older, I wouldn’t have caused you so much trouble.”

From then on, Anita quietly kept track of the accounts. She didn’t blame me, didn’t complain, but simply observed my habits, memorized the passwords, and where I kept the gold in the safe. Every coin I brought home, she would silently count, imprinting it in my memory.

The shock returned.

Three years passed. My son was two years old and stronger. I was still complacent, thinking I had managed the family “wisely.” The gold in the safe kept increasing, and Anita silently obeyed.

Until one day, I went on a business trip for a week. When I returned home, I opened the door and was stunned. The house was empty, and many things were gone. Anita and her son were no longer there.

I called, but the phone only rang, “Customer Unavailable.” I panicked and opened the safe. Inside, all my accumulated gold was gone, leaving only a neatly folded divorce application.

Anita’s handwriting was clear and decisive:

“For the past three years, I’ve suffered because my child was so young. Now that he’s grown, I no longer need to live with a man who hates his wife and children like you. Half of this gold is from my hard work, and the other half I brought to raise our child. I know that even if we divorce, you won’t care about the child, so consider that I’m keeping it for him. Don’t look for us now. Goodbye.”

I was stunned, sweating profusely. The gold bars I’d considered “hard-earned wealth” had now disappeared. I thought my wife was obedient, frugal, and clueless… But she had secretly prepared for three years, and then delivered a blow that left me unable to react.

Last Words

That night, I sat quietly in the empty house. The 150 rupee meal, my wife’s refusal to eat, her sad eyes… everything pierced my heart like a knife.

I suddenly realized that for the past three years, Anita hadn’t been giving up, but had been waiting for the day when she would be completely ready to leave. She had used patience as a cover, preparing for a farewell that left me speechless.

Now, the safe that was once my pride held only a cold divorce petition. And I – who once considered myself “sane” – was suddenly penniless.