Average wife: story of a woman who fights for love in a metropolis – love story middle class husband wife kahani ego shock average wife Nayi Wali Hindi ntc


Vikarsh toyed with the sentiments of today’s broadcast. Today he was determined to inflict severe pain on her. It was about to be a week. There was no conversation between the two. Even if there was a face to face, the eyes would not have been parallel, diagonally crossed, while avoiding and saving, both would have been abandoned. Vikarsh wore the same pants today, the fibers of which were slowly finding their independent existence, leaving the strong grip of the fabric.

Vikarsh had committed violence today. In fact, both Dhara and Vikarsha believed in the non-violence of the Buddha. But this time there was a conflict. Human nature is also beyond imagination. When the thorny plant of hatred grows in the bed of love, it does not dry out easily.

Vikarsh wanted to do something in his own right. Which caused the creek pain. Her heart hurts her. But how did you get out of their way? Yes, this was a solution. Vikarsh got the weapon for his attack. Mental violence … that was an option he hadn’t considered. This man wanted to do something that would surprise the current about his personality, without intruding on the limits of the evil he had created.

Today he took the cream colored pants ‘Woh’ out of the closet. Soft clothes. Full of folds, wrinkled, loose, sweeping the floor. Neither its appearance nor its feel is to the liking of the mainstream. In other days, if Vikarsh wore it, the current would have lifted the sky above his head.

‘Don’t you have color in your life? Brother, you seem … when will you get better? They didn’t teach you personality, did they? Change it now if you want to walk with me. A series of lectures used to begin.

I don’t know what I used to hear. Image Consensus was very sensitive to the appearance of Dhara Vikarsh. In fact, a seed of feelings was hiding in this creek nuisance. Deep down, that he ever wanted to see Vikarsh as a whole man. Dhara didn’t want to see any technical problems. Gone are the days when these stream taunts would fill the spark of your routine life. At that moment, he would get angry, this sense of authority filled him.

But today Vikarsh had drawn the line. He was satisfied with the clothes. The feeling of revenge increased his confidence. He sat on the bed in the room. His mind began to spoil the scene of the creek reaction.

Image: Getty Images.

As soon as the window curtains slid in the wind, the brook’s eyes scanned the shadow formed by the light entering the room. He saw that apparition of Vikarsh. His heart jumped several times in a moment. Dhak! Dhak !! Dhak !!! I felt like this would come out of my mouth.

His mind did the math immediately. So today you took this arrow out of the quiver. Dhara got very angry, he entered the room almost moving his feet.

Vikarsh understood, his violence was over. His mind stole some emotions and he immediately put on the mask. The expressions on the face were those of the victim, but the waves trembled in the heart. The pain of the stream caressed his ego. He remained seated like this. Wear the same mask. The stream kept melting. Of annoyances and applications.

Hathat Dhara drew attention to her clothes. Ohhhh … she wore that saree today which Vikarsh had to squeak through several times. But how would he have strictly rejected his proposal? Like a tough teacher. So the vikarsh who hangs his mouth and stream enjoys this joke all the time. This friction was once the spur of this life.

But today Vikarsh broke the rule. He had hit where the current was weak. It was the sixth day of fighting. In the life of the stream, a kind of empty space was being prepared, where there is no oxygen at all. Does she think what kind of bubble is this? It’s getting tighter. How did you get out? She started joking. Sometimes by his own insistence and others by the discomfort of the environment. In this situation, she wore this her favorite saree today. Borrowing a bit of expectations. But these borrowing expectations did not pay off in the relationship business. The principal remained intact, the interest rose even more.

Vikarsh had already led his war. His weapon of mental violence was successful. The current continued to break throughout the day. Whenever he was faced with a repellent, he seemed to scrape the smooth surface of the tiles with his fingernail.

Well … Dhara had understood this man’s strategy. He hurried out of the room. ‘So being traumatized like this. These men and these conspiracies to win … “Dhara thought angrily and started gnashing his teeth loudly. Then he walked away. What was he not thinking about in this rush? Why don’t you decorate your own bed? Let’s look for some challenges. There will be some option on the market for the first-class Chemistry girl M-Sc. The chemicals in her brain were reacting quickly. But no such equation was being formed that was balanced. Sometimes the molecules of emotions were They became dominant, sometimes the practicality factor upset the balance. He went from 12.15 to 2.30. He did not eat. Hunger activated the fibers of his brain even more.

She won’t let him. He will be punished in the court of the section, ‘This man needs to be prostituted’. He took out the newspaper where he used to punish his criminals. Papa, Boss, Nirvana, Shaily, Paranjpe and now Vikarsh. The current was stopped by these people while they were alive. Boss found during internship, Paranjpe, lord of the university lab, roommate Shelly, and boyfriend Nirvana. Dhara had prepared everyone’s charge sheet. She won’t share daddy’s talk with anyone. Just let it be.

When Dhara turned the pages, he saw a pen with ink somewhere in the middle of the journal, the nib was dry. This was the style chapter. Shelly Sarthak, aspiring public relations executive. He had been punished. Shali Sarthak When you got hit while pairing me up, you started to relax by hating me.

He closed the door, turned off the light. When the curtains were moved, the darkness absorbed all the light from the room. He liked this turbulent atmosphere. Now a thick shaft of light fell on the bed between the curtains. The stream fell on the bed.

He rubbed the tip of the pen on the last page of the journal, the fresh black ink leaving marks on the white page.

Vikarsh Mohite Prakash, my husband … He put his pen on a new page. Then the creek that broke … as if the river broke everywhere, just like that …

I do not know the distraction, in how many lofts of satellite cities, in how many floors, how many currents collide with each other when, after sending the husband to the office and the child to school, he looks at himself in the mirror standing in the lonely corner of his wardrobe.

Then these streams say: Dad, you wanted this, a well-settled child, a six-digit salary, and a daughter’s luxurious home. Wear your doll has it all, but if it’s not there then that stubbornness. The flow that turns it into a stream. The stubbornness that teaches you to fight and grow. Everyone was scared seeing this, weren’t they? I was moving forward, dad, that until then all of you taught me compassion in the name of tradition. Compassion, sympathy, benevolence, kindness, affection, compassion, grace. Phew … so many Sanskrits gave me a nose. How to bear the weight of so many virtues, father?

How could I have been cruel to carry this burden of compassion? A woman is an ocean of love. My dad, how much they did to tie me up.

You also taught me to love. But rationing it very cleverly. Look, in this era, here, well, they have to spend with them. But the “fault” of the father is the greatest greed. Although you had taught this lesson to someone else, I had married. He had broken this love quota system with great courage. Then I spent it wholeheartedly.

At once, so much has been written. When he stopped, beads of sweat gleamed on his forehead.

So Mr. Mohite had brought him this baggage from the past. ‘You have …’ is not the term, it is the schooling of the same values ​​that they began to teach me from the ninth class. There was a conditioning of the mind by listening. I have to go with someone. If I didn’t agree, then I came to Nirvana. Feel someone’s presence. Now how long are you waiting for them to ship to you?

Vikarsh You called me your average wife, but you didn’t ask my opinion of you. I kept forgetting myself and I sank into you, molded myself into your mold. After all, you are the perfect match of my relatives for me. But this was not my surrender, Vikarsh. The walls that were built around me, not the values, were the result of that. No skylight, no window. The result was that only that air stopped coming out, so that my attitude could be oxygenated. There was no money, there was no business. So where could he go wrong from in this match? Little by little my vulgarity dissolved, I became a woman. That is the average wife of a middle class family with her definition.

But why are you indifferent to this average middle-class wife from Vikarsh? I can tell you that these mediocre wives are the backbone of average families. Raise your eyes, look at the floor in front, turn left, look at your lamp, don’t you know that house on the seventeenth floor? It will be seen everywhere. Somewhere to become an average wife herself. So while you do others somewhere.

The sequence was now being written fluently.

Vikarsh, your pronoun has come up into this average wife’s tongue now. Your food, your clothes, your house, your baby. All yours. And yes, this average woman also takes the assurance of your protection from the deity. You are all very clever, sometimes you call her housewife, sometimes mother, sometimes goddess for fun.

Was Vikarsh’s bedroom not even that of an average wife? You know these average wives, right? The elegance of grace aside, the formality of the order is not even understood. That’s right, hunger … who cares about satiety? Imagine if these weren’t average wives?

Mr. husband, this average wife gives birth to rich children and great husbands. You will not ask your mother. I only say. Your father used to say that Mom is also an average wife. Vikarsh is the average wife who has been carrying the institution of family and marriage on her shoulders for years. For this, the aspiring top-class M-Sc chemistry girl has to be an average wife. Thanks to this social arrangement, you can write software algorithms in the multiple MNC stories. These days you have learned to be Wounded and Vikarsh. Learn to heal.


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