A Memoir and The Understatement

I discovered Flash Fiction Magazine through Twitter, when I began writing Twitter Fiction after Shiva Acharya, one of close friends and literary advisers (no, really!), exhorted me to be more regular on the microblogging site and try my hand at 140-character fiction. He thought I'd be wonderful with it, and as always, he was right.

A Memoir: This was first published in print in eFiction India in February 2014. Flash Fiction Magazine accepted it for publication in April 2014. The site had just been launched and at the time they had space to accept most of the works received, except if the work was really shabby. Now they have a waiting period and backlog, which means they are establishing themselves well already. Go, FFM! This story was also published later in Every Writer's Resource, in December 2014, accompanied by an artwork by Tommy Inberg. So far, this has been my most successful flash.

A Memoir was written in February 2014, inspired by a snatch of description of old furniture in Lilian Jackson Braun’s The Cat Who Tailed a Thief. Being a bibliophile, it is very easy for me to connect to books and regard them as living entities than as a dead tree that has been scrawled over with literary inanities. For how I empathise with a book, read the story.

The Understatement: This was written in October 2014 and published in the same month in FFM. I was trying to attain closure with this piece, and the related eBook My Heart is Your Brothel that I brought out through the free-to-use Papyrus Editor. I was infatuated by a younger colleague just like the protagonist in The Understatement, and it was important that I let the emotions out of my system in order to retain sanity in my behaviour with him as well as with others in his presence. Writing this flash and the set of micropoems (which were first distributed on Twitter before they were compiled into an eBook) helped me do just that - as well as helping me attain closure on the subject.

The story is not one of my best, but I've got some interest generated around it. My readers have seen it in two ways - some think the protagonist was married and that was the punch of the story, while others said they think the protagonist was making up the husband part in order to extricate herself from the situation. You read the story and decide what you want to think - maybe give me a few other viewpoints?

This compilation of my published works is also listed on Facebook in an album format. 

Damsel in Distress

She is being chased on a lonely road by a group of four people. She cannot run any more. She wants to keep running, she wants to save herself, but she is exhausted. She is just about to faint when she runs into the arms of a man at the turn of the road. She looks up at him but cannot see his face.

Veena always woke up at this point of the dream, panting, and then spent the rest of the day wondering who the man in the dream was. She’d had this dream quite a few times, and she worried that it may come true. She didn’t know how she would react if such a situation happened in real life. Or whether there ever would be a man to save her at the turn of the road.

Her friends said this was her repressed desire to be rescued from a dying relationship coming out subconsciously through dreams. Maybe. Her relationship with Suraj wasn’t exactly going well, despite the façade they maintained in front of the family. Five years of marriage and a baby had already taken a toll on their relationship. The spark was gone. There was no affection between them any more. They did not talk about anything except groceries, household expenses and the baby. Veena didn’t even remember the last time they made love. Of course she wanted to be rescued.

Though it was sacrilege to think that she would find someone else who would be interested in her, she often thought about having an extramarital affair. She wondered how people managed to have affairs – how did they find another person, develop trust, and fall in love all over again? She felt like she no longer knew what it is to fall in love. To be tactile and to want to be with each other all the time. To love and be loved. To be wanted, needed, pampered… Oh! Just the thought of someone giving her that kind of attention again turned her on.

Suraj and Veena had fallen in love seven years ago. She was doing her MBA and he had just finished MCA and was working in a company near her college. When they first met, she was waiting at the bus stop and he had come to drop his colleague there. He had taken one look at her and decided she was the one. And then the wooing, the motorbike rides, the secret one-day picnics where they first discovered their passions, the gifts – she was never short of attention. And the love-making was so good, so fulfilling. But by the time they had their wonderful, now two-year-old, son Veeraj, they had turned into parents of the child, and were no longer a couple. Suraj even slept off on the couch watching the TV nowadays.

***

It was a Saturday and she decided that she needed to relax a bit, hang out with friends, take a day off from being the mother and homemaker. She told the ayah she was going out in the evening and won’t be back until late in the night and to make sure the saab and Veeru have their dinner. She then dialed Suraj, but he did not pick the call. Must be another meeting, she thought in annoyance.

She called up two of her closest friends and fixed a dinner-and-club meet-up, much to their surprise. She chuckled as she heard Rekha scream from the other end of the phone, “Dude! You are coming to hang out with us! What happened, hubby jumped off the building?”

“Don’t be mean, silly. You know Suraj has never stopped me from coming anywhere with you gals. It’s always been me, unsure, depressed. But today I feel like shaking things up. I wanna drink, dance, just have fun, you know.”

“Good for you, babes! See you at 8 then!”

She was actually hoping to lay her hands on someone sexy and handsome at the club. A hassle-free one night stand. Just the thought of it was exhilarating. She decided that this called for special make-up.

She spent the entire afternoon pampering herself, warding off her son with video games and chocolates. She took a long bath in the tub with lavender-scented body oils, waxed herself free of body hair, blow-dried and curled her hair, gently massaged her favourite body lotion on to her supple skin, manicured her fingers and applied some baby pink nail polish, and dug up a pretty halter-neck magenta dress that complemented her figure well. And just as she was about to apply mascara to her eyelashes, the doorbell rang. She wondered who it could be. And to her horror, she heard the door open to the sound of Suraj hullo-ing Veeru. How could he be back so soon, that too on a Saturday! He usually went out with his buddies on Saturday nights.

She wondered what she should do – should she carry on, or walk down meekly, seek permission and then leave? Or should she cancel? But no, she did not want to cancel, so she decided that it would be best to pretend to take his permission first. She slipped out of the dress quickly and wrapped the bathrobe around her. Suraj walked into the bedroom a second later.

Suraj smelt her before he saw her. Then she smiled divinely at him and brushed his arm as she took the laptop case from him. He could not explain what came over him in that one touch. It was as if he had been blind all these years to the awesomeness of this woman before him. And before he knew what he was doing, he had enveloped her in his arms. He was kissing her neck, her earlobes, her shoulders. And she was giggling. She was moaning. She was beaming like an angel.

“Oh god, one minute, Suraj! Give me a second, I have to call Rekha and tell her I’m not coming!”

“Coming where?”

“Never mind, let me just make this call,” Veena giggled and wriggled again before dialling. She had to tell Rekha there was no damsel in distress to be rescued any more.

This is a blog written during Indiblogger Happy Hours for the Parachute Advansed Body Lotion #BringBackTheTouch campaign. Watch the campaign video below: 

The Bitch Called Love (Published in eFiction India July 2013)

“What can be said of a man who loves one woman and is loved by another? That he is a lucky bastard. That he can have his cake and eat it too. And that he definitely is the most laid person around me.”

“Quit mocking my situation, Rahul. This is serious. I don’t know what to do. I love Suma. I really do. But I care a lot for Sahana. I can’t seem to let go of her. I need her as much as I need Suma. And I know that’s not right. I... am confused. I mean, I’m not doing justice to any of us three in the process, right?”

“Ajit, you are reading too much into the situation. I think you should just enjoy the liberty you have right now and just, you know, go with the flow,” Rahul took a drag from his cigarette. “Bloody lucky bastard, I’d say. I haven’t had a single girl chasing me, nor have I felt real true louwe for anyone,” he sighed.

“You are too damn frivolous about this. Somehow I can’t… and I am going with the flow, if you haven’t yet noticed. But I feel terrible about it sometimes. I feel like I’m cheating myself, Suma as well as Sahana. I don’t want to do it, but I end up doing it, and then…”

“Cut the crap, dude. I’m pretty sleepy right now. What I don’t understand is why you start all this right after two drinks, and spoil my mood too. Blergh! Do what you want, bro. Good night, and happy think­ing!” Rahul turned on the bed and went to sleep. Ajit was left wondering to himself.

* * *

“Sahana, please, try and understand. I cannot, I am not able to fall in love with you. Don’t push me so hard. I’ll give up. I’m already under too much pressure.”

“Aji you just… don’t understand. No, you refuse to accept me for some stupid prejudice of yours. ‘You’re not the right woman for me.’ What nonsense! Tell me one woman who has understood you and your needs so well and supported you on everything. You go on saying true love is loving the person who loves you, and when such a person is there in front of you, you don’t want to accept that. I’m just so exasperated. I love you so dearly that I can’t give you up so easily. I don’t know what to call our relationship. I have done so much for you, and you don’t want to acknowledge that and…”

“Please don’t tell me I don’t acknowledge your love or things you do for me. I really really appreciate all that and I have always told you that. But I cannot fall in love with you. You don’t evoke that special feeling in me. You make me comfortable, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and you’re awesome in bed… but that doesn’t make love!” his voice was getting increasingly gruffy. “And, I’m warning you, if you want to keep testing my limits, let us cut off this relation right away. Let us be just good neighbours and leave each other alone.”

“That’s nothing less than threat, and Mr Ajit Prasad, I’m not gonna take that from you. No one tells me what to feel and how!” Sahana picked up her bag and got up from the bed. “But one final word. I love you more dearly than life itself, and you cannot change that.” And she walked off, leaving Ajit with his head between his hands.

* * *

“Do you want a coffee? I’m gonna grab a cup…”

“Yeah sure. Do you have a smoke too?”

Sahana’s laughter rang in her bedroom. “What, post-coital cigarette, eh?”

Ajit laughed too. “If you wanna call it by such a technical name, fine!”

“There, on the shelf. The lighter’s next to it, and the ash-tray is under the bed. I’ll make the coffee.”

Ajit’s phone rang. It was Suma.

“Sana, don’t speak, okay? It’s Suma calling.”

“Oh yeah, I’m not here, you’re not with me. Understand, understand, sir.” She laughed again, and went into the kitchen.

“Yeah, tell me honey. What’s up?”

* * *

“So, what do you think?”

“Yeah, suits you, but you can look much better.”

“This is the best I could do. I wasn’t ready to go for complete colour­ing. I thought this light burgundy shade looked charming. And you give such a lukewarm response!” Sahana cried.

“Honey, honey, you look awesome. I just said you have more potential! You’re a very charming woman, and I want people to know that. Come on, I’m buying you some funky attire to go with that hair of yours. How about trying out the new stuff at Lifestyle? Laika said there are some trendy things there. Might suit you.”

“Okay okay. Whatever you say.”

“Listen, it’s not about you obeying me here, okay? It’s about getting you a light makeover. Just a touch-up, actually, but something that’ll make you stand out in the crowd.”

“Makeover, yeah that’s right,” she smiled. “I love you, Aji. I love you so much.”

Aji returned the smile. “Let’s go, my pretty pie. Hop on to the bike.”

* * *

“Suma, you’re sure we’re doing the right thing? I mean, isn’t this too sudden for you? You haven’t even gotten over Vasishth yet… and then mar­rying me… you know how I am situated. With Sheela’s studies still going on and mom down in the hospital every month, I don’t know if I can…”

“Ajit, I am not worried about the finances. I have a good amount of savings, and of course I’ll work after marriage too. I have no issues with you giving off all your salary at home. And about Vasu. The earlier I forget him the better.

“Don’t worry I’m not using you as a rebound. I actually want to settle down with you. You’re the one for me; I’m sure of that. I want to know if you are fine. Anyone you’re involved with, or anything that doesn’t appeal to you? I mean, do you think I’ll be good enough for you?”

“Oh God, listen to you talk! I… listen, I know I never articulated it to you, but… but I love you. With all my heart. I can die for you. You tell me, when do you want me to come and meet your mother?”

Suma’s heart rose in a flutter. “Aji… you’re such a sweetheart. Make that this weekend. I assume there won’t be any problem from your side?”

“Not at all. My mother’ll be happy to hear I chose you. She’s always been a little partial to you among all my female friends.”

“Oh!” Suma blushed. “Very nice, my future hubby, then drop the call for now. I have work at eight in the morning, and oh my God, it’s two a.m. now! Sleep, sleep, sleep, idiot!”

“Hahaha… okay Sumi. Good night. Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams, Aji.”

* * *

“So you’ve made the final choice now.”

“Yes.”

“There’s no going back?”

“There is no need to. Not for me.”

“And what about me?”

“You already know I’m never going to marry you and give you a life you dream of. I have made that quite clear many times, I’m sure.”

“Yes you have, definitely. You and I are together on a ‘no-strings-at­tached’ basis. And all that only because I, the bloody fool, am in love with you. Ever occurred to you that you could be just taking advantage of me?”

“Fuck you, Sana. I thought we already discussed this. I am not in love with you. But I can’t seem to be able to let go of you. You are more than a friend, much more. I need you like the water I drink six times a day. You said you understood that. You said you wouldn’t accuse me of using you. You said you’ll be okay. Damn it, Sana!”

Sahana broke down. “Okay, sorry sorry. I am sorry. It’s just that some­times I just snap. I don’t know what I’m saying. Or rather, it all comes out in bitterness, and then it’s over, and then… I don’t understand. We make such an awesome pair. Why not?”

“Because I love Suma. More than I care for you. She’s the one for me, Sana. You and I are a mismatch. You’ll realise it when you get over your obsession.”

…Sahana cried bitterly. Ajit made no attempt to soothe her. He walked over to the shelf and took out a cigarette and sent swirls of smoke up at the fan in her bedroom. Then he picked up his clothes and went into the bathroom. She looked after him, gave out a long sigh and wiped her tears. In front of the mirror, she felt her face. She started out as if she was begin­ning to cry, but suddenly smiled. “Not so easy, not so soon. He’ll be back. I know it. This chapter’s not closing so easily, honey.”

* * *

“What is Sahana’s PAN card doing in your laptop bag?”

“Oh that? She gave it to me so I can fill in her bank form when I go there tomorrow. She doesn’t stay in Nashik, remember?”

“Then can’t she come down and do it herself some other day? Why do you have to do it for her?”

“Suma? What’s wrong with you? I keep doing odd chores for her anyway!”

“Stop doing that now. She’s not a baby. Let her handle her own things. She wants to take you with her for shopping, she wants your opinion on the dress she’s bought, she buys little nothings for you from everywhere she goes… I think she’s in love with you.”

“Oh Suma, you don’t know her for as many years as I do, that’s why. Or wait… you’re being jealous! Suma!”

“I know, I know, we spoke about this. You have close female friends, and I have to get used to it. But Sahana seems different from your other friends. I don’t like the feeling she gives me when the three of us are together.”

“Come on, give that girl a chance. You just met her once. You’re being…”

“You are being defensive about her. I don’t like that too.”

Ajit looked at her. He moved forward to hug her, but she shrugged it off.

“Pack your bags fast, Mister. The bus is at 9.”

* * *

It was a big gathering. Sahana’s friends, collegemates, professors and schoolteachers, the nuns and fathers from her orphanage. Ajit sat in a corner, as if set in marble. One of Sahana’s professors walked up to him.

“Ajit? I’m Naseema. Sahana used to refer to you as her local guardian. It is so unfortunate. I mean, a road accident… very, very unlucky, poor girl. Her parents died the same way. She was saved in that accident. Only to die in another one, 24 years later… The Lord has his own ways…”

Ajit looked up coldly. “Yes ma’am. He has. She was a lovely girl. Thanks for your condolences.” He blinked and paused for a few seconds, before continuing, almost apologetically, “Can you please write something about her on that golden sheet over there? She wanted me to maintain a scrap of writing from all those who attend her most important ritual after the age of 24. She wanted it to be the wedding, but… thanks.”

The professor patted Ajit’s shoulder lightly and moved on, unsure of how to take the bluntness in Ajit’s voice. Rahul came around to him, noticing his alabaster pose.

“Listen, take it easy. It’s not your fault. She’s made it clear in her letter, right? She couldn’t get over you, she was incapable of moving on. There’s no point in you dejecting over…”

“Shut up, Rahul,” Ajit groaned. Raising his eyes menacingly, he screeched through his teeth, “You’re always The Pragmatic. I am not. I cannot be. She chose to die… with my memories rather than give me up. She bloody took that accident on her because she realised Suma didn’t like her being friends with me. She couldn’t let go of me.”

His voice rose to a feverish pitch. “She fucking loved me like no one ever did. And I couldn’t give it to her. I couldn’t even make her feel better. Maybe I made her feel like a slut. ‘No strings attached’, my foot! There were strings all over the place, and I could spot none. I fucking took a long time to realise things. I had too much on my dish and I couldn’t clear it sooner. It is my fault, damn it!” His words resonated in the silent hall. Everyone turned to look at him. He sat down quietly again.

“Go sign the sheet, Rahul. She’d love to know what you think of her. Do write what you always used to say – ‘You’re bloody lucky Ajit. She’s so fucking pretty.’”

Epilogue

‘What can you say of a man who loved two women at the same time and could never decide whom to keep and whom to wave goodbye to? That he was confused. That he should have made a decision sooner. That he shouldn’t have waited until one of the women died. That, my friends, is the tragedy of the bitch called love.’

Phobia (Published in eFiction India September 2013)

The Radiology Department of the hospital was crowded. People were waiting on different chairs across the room in twos and threes and sometimes alone, with one of them drinking water every two minutes. Administrative staff in impeccably draped sarees and nurses in pale blues hurtled around with a definite sense of purpose. Occasionally, someone’s name was called, and that person would walk into one of the “secret” rooms accompanied by a pale blue dress. Their kin would give them reassuring nods or a pat on their back or arm, and the patients seem to gather courage from it to enter the chamber. A faint smell of medical spirits hung in the air, mixed with that of phenyl, and strangely, menthol.

Aleena strummed her fingers nervously on her vanity bag, clutching it close to her chest, looking around with a vague sense of panic. She was observing and thinking at the same time, leaving a misty look in her eyes. She did not smile at the pleasant burqa-clad woman to her right but noticed that she was clutching one infant and carrying another in her belly. She did not listen to what the fashionable couple on her left was talking about, though she heard the word ‘bladder’ more than once. She was lost in her own thoughts, as she anxiously waited for one of the pale blues to call her name, dreading what she would discover behind the doors.

It had been fifty days since her last period and she hadn’t had the next one yet. This was unusually late for her. Suhaan, her husband, could not accompany her to the hospital as he had an important meeting to attend to. But he was texting her every five minutes enquiring about the progress of the diagnosis. Is the blood test done? Did it hurt when they inserted a syringe into your veins? Is the urine test done? What is happening at the scanning centre? Why are the doctors so slow with examination? He was impatient. But unlike Aleena, who was hoping the tests would show a negative on pregnancy and instead blame the delayed periods on a cyst or a fibroid, he wanted it to be pregnancy. He actually wanted to be a father.

Aleena couldn’t believe it. It was a rare crop of men who wanted to be fathers at a young age, and boy, wasn’t it fortunate that she was married to one? No. Aleena was not quite looking forward to motherhood. It seemed quite terrorising to her, to be fully accountable for another human being. She couldn’t imagine how she could own a baby, a child, a teenager, an adult, one after the other, for the rest of her life. Her entire life would change, and Aleena was very averse to change. Even when she got married and came to Suhaan’s home, she refused to change for the sake of his parents. If there were things about her that annoyed his parents – she merely did them when they did not notice. Well, you could argue that was ‘change’ too, but it was of a lesser intensity and Aleena could live with that.

Suhaan said she was merely stubborn; she knew she was not just stubborn but selfish too. Suhaan was a go-with-the-flow man, taking everything in its stride, always ready to take up responsibilities and ownership of solutions. Aleena was quite the opposite – she was mortified at having to let go of herself.

In her darkest thoughts, she wondered if she could divorce Suhaan and go away, but then her better sense prevailed and brought her back to the reality of the institution of marriage and the feelings of her own parents.

One of the grey doors opened and a nurse called out, “Aleena Roy!” She stirred jerkily and approached the door. The nurse smiled gently, asking, “Pregnancy check-up?” She nodded, trying to curve her lips into a smile. The nurse waved her into the ante-chamber, separated by a blue curtain. She was directed to lie on the bed as a bespectacled doctor washed his hands at the sink next to the bed and offered her a benign smile. She tried to relax; muttering inside her head, “Relax, babes, it’s nothing to panic about…”

The nurse asked her to bare her tummy, and started applying a gel on her lower abdomen. A shudder ran down her spine. No, I don’t want to be pregnant, she panicked. She felt as if she should get off the bed and run while she had the chance. Scoot, her brain told her. Her thoughts ran wild in negation, and she felt as if she was in labour, or that her body was rejecting her personality, or like someone was about to give her an electric shock and she was protesting against it – the nurse gave her a sharp look, and she realised that her body had tightened into a knot. She exhaled deeply and relaxed her muscles a bit. She gave the nurse a faint smile. The nurse returned the smile pleasantly.

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be all right. What, you have bleeding or something?”

Aleena shook her head in negation. She could not bring herself to talk lest her fear come pouring out in torrents. It wasn’t just her own selfishness or loss of freedom or accountability that worried her in the pregnancy scenario. She wasn’t sure if she and Suhaan were financially prepared for it. Both of them had EMIs on loans in their name, those taken for their wedding two years ago and the purchase of a car recently.

Suhaan was also taking care of his younger brother’s studies – he was in his third year of engineering school – and Aleena had her mother to provide for. As it was, saving anything from their salaries was a rare luxury. Club a baby’s expenses – from pregnancy to delivery to school in the next six years – and they would be stretched tight. Even if she did take up a few of the freelance offers she received regularly, they would not be able to make ends meet. It was a scary thought, too scary to pursue. And then there was the case of how to look after the baby for the first two years while both Suhaan and Aleena had to work from 9am to 5pm – at the least. Aleena had been a student of psychology and she knew that the first six years of a baby’s life were the most formative ones.

In spite of having lived with Suhaan’s family for two years, she had neither got used to nor grown fond of his parents. They were ill-tempered and rustic. Their ideas were lagging behind by a century (that could be an exaggeration, but then, that’s the way she felt) and the only reason she and they lived in the same house was that apart from huge egos, they also shared an almost-vengeful hatred towards confrontation. She was positive that she would NOT leave the baby under their care – she did not trust them enough to hand over the nurturing of her formative baby. And if she had to get her own mother home to look after the baby (mom would be delighted about the baby, of course), it would mean shifting to another house, as the in-laws did not get along well enough. After all it was Aleena’s mom, would she be any less stubborn and proud?

That would mean more money being spent.

Aleena’s head ached with thoughts, and she could feel her temple vein pulsating. Meanwhile, the gel was applied, and she noticed that the doctor was readying the ultrasound machine. A tube with the transducer probe at its tip was in his hands, ready to be placed on her slimy belly, ready to find out whether her uterus held a living, growing organism or a simple cyst blocking the ovary or some other fancy stuff that female reproductive anatomies tend to harbour.

“When was your LMD?” The doctor asked as he drew her salwar further down and brought the cold device onto her lower abdomen.

“Last menstrual date? January eighteenth…”

“That means around fifty days? Have you completed the urine test?”

“I just gave a sample to the lab. Expecting results in an hour.”

“Hmmmm,” he peered into the screen, rubbing the probe across the abdomen in smooth twists of his wrist. “I can see some growth in the uterus.”

Aleena’s pulse quickened. Damn, she thought. When did we NOT use condoms, she tried to remember. Wasn’t she safe the last time they did it?

“This doesn’t seem normal,” the doctor said with furrowed brows. “Your uterus is very swollen. Have you had stomach pains of late?”

“Yes. I get piercing pains in the lower abdomen quite often. But… I think that’s just gas. Acidity. I have terrible gas trouble. From childhood.” A wave of fear was rising in her voice.

The doctor continued to gaze at the black and white readings on the screen. “What’s your name?”

The question surprised Aleena. He is just trying to make me comfortable, she told herself. “Aleena.”

“Aleena, I’m going to refer you to the oncology department. That one there is no foetus. It’s a 9-10mm tumour. Are you alone or did someone come with you?” His voice was cold and measured, but a bit sympathetic nevertheless.

Aleena gulped a mouthful of air. Her phone started ringing at the same time, blaring Sajna ji vaari vaari jaunji main, proclaiming it to be Suhaan’s call. Suddenly, she wished it was a foetus. 

It's Your Turn (2004, Published in eFiction India April 2013)

“Do I have to stay here all my life?” She questioned me with such innocence that I couldn’t restrain my tears. Every young girl who has come to me has asked me the same question. And every time, I told them, “You don’t have to, dear, you don’t have to.”

It has been eighteen years since I entered this profession, and I’ve seen all sorts of lucky and unlucky girls. The lucky ones had their saviours sweeping them off to safer places, while others have stayed on to rot in the squalor. Like me.

“What do I call you?” the girl was asking.

Everyone around here has called me amma these eight years. Eight years. That is too long a time. Eight years ago, our old amma was on her deathbed and she had told me, “You’ll be the next amma.”

Amma.

The name commands respect and embodies motherly love. But how many can actually feel and exhibit that under the circumstances? I did not like our old amma, I just feared her. It is as likely that these girls now feel the same way about me. Not that this is a job I like. But I am helpless. I can do nothing at all, for I am chained. Chained to the wills of those around me. Amma is the matron, not the chief. She will never be one.

I clearly remember the day I was brought here. I was drugged by a man in the train. The tragedy struck when I was on my way to Vellore from my village in Trichy, to study medicine. 96% in my pre-university exams and I was the first girl in the village who had qualified to attend medical school. My father had prepared to send me to Vellore, to my paternal aunt’s house, but not without vehement protests from the elders of the village.

The entire village got together to organise a sabha and threatened to expel our entire family if I were to study further in such a distant place. Was it not enough that a girl had been allowed to study so much while she should be learning to cook and clean, that now she should be permitted to go so far away from her parents and pursue a life on her own?

But my father was a staunch believer in women’s rights and he stood up against the whole village. One by one the villagers were convinced of his resolute purpose and irrefutable arguments. All for the sake of his dear daughter in whom he believed. Whom he dreamt of as dressed in white, serving patients in the nearby Government hospital. And what luck that he should be sick on the day of departure and that she should travel alone.

Shattering his dreams and now serving…

When I opened my eyes, I was in a well-decked cot, complete with garlands of rose and mogra. I was bewildered. Where am I? What is going on? Am I dreaming?

As I wondered, the doors to the room opened and a big burly figure strode up to me. I cowered and withdrew into the corner of the cot. But those firm hands caught hold of me, and the aftermath has only remained as a subconscious memory. Oh, the agony of the moment! Even after eighteen years, I shudder at the thought of it – the struggle, the screams, the shame.

For hours after that first incident, I was totally unaware of what was going on. For two days, I lay in a subconscious state, alternately begging my father’s forgiveness and shouting for help. I remember a tight slap across my cheeks and slipping into blissful unconsciousness again, waking up only the next morning.

Amma came and talked to me, telling me I had no option but to stay. I was an absolute stranger to the city of Mumbai. The city where street boys turn into Bollywood stars, where crores are spent every day on entertainment, where a boy washing a car today could one day own a fleet of them.

But I had nowhere to go.

The red light district is like a prison; cordoned off from the city and yet so close to the people in it. It entertains men irrespective of caste and religion; people from all walks of life congregate here. We were unwanted, and yet in demand; scorned by the members of the same gender that should understand us, and looked down upon by the same gender that uses us.

Hmph!

Anyway, life has to go on. There is someone at the door already. Oh! It is 8 o’clock! Business will perk up.

“Oh Saraswati! Isn’t it your turn to go first today?”

സൂര്യോദയം

(Written in April 2005)

അര്‍ത്ഥശൂന്യമായ ദൃഷ്ടിയും കൊണ്ടവള്‍ മറ്റൊരു നാട്ടിലേക്ക് സഞ്ചരിക്കുന്ന സൂര്യനേയും നോക്കി നിന്നു. രാത്രി അടുക്കുകയാണ്. കറുത്ത വാവിന്റെ ഇരുള്‍ അവളെ എന്നും പേടിപ്പിക്കുമായിരുന്നു. രാത്രികളില്‍ ഉണര്‍ന്നിരുന്ന് ചന്ദ്രകാന്തിയില്‍ മുങ്ങി മുറ്റത്തെ പേരമരത്തിന്റെ ചുവട്ടില്‍ ഇരിക്കാനാണ് അവള്‍ക്കിഷ്ടം. പക്ഷെ വാവിന്റെ അന്ന് ചന്ദ്രന്‍ പോലും കൂട്ടിനില്ലാതെ ഒറ്റക്കിരിക്കാന്‍ അവള്‍ക്ക് ഭയം ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നു. പരീക്ഷകള്‍ അടുക്കുമ്പോള്‍ വാതില്‍ അടച്ചിരുന്നു ഒരിക്കലും അവള്‍ പഠിച്ചിട്ടില്ല. അച്ഛനോ അമ്മയോ കൂടെ ഇരിക്കും - ചോദ്യങ്ങള്‍ ചോദിച്ച്‌ പഠിക്കാന്‍ സഹായിക്കും. ആ പതിവ് ഹൈ സ്കൂളില്‍ എത്തിയപ്പോ മുതല്‍ അനിയത്തിയുടെ കൂടെ ആയി. രാത്രി അമ്മയുടെ കൂടെ ആയിരുന്നു കിടപ്പ് - അനിയത്തി വന്നതില്‍ പിന്നെ അവളുടെ കൂടെയും. ഒരു റൂമില്‍ ഒറ്റക്ക് ഒരിക്കലും ഇരിക്കേണ്ടി വന്നിട്ടില്ല - കല്യാണം കഴിയുന്ന വരെ.

കല്യാണം വളരെ മംഗളമായി തന്നെ നടത്തി. 500 - ഇല്‍ പരം വിരുന്നുകാര്‍, അസ്സല്‍ ദേഹണ്ഡം, ഹോട്ടല്‍ സാജ് ലുസിയയില്‍ reception; വീട്ടുകാരുടെ കീശയില്‍ വലിയൊരു ദ്വാരം വീണു എങ്കിലും ബന്ധക്കാരും സുഹൃത്തുക്കളും ഉല്ലസിച്ചു. പിന്നെ കെട്ടിയ കുടുംബമോ? ഗള്‍ഫില്‍ ജോലിയുള്ള പയ്യന്‍, കേമന്‍ നംബിയാര്‍ തറവാട്, ചെക്കന്‍ അച്ഛന്റെയും അമ്മയുടെയും ഒറ്റ മോന്‍ - വേറെ എന്താ വേണ്ടത്? പിന്നെയൊന്നും അച്ഛനമ്മമാര്‍ ആലോചിച്ചില്ല - മകളോട് ചോദിക്കണം എന്ന് പോലും. കല്യാണാലോചന നടത്തിയതോന്നും അവള്‍ അറിഞ്ഞില്ല. ഇപ്പോള്‍ ആലോചിക്കുമ്പോള്‍ ആ കുരങ്ങന്‍ ചന്ദു മേസ്ത്രിയെ വേണം തല്ലാന്‍. അയാളാണല്ലോ ഈ ആലോചന കൊണ്ട് വന്നത്!

ഇല്ല. അവളുടെ ഭാര്തവവളെ അടിക്കുകയില്ല. കള്ള് കുടിച്ച്‌ വന്ന്‌ ബഹളം ഉണ്ടാക്കുന്ന പരിപാടിയും ഇല്ല. സൌന്ദര്യം കുറവാണെന്ന പ്രശ്നവും ഇല്ല - നല്ല സുന്ദരക്കുട്ടപ്പനാണ് ശ്യാം. അയാളുടെ പ്രശ്നം - ആള്‍ ഭയങ്കര സീരിയസാ. ഒന്നാമത് കൊല്ലത്തില്‍ പത്തു മാസം ഗള്‍ഫില്‍. എല്ലാ ആറ് മാസം കൂടുമ്പോള്‍ ഒരിക്കല്‍ വരും. ആ വരുന്ന കാലഘട്ടത്തില്‍ ഇവിടെയെല്ലാവര്‍ക്കും അയാളെ വേണം. ഭയങ്കര പരോപകാരിയാണ്‌. കൂടാതെ electrical engineer കൂടി ആയതു കൊണ്ട് കറണ്ടിന്റെ സ്വിച്ച് കേടുവന്നാല്‍ പോലും ആള്‍ക്കാര്‍ വിളിക്കുന്നത് ശ്യാമിനെ ആണ്. അനിലയ്ക്ക് ദേഷ്യം വരാറുണ്ട് - ശ്യാം വരുമ്പോള്‍ തന്നെ ആണല്ലോ എല്ലാവര്ക്കും ഓരോ ആവശ്യം വരുന്നത്!

ഒരിക്കല്‍ രണ്ടു പേരും മുറിയില്‍ അടച്ചിരുന്നു ശ്രിങ്കരിക്കുംബോളാണ് വിളി വന്നത്. ഒത്തിരി പാടുപെട്ടാണ് ശ്യാമിനെ ഒരു റൊമാന്റിക്‌ മൂഡില്‍ എത്തിക്കാന്‍ പറ്റുക. അതിന്റെ താളം തെറ്റിയാല്‍ തിരിച്ച കൊണ്ടുവരാന്‍ എന്ത് ബുദ്ധിമുട്ട് ആണെന്നോ. രാത്രികളില്‍ ആള്‍ അടുത്തുണ്ടെങ്ങിലും ദിവസം മുഴുവന്‍ ഓടി നടന്നു പണി ചെയ്തതിന്റെ ക്ഷീണം കാണും. ചെറുപ്പം മുതല്‍ സിനിമയില്‍ കാണുന്ന സുഖകരമായ പ്രണയവും കണ്ട് വളര്‍ന്ന അനിലക്ക് ഇതൊരു വലിയ നിരാശയായിരുന്നു. ഒരു ചുരുചുറുക്കമുള്ള സ്നേഹസമ്പന്നനായ ഭര്‍ത്താവിനെ സ്വപ്നം കണ്ടയാള്‍ക്കുണ്ടോ ഈ ഉള്ളിലൊതുക്കുന്ന സ്വഭാവം ഉള്‍കൊള്ളാന്‍ കഴിയുന്നു? പിന്നെ ഗള്‍ഫില്‍ പോയി കഴിഞ്ഞാല്‍ അവള്‍ റൂമില്‍ ഒറ്റയ്ക്ക്. കൊല്ലം രണ്ട് കഴിഞ്ഞിട്ടും പേടി മാറുന്നില്ല. രാത്രി കാലങ്ങളില്‍ ഉറക്കം തീരെ കുറഞ്ഞു. പിന്നെ ശ്യാം ഉള്ളപ്പോലും അതേ സ്ഥിതിയായി. എല്ലാവരും ചുറ്റുമുണ്ട് - അമ്മായിഅമ്മ, ചേട്ടന്‍, ചേട്ടത്തി, അവരുടെ മക്കള്‍; അവര്‍ക്കെല്ലാം അനിലയെ ഇഷ്ടവും ആയിരുന്നു. പക്ഷെ ഭര്‍ത്താവു കാണിക്കാത്ത സ്നേഹം മറ്റുള്ളവര്‍ തന്നാല്‍ മതിയോ?

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സമയം രാത്രിയായി. താരകങ്ങള്‍ അവളെ നോക്കി പുഞ്ചിരിക്കുന്നു. മഞ്ഞുകാല നിശയുടെ സംഗീതവും പേറി മന്ദം മന്ദം കുളിര്‍ക്കാറ്റു വീശിത്തുടങ്ങി. ആ കാറ്റിന്റെ വിരലുകള്‍ അവളെ സ്പര്‍ശിക്കുമ്പോള്‍ അവള്‍ ശ്യാമിനെ ഓര്‍ത്തു പോയി. ഇത് പോലൊരു മഞ്ഞുകാല സന്ധ്യക്കാണ്‌ അയാള്‍ അവളെ ആദ്യമായി ചുംബിക്കുന്നത്. കല്യാണത്തിന്റെ നാല് മാസം കഴിഞ്ഞ്. രണ്ട് പേരും വരാന്തയില്‍ ഇരുന്നു സോള്ളുകയായിരുന്നു. അവളുടെ വാചാലത കാരണം ശ്യാമിന് ഒന്നും പറയാനുള്ള അവസരം ലഭിക്കുന്നില്ലായിരുന്നു. അവള്‍ സംസാരിക്കുന്നതും നോക്കി ഇരിക്കുകയായിരുന്നു ശ്യാം. ഒടുവില്‍ ഒരു മന്ദഹാസം കൊണ്ടയാള്‍ അടുത്ത് വന്ന്‌ അവളുടെ കവിളില്‍ ഒരു കൊച്ചു മുത്തം കൊടുത്തു നാണം വന്ന പോലെ എണീറ്റ്‌ പോയി. ആദ്യമായിട്ടാണ് ഇങ്ങനെ. രാത്രി പോലും ഒന്ന് കെട്ടിപ്പിടിക്കാന്‍ മടിക്കുന്നയാല്‍. ഇങ്ങനെ നാണിച് ഉള്ളില്‍ പോകുന്ന ശ്യാമിനെ കണ്ടവള്‍ക്ക് ദയയാണ് തോന്നിയത്. എനിക്കിങ്ങനെ ഒരാളെ ആണല്ലോ കിട്ടിയത് എന്നോര്‍ത്ത് ആരോടെന്നില്ലാതെ അവള്‍ പഴിച്ചു.

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ഇന്നവള്‍ക്കൊരു സണ്ടോഷവും ദുഖവും കലര്‍ന്ന ഒരു മനസ്ഥിതിയാണ്. ഗള്‍ഫിലേക്കുള്ള അവളുടെ വിസ ശരിയായി. ഭാര്തവോതവല്‍ മണല്തിരകള്‍ നിറഞ്ഞ ആ നാട്ടിലേക്ക് പറക്കുകയാണ്. ആദ്യമായിട്ടാണ് ശ്യാമിന്റെ കൂടെ ഒരു സഞ്ചാരം - പോരെങ്ങില്‍ പുതിയ നാട്, പരിചയമില്ലാത്ത നാട്ടുകാര്‍, പുതിയ ഭാഷ - എല്ലാം കോഇ അവള്‍ക്ക് ഒരു ഭയം. അമ്മയുടെ പുന്നാര മകള്‍ക്ക് ആരുമില്ലാതെ കാര്യങ്ങള്‍ നടത്താന്‍ നല്ല പേടിയുണ്ട്. ഗള്‍ഫിലുള്ള പലവരുടെയും പേരും അഡ്രസ്സും അടുത്തുള്ളവര്‍ തന്നു വെച്ചിട്ടുണ്ട്. മറുനാട്ടില്‍ ഒരു തുണക്ക് ആളുണ്ടാകുമല്ലോ.

പക്ഷെ അവളുടെ ആകങ്ക്ഷ അതിലും വലുതായിരുന്നു. ഇത് വരെ ശ്യാമിന്റെ വീട്ടുകരോത്ത)യിരുന്നതിനാല്‍ ഭര്‍ത്താവിന്റെ കുറ്റവും കുറവും അനുഭവപ്പെട്ടിരുന്നില്ല. അവളുടെ പ്രശ്നങ്ങള്‍ ശ്യാമും അറിയേണ്ടി വന്നിട്ടില്ല. ഇനി എല്ലാം ഒറ്റക്ക്... ഞങ്ങള്‍ രണ്ട് പേര്‍ മാത്രം... ആലോചിക്കാന്‍ തന്നെ വയ്യ. പക്ഷെ divorce നെ പറ്റിയൊന്നും ചിന്ടിക്കാന്‍ പറ്റില്ലല്ലോ. എന്ത് കാരണം പറയും...?

Luggage ന് clearance കിട്ടി കഴിഞ്ഞ് boarding pass -ഉം മേടിച്ചു അവര്‍ terminus -ലേക്ക് നടന്നു. യാന്ദ്രികമെന്ന പോലെ അവള്‍ സാമാനവും തൂക്കി പിടിച്ച് എന്തൊക്കെയോ ആലോചിച്ചു നടക്കാന്‍ തുടങ്ങി. പിന്നില്‍ അമ്മയും അമ്മായിഅമ്മയും ഒക്കെ കരയുന്നുണ്ട്. അവളുടെയും കണ്ണുകള്‍ നിറഞ്ഞു വരുന്നുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. പക്ഷെ ശ്യാമിന്റെ മുഖത്ത് ഒരു വികാരവും കാണുന്നില്ല. അവള്‍ക്കത്തില്‍ അത്ഭുതം തോന്നി. എല്ലാ പ്രാവശ്യവും ഗള്‍ഫിലേക്ക് തിരിക്കുമ്പോള്‍ വലിയ സങ്ങടം കാണുമല്ലോ. ഇപ്പൊ എന്താ ഇങ്ങനെ പതിവില്ലാത്ത ഒരു മൂകത?

വിമാനത്തില്‍ കയറി economy ക്ലാസ്സില്‍ നടുക്കത്തെ രണ്ട് സീറ്റില്‍ അവര്‍ കയറി ഇരുന്നു. അവള്‍ ജനലിനോട്‌ ചേര്‍ന്നുള്ള സീറ്റ്‌ എടുത്തു. സൂര്യന്‍ ഒരു ചുവന്ന nഗോളം പോലെ കിഴക്കേ ചക്രവാളത്തില്‍ ഉണരുകയാണ്. ഇത് അവളുടെ പുതിയ ജീവിതത്തിന്റെ തുടക്കം ആണ്. പ്രതീക്ഷകള്‍ ഉണ്ടാകുന്നതു ശരിയാണോ എന്നറിയാതെ അവളുടെ മനസ്സ് പിടഞ്ഞു. ശരിയാണ്. അമ്മ പറഞ്ഞ പോലെ അവളുടെ ഭര്‍ത്താവിന്റെ ഉള്ളു മുഴുവന്‍ സ്നേഹം ആണ്. അവളെ ശ്യാമിന് ഒരുപാട് ഇഷ്ടമാണ്. ഈ കഴിഞ്ഞ മൂന്നു കൊല്ലത്തില്‍ തന്റെ ആവശ്യങ്ങളില്‍ ഒരു കുറവും വരുത്തിയിട്ടില്ല. അവള്‍ ഷോപ്പിംഗ്‌ ന് പോകുമ്പോള്‍ കൂടെ പോരുന്നില്ലെങ്ങിലും "ആവശ്യത്തിനു കാശേടുതോ? ഇല്ലെങ്ങില്‍ ദാ" എന്ന് പറഞ്ഞു കാശെടുത്ത് തരും. എന്നാലും അനിലക്ക് ത്രുപ്തിയിലയിരുന്നു. ഭര്‍ത്ഹൃസ്നേഹത്തെ പറ്റി ഒരുപാട് സങ്കല്പിച്ചു കൂടിയിട്ടുണ്ട്, അതൊന്നും എളുപ്പം മാറ്റാനും ഒക്കുന്നില്ല. ങ്ങാ, ഇനി വരുന്നതൊക്കെ സഹിച്ചല്ലെ പറ്റു.

വിമാനം പറന്നുയര്‍ന്നു. അകന്നകന്നു പോകുന്ന സ്വന്തം നാടിനെ നോക്കി അവളൊരു നെടുവീര്‍പ്പിട്ടു. അപ്പുറത്തെ സീറ്റില്‍ ഒരു പെണ്‍കുട്ടി ഭര്‍ത്താവിന്റെ തോളില്‍ തല ചായ്തി കരയുന്നുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. അവള്‍ക്കും അങ്ങനെ സ്വന്തം മനസ്സിന്റെ ഭാരം ഒന്ന് ഇറക്കി വെയ്ക്കണം എന്നുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. പക്ഷെ എങ്ങനെ തുടങ്ങണം എന്നറിയില്ല. അപ്പോളാണ് ശ്യാം അവളുടെ നോട്ടം ശ്രദ്ധിക്കുന്നത് അവള്‍ കണ്ടത്. ആ ദമ്പതിമാരെ കണ്ടിട്ട് അയാള്‍ക്കും എന്ടോ തോന്നിയ മട്ടുണ്ട്. അനിലയുടെ മടിയില്‍ ഇരുന്ന അവളുടെ കൈയിന്റെ മുകളില്‍ അയാള്‍ സ്വന്തം കൈ വെച്ചു. അനില ഞെട്ടി ശ്യാമിനെ നോക്കി. ഒരു ചോദ്യചിഹ്നമെന്നു പോലെയുള്ള അവളുടെ നോട്ടം കണ്ടിട്ട് അയാള്‍ക്ക് ചിരി വന്നു.

"പേടിക്കണ്ട. ഇനി നമുക്കൊരു പുതിയ ജീവിതം തുടങ്ങാം. നീയും ഞാനും നമുക്കുണ്ടാകാന്‍ പോകുന്ന കുഞ്ഞും മാത്രം. വീട്ടില്‍ എല്ലാവരുടെയും മുമ്പില്‍ വെച്ചു നിന്നോട് ശ്രിങ്കരിക്കാന്‍ മടിയായിരുന്നു എപ്പോളും. അവിടെ എല്ലാവര്ക്കും ഞാന്‍ ഒരു ഗൌരവക്കാരന്‍ ആണ്. അത് അങ്ങനെ തന്നെ ഇരിക്കട്ടെ. പിന്നെ ഭാര്യ ആളെ മാറെടുത്തു എന്നൊന്നും കേള്‍ക്കണ്ടല്ലോ. പക്ഷെ ഇനി നമ്മള്‍ ചെല്ലാന്‍ പോകുന്നയിടത് എനിക്കൊരു hero ഇമേജ് ആണ്. അതാനെനിക്കും ഇഷ്ടം. നിന്നെയും അത് സന്തോഷിപ്പിക്കും എന്നെനിക്കറിയാം."

ഇത്രെയും പറഞ്ഞ് ശ്യാം അനിലയുടെ നെറ്റിയില്‍ ചുംബിച്ചുകൊണ്ട് കൈകള്‍ ഭദ്രമായി പിടിച്ചു. അവളുടെ ചുണ്ടിലൊരു ചിരി വിടര്‍ന്നു - കണ്ണുകളില്‍ ആനന്ദാശ്രുക്കള്‍ നിറഞ്ഞു. ഉയര്‍ന്നു വരുന്ന സൂര്യന്‍ അവളുടെ സന്തോഷത്ല്‍ പങ്കു ചെരുയാനെന്നു തോന്നി. ഹാവും നിരാശയുടെ അന്ധകാരം മാച്ച് ആശയുടെ വെളിച്ചവും കൊണ്ട് സൂര്യന്‍ അവളെ സമീപിക്കുന്ന പോലെ അവള്‍ക്ക്‌ തോന്നി. ശ്യാമിന്റെ തോളില്‍ ചാരി അവള്‍ കണ്ണടച്ചു.

Ajit’s dilemma

(July 2010)

‘What can be said of a man who loves a woman and is loved by another? That he is a lucky bastard. That he can have his cake and eat it too. And that he definitely is the most laid person around me.’

“Quit mocking my situation, Rahul. This is serious. I don’t know what to do. I love Suma. I really do. But I care a lot for Sahana. I can’t seem to let go of her. I need her as much as I need Suma. And I know that’s not right. I mean, I’m not doing full justice to any of us three in the process, right?”

“Ajit, you are reading too much into the situation. I think you should just enjoy the liberty you have right now and just, you know, go with the flow,” Rahul took a drag from his cigarette. “Bloody lucky bastard, I’d say. I haven’t had a single girl after me, nor have I felt real true love for anyone,” he sighed.

“You are damn too rational about this. But somehow I can’t, and I am going with the flow, if you haven’t yet noticed. But I feel terrible about it sometimes. I feel like I’m cheating myself, Suma as well as Sahana. I don’t want to do it, but I end up doing it, and then…”

“Cut the crap, dude. I’m damn sleepy right now. What I don’t understand is why you start all this right after two drinks, and spoil my fun too. Blah! Good night, and happy thinking!” Rahul turned on the bed and went to sleep. Ajit was left wondering to himself.

* * *

“Sahana, please, try and understand. I cannot, I am not able to fall in love with you. Don’t push me so hard. I’ll give up. I’m already under too much pressure.”

“Aji you just… don’t understand. No, you refuse to accept me for some stupid prejudice of yours. ‘You’re not the right woman for me.’ What nonsense! Tell me one woman who has understood you and your needs so well and supported you on everything. You go on saying true love is loving the person who loves you, and when such a person is there for you, you don’t want to accept that. I’m just so exasperated. I love you so dearly that I can’t give you up so easily. I don’t know what to call our relationship. I have done so much for you, and you don’t want to acknowledge that and…”

“Please don’t tell me I don’t acknowledge your love or things you do for me. I really really appreciate all that and I have always told you that. But I cannot fall in love with you. You don’t evoke that special feeling in me. You make me comfortable, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and you’re awesome in bed… but that doesn’t make love, please try to understand,” his voice was getting more and more gruffy. “And, I’m warning you, if you want to keep testing my limits, let us cut off this relation right away. Let us be just good neighbours and leave each other alone.”

“That’s nothing less than threat, and Mr Ajit Prasad, I’m not gonna take that from you. No one tells me what to feel and how!” Sahana picked up her bag and got up. “But one final word. I love you more dearly than life itself, and you can’t change that.” And she walked off, leaving Ajit with his head between his hands.

* * *

“Do you want a coffee? I’m gonna grab a cup…”

“Yeah sure. Do you have a smoke too?”

Sahana’s laughter rang in her bedroom. “What, post-coital cigarette, eh?”

Ajit laughed too. “If you wanna call it by such a technical name, fine!”

“There, on the shelf. The lighter’s next to it, and the ash-tray is under the bed. I’ll make the coffee.”

Ajit’s phone rang. It was Suma.

“Sahana, don’t speak, okay? It’s Suma calling.”

“Oh yeah, I’m not here, you’re not with me. Understad, understand, sir.” She laughed again, and went into the kitchen.

“Yeah, tell me honey. What’s up?”

* * *

“So, what do you think?”

“Yeah, suits you, but you can look much better.”

“This is the best I could do. I wasn’t ready to go for complete colouring. I thought this light burgundy shade looked charming. And you give such a lukewarm response!” Sahana cried.

“Honey, honey, you look awesome. I just said you have more potential! You’re a very charming woman, and I want people to know that. Come on, I’m buying you some funky attire. How about trying out the new stuff at Lifestyle? Laika was saying there are some trendy things there. Might suit you.”

“Okay okay. Whatever you say.”

“Listen, it’s not about you obeying me here, okay? It’s about getting you a light makeover. Just a touch-up, actually, but something that’ll make you stand out in the crowd.”

“Makeover, yeah that’s right,” she smiled. “I love you, Aji. I love you so much.”

Aji returned the smile. “Let’s go, my pretty pie. Hop on to the bike.”

* * *

“Suma, you’re sure we’re doing the right thing? I mean, isn’t this too sudden for you? You haven’t even got over Vasishth yet… and then marrying me… you know how I am situated. With Sheela’s studies still going on and mom down in the hospital every month, I don’t know if I can…”

“Ajit, I am not worried about the finances. I have a good amount of savings, and of course I’ll work after marriage too. I have no issues with you giving off all your salary at your home. And then about Vasu. The earlier I forget him the better. Don’t worry I’m not using you as a rebound. I actually want to settle down with you. You’re the one for me, I’m convinced. I want to know if you are fine. Anyone you’re involved with, or anything that doesn’t appeal to you? I mean, do you think I’ll be good enough for you?”

“Oh God, listen to you talk! I… listen, I know I never told you, but… but I love you. With all my heart. I can die for you. You tell me when do you want me to come and meet your mother?”

“Aji… you’re such a sweetheart. Make that this weekend. I assume there won’t be any problem from your side?”

“Not at all. My mother’ll be happy to hear I chose you. She’s always been a little partial to you among all my female friends.”

“Oh!” Suma blushed. “Very nice, my future husband, then drop the call for now. I have work at eight in the morning, and oh my God, it’s two a.m. now! Sleep, sleep, sleep, idiot!”

“Hahaha… okay Sumi. Good night. Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams, Aji.”

* * *

“So you’ve made the final choice now.”

“Yes.”

“There’s no going back?”

“There is no need to. Not for me.”

“And what about me?”

“You already know I’m never going to marry you and give you a life you dream of. I have made that quite clear many times, I’m sure.”

“Yes you have, definitely. You and I are together on a ‘no-strings-attached’ basis. And all that only because I, the bloody fool, am in love with you. Ever occurred to you that you could be just taking advantage of me?”

“Fuck you, Sana. I thought we already discussed this. I am not in love with you. But I can’t let go of you. You are more than a friend, much more. I need you like the water I drink eight times a day. You said you understand that. You said you wouldn’t accuse me of using you. You said you’ll be okay. Damn it, Sana!”

Sahana broke down. “Okay, sorry sorry. I am sorry. It’s just that sometimes I just snap. I don’t know what I’m saying. Or rather, it all comes out in bitterness, and then it’s over, and then… I don’t understand. We make such an awesome pair. Why not?”

“Because I love Suma. More than I care for you. She’s the one for me, Sana. You and I are a mismatch. You’ll realize it when you get over your obsession.”

… Sahana was crying bitterly. Ajit made no attempt to soothe her. He walked over to the shelf and took out a cigarette and sent swirls of smoke up at the fan in her bedroom. Then he picked up his clothes and went into the bathroom. She looked after him, gave out a long sigh and wiped her tears. In front of the mirror, she felt her face. She started out as if she was beginning to cry, but suddenly smiled. “Not so easily, not so soon. I know he’ll be back. He and I cannot stay off each other, I know it. This chapter’s not closing so easily, honey. I am not losing my love any sooner.”

* * *

“What is Sahana’s PAN card doing in your laptop bag?”

“Oh that? She gave it to me so I can fill in her bank form when I go there tomorrow. She doesn’t stay in Nashik, remember?”

“Then can’t she come down and do it herself some other day? Why do you have to do it for her?”

“Suma? What’s wrong with you? I keep doing odd chores for her anyway!”

“Stop doing that now. She’s not a baby. Let her handle her own things. She wants to take you with her for shopping, she wants your opinion on the dress she’s bought, she buys little nothings for you from everywhere she goes… I think she’s in love with you.”

“Oh Suma, you don’t know her for as many years as I do, that’s why. Or wait… you’re being jealous! Suma!”

“I know, I know, we spoke about this. You have a hefty lot of female friends, and I have to get used to it. But Sahana seems different from your other friends. I don’t like the feeling she gives me when we three are together.”

“Come on, give that girl a chance. You just met her once. You’re being…”

“You are being defensive about her. I don’t like that too.”

Ajit looked at her. He moved forward to hug her, but she shrugged it off.

“Pack your bags fast, mister. The bus is at 9.”

* * *

It wasn’t a small gathering. Sahana’s friends, collegemates, professors and schoolteachers, the nuns and fathers from her orphanage. Ajit sat in a corner, as if set in stone. One of her professors walked up to him.

“Ajit? I’m Naseema. Sahana used to refer to you as her local guardian. It is so unfortunate. I mean, a road accident… very very unlucky, poor girl. Her parents died in the same way. She was saved in that accident. Only to die in another one, 24 years later…. The Lord has his own ways…”

“Yes ma’am. He has. She was a lovely girl. Thanks for your condolences. Can you please write something about her on that golden sheet over there? She wanted me to maintain a scrap of writing from all those who attend her most important ritual after 24. She wanted it to be the wedding, but… thanks.”

The lady moved off, unsure of how to take the bluntness in Ajit’s voice. Rahul came around to him, noticing his stone-cut look.

“Listen, take it easy. It’s not your fault. She’s made it clear in her letter, right? She couldn’t get over you, she was incapable of moving on. There’s no point in you dejecting over…”

“Shut up, Rahul. You’ve always been very pragmatic. I cannot be. She chose to die with my memories rather than give me up. She bloody took that accident on her because she realized Suma didn’t like her being friends with me. She couldn’t let go of me. She fucking loved me like no one ever did. And I couldn’t give it to her. I couldn’t even make her feel better. Maybe I contributed to make her feel like a slut. ‘No strings attached’, my foot! There were strings all over the place, and all of them were invisible. I fucking took a long time to realize that. I had too much on my dish and I couldn’t clear it up sooner. It is my fault, damn it!” His voice resonated in the silent hall. Everyone turned to look at him. He sat down quietly again.

“Go sign the sheet, Rahul. She’d love to know what you think of her. Do write what you always used to say – ‘you’re bloody lucky Ajit. She’s so fucking pretty.’”

‘What can you say of a man who loved two women at the same time and could never decide whom to keep and whom to wave goodbye to? That he was confused. That he should have made a strong decision sooner. That he shouldn’t have waited till one of his women died. That, my friends, is the tragedy of the bitch called love.’

* * *

Sally’s weekend

(June 2010)

Most of my weekends are spent waiting for someone to remember me. Meanwhile, I wander about the house, or my little cosy garden, tidying their little corners and searching for pending work. Usually, Rachel might call and say she wants to go out shopping or pay up some bills. Whether I have some work outdoors or not, I tag along. She seems to derive some comfort talking to me about the house, the people, the works. I let her babble on, as my eyes wander along the roads, shopping malls and restaurants. There are families, children, couples, college students, boys, girls, middle-aged people, oldies - all around with someone or the other they trust and like. Rachel and I like each other’s company. We have similar interests in conversation. We have common topics to chat about.

And when she’s not in town or if she’s doing that weekend shift at work, I am alone again. I wait for someone to call. There’s Anaita, or James, who could call. Or I wait for someone to send me a text message. Why didn’t Charlie, Amelia or Stanley remember me yet? I watch a movie, listen to some songs, cook somthing. Stare at the mobile every third minute. No. No one’s called. There’s no text either. Nobody remembers me yet.

Finally boredom overtakes my self-respect, and I text Stanley. “Hey, what’s up?” Immediately comes the reply: “Oh darling, I was just thinking of you. The weather’s so romantic. Shall I come over? Are you free?” I am disgusted. I reply: “Oh boy, no dear, I’m not at home actually. Travelling to the grandpa’s. So sorry sweets. Catch you later!” No reply from the other side. Opportunists.

I call Harris. His phone’s engaged. I don’t have much hopes about him returning the call. So finally, I stop seeking out the men and decide to check on what my girlfriends are up to. Amelia picks the call and says: “Hey sweetheart, my dad’s given me some work. I got to finish it today. I’ll call you back by evening?” All right, all right, busybee.

I don’t have the courage for more rejections. I feel dejected. And I get back to the garden and the house. There is no lack of work around, but I keep wishing there was someone to help me out. I wait for 48 hours. And a new working week begins. Until another weekend looms. Until another 48 hours of waiting….

It's your turn - a short story (2004)

“Do I have to stay here all my life?” She questioned me with such innocence that I couldn’t restrain my tears. Every young girl who has come under me has asked me the same question. And every opportunity, I have told them, “You don’t have to, dear, you don’t have to.”

It has been 18 years since I am into the profession, and I’ve seen all sorts of lucky and unlucky girls. The lucky ones had their saviours sweeping them off to safer places, while others have stayed on to rot in the squalor. Like me.

“What do I call you?” the girl was asking.

Everyone around me has called me ‘amma’ these eight years. Eight years. That is too long a time. Eight years ago, our old ‘amma’ was on her death-bed and she had told me, “You’ll be the next amma.” Amma. The name commands respect and embodies motherly love. But how many can actually feel and exhibit these, under the circumstances? I did not like out old amma, I just feared her. It is as likely that these girls now feel the same way about me. Not that it is some job I like. But I am helpless. I can do nothing at all, for I am chained. Chained to the wills of those around me. Amma is the matron, not the Chief. She will never be one.

I clearly remember the day I was brought here. I was drugged by a man in the train. The tragedy struck when I was on my way to Vellore from my village in Trichy, to study medicine. I had secured 96% in my PUC and was the first girl in the village to go for an MBBS degree. My father has prepared to send me to Vellore, to my paternal aunt’s house, but not without vehement protests from the elders of the village.

The entire village had got together to organize a ‘sabha’ and threatened to expel our entire family if I were to study further in such a distant place. Was it not enough that a girl had been allowed to study so much further while she should be learning to cook and clean, that now she should be permitted to go so far away from her parents and pursue a life on her own? they argued.

But my father was a staunch believer in women’s rights and he stood up against the whole village. One by one the villagers were convinced about his resolute purpose and irrefutable arguments. All for the sake of his dear daughter in whom he believed. Whom he dreamt of as dressed in white, serving the patients in the nearby Government hospital. And what an ill luck that he should be sick on the day of departure and that she should travel alone. Shattering this dreams and now serving….

When I opened my eyes, I was in a well-decked cot, complete with garlands of roses and mogras. I was bewildered. “Where am I?” “What is going on?” “Am I dreaming?” As I wondered on, the doors to the room opened and a big burly figure strode up to me. I cowered and withdrew myself a few steps.

But those firm hands caught hold of me, and what happened later was only a subconscious memory. O! The agony of the moment! Even after 18 years, I shudder at the thought of it – the struggle, the screams, the shame.

And for hours thereafter, I was totally unaware if what was going on. For two days. I lay in a semi-doped state, begging pardon of my father and shouting for help. And I remember a tight slap across my cheeks. Then I slipped into the unconscious again, waking up only the next morning.

Amma came and talked to me, telling me I had no option but to stay on. And I was an absolute stranger to the city of Mumbai. The city where street oys turn into Bollywood stars. Where crores are spent everyday on entertainment. Where a boy washing a car today would be driving one years later.

But the red light area is always a prison; cordoned off from the city life and yet so close of the people in it, entertaining men irrespective of caste and religions, people from all walks of life. And yet…

God! I just cannot dwell on our position in this wretched society. Unwanted, and yet in demand. Scorned by the members of the same gender that should understand us. Looked down upon by the same gender that uses us. Hmph!

Anyway, life has to go on. There is someone at the door already. Oh! It is 8 o’clock! Business will perk up. “O Saraswati! Isn’t it your turn first?”

Pilgrimage: A short story

One
Pilgrimage.

A journey into the depths of faith within you.

Nothing to do with the external traversal.

Anu did not don the pretence of that long journey. No, she wasn't going to any shrine or temple. Just visiting her homeland after a long long time. A time long as the separation of the atma from the Paramatma, perhaps.

She tried to equate her journey to the pilgrimage for the umpteenth time. Why am I becoming so philosophical, she asked herself, again, for the umpteenth time. Of course this just had to happen. A visit back home after 30 long years was no joke.

If I had been as alienated from my roots as the other Malayalis in the North, it would have been just a tedious trip to a place you don't relate to, just for the sake of performing duties, or as a service to the ageing parents/ grandparents. But she was always the scary true-blue Keralite. Mouths the language like she was in the state all her life, writes in the language, and knows so much about Kerala. So unlike her fellow north-brought up 'Mallu's, many of who could not even say 'Malayalam' properly. Who spoke with an accent, "Enikku Malayalam kurachu kurachu ariyam (I know a little Malayalam)."

I wanted to be like them at a point of time. I wished my mother was not so strictly Keralite. I hoped I would not meet any more Malayalis so that I would gradually forget the language. But that never happened. She kept meeting Mallus from Kerala who longed to find someone who could converse freely in the language, and were always delighted to be with her. She could not escape them, wherever she went. Her friends called her the Mallu Magnet.

Now she realised what God had been doing to her. Guiding her to her real roots. Where she should be. Like the streams that should empty into the river and the river into the ocean, she should end at her journey at the soil, the waters of her homeland. Her long-lost homeland. The homeland she ever ignored, avoided.

Two
It wasn't her fault. She was born in Mumbai, then Bombay, and shifted to Pune for studies and work. She had never been outside Maharashtra except for 15-day visit to her hometown of Thrissur once in every five years. Then she got married. To another 'Mallu' settled in Mumbai, Rohit Menon. Her husband was so disconnected with Kerala that in their married life of 25 years, they never even talked of going to Kerala. Whenever she mentioned it in passing, he'd be annoyed. "Don't try your Malluism on me, Anu", he'd say. "I have no connections with that place except that my grandparents grew up there. For God's sake, even my parents have nothing to do with that communist land anymore!" Anu never bothered to carry the argument further. She wasn't very keen either.

Till when her younger child, Trisha, 7, once asked her a simple question in her usual language of English. Anu was brushing Trisha's hair after her evening bath.

"Mamma, why don't we speak Malyalam like Sangeetha does? She says it's bad if we are from Kerala and we can't speak Malyalam."
"O baby, that's ok. We are not from Kerala anyway, mamma's born and brought up in Maharashtra, and so is dada."
"But mamma, we cannot be Marathis, mamma. Sonu says anybody belongs to the place where their ancestors are from. And she says ancestors means our parents' parents' parents. So we are Malyalis no?"
"What do you kids do in school, huh? Discuss ancestral issues? Stop this rubbish and complete your homework."

But that night as she lay beside Rohit, an old Malayalam song suddenly came to her mind. Maamalakalk appurathu, marathaka pattuduthu malayalam ennoru naadundu, kochu... It was her father's favourite song and he listened to it on his old tape recorder even the day before he died. There is a land of Malayalam across the beautiful hills, that wears an emerald sari... Was it her land? Did she belong there?

When Raj Thackeray kicked up a row about Maharashtrians and outsiders, some of her 'outsider' friends had launched into an argument whether he was right or not. Did Mumbai make them, or did the people make Mumbai? She had felt very strange then. An urgent need to run towards the south. But Rohit showed no tension. He proudly proclaimed in their company's annual party, "I was born and brought up here. I am a Mumbaikar. I do not know Kerala; but I can take you to any corner of Maharashtra without hesitation." She could not share that sentiment, but smiled anyway.

Her children had many 'Mallu' friends, and they picked up some words very typical of Kerala. Da, pinne, poda, patti, amma, chetta, maashe, etc. She was surprised. But she noticed that they did not use it with her or Rohit. Trisha would mouth them unwittingly at times, and Rohit would look at me with critical eyes; but Anoop was very careful. She noticed that he had learnt many words and phrases, and heard them using to his friends on the phone. Later she discovered that his girlfriend was his motivation. But anyway, he had learnt because he wanted to. Trisha just picked up from her friends and her brother.

She felt so out of touch with herself. One night, Rohit was in Nagpur on an official tour, and she lay on the bed all alone, without his body greedy for hers. She thought of her self. What have I become? Just another 'homemaker'. A fashionable word for the same old job. She was a qualified lab technician, but she wouldn't work because Rohit adored her as a housewife. "You cook so damn well. You know Anu, Sumit's wife can't even make omelettes without burning them. He cooks at home, can you believe it? Whatever you say about women's emancipation and all that shit, you can't cook? That's ridiculous. What did you do all your life?"

Wasn't it the same me who smiled at that exclamation who once slapped a guy in the college for saying that his mother 'did nothing, just sat at home'. Wasn't it the same Anu who broke up with a gem of a boyfriend because he refused to learn to cook? Where did all that idealism go? What happened to the young energetic girl who knew a lot about the world, talked beyond her age, and had great ideas for society?

She sat up straight. No. I cannot be so servile to Rohit. I have to start using my own brains. I am not being the smug housewife. I have to shake it off me.

Three
She started reading again. Unnoticed by Rohit, she read Shashi Deshpande and Amrita Pritam, Simone de Beauvoir and Jean Paul Sartre, Shakespeare and Milton. She started going online and joined a couple of forums on Women's NGOs. She actively participated in forum discussions. Finally, she met Ananth.

He ran an NGO in Pune that worked for the working women facing domestic violence. She got highly involved with the work of 'Saccha Ghar', and also with Ananth. He was a Malayali who never forgot his roots. He could read and write Malayalam, and also wrote articles for Matrubhumi and some Malayalam magazines. She started spending more and more time out of home. Rohit started noticing this. But he never questioned her. The ridge between them widened each day, and they pretended not to notice. His tours increased, the nights they spent away from each other became more.

When Anu started first met Ananth after an online discussion, she already had enough free time, two teenage kids who were happy not to have a full-time at-home mother, a perpetually touring husband, and a two-wheeler at her disposal. Both of them were already quite impressed by each other in the virtual world, and the meeting only strengthened the impression. After a long time, she had someone to talk about Kerala, feminism, and life. Rohit had never been an intellectual partner, but then she had never realised her need for intellectual stimulation. Within three months' time she was sleeping with him too.

One night, Anu did not come back home. She was at Ananth's place, and Rohit, who was expected to return from a tour the next evening, came back to find the house lady-less. He called her mobile—switched off. The next morning she walked into the house to find Rohit really angry.

"Where were you all night?"

Anu hadn't expected him home. She fumbled for a credible answer.
"I told the kids..."
"Fuck the kids! Did you tell me? Who are you answerable to?"

Anu was enraged.
"Mind your words, Rohit. And I am not answerable to anyone!"
"Oh, that so? Then you may leave my house. I pay for the people here."
"Does that mean you have bought us?"

The voices were raised. Trisha was home, and she peeped out from her room.
"Mind what you are saying. If I leave you..."
"The hell it will make any difference. I can sustain myself, and my kids too! Thanks for feeding us all these years!"

Both Rohit and Trisha seemed a little taken aback. She turned to Trisha, "Do you want to come with me or stay back here with this fool?"

Trisha didn't know what to say. She just withdrew into her room and locked the door. Probably she picked up the phone to call up her brother.

As Rohit watched in shocked silence, Anu picked up some of her clothes, books and purse and started walking out.
"Is your man waiting for you outside, you bitch?"

Anu gave him a killing look. "He doesn't have to. He knows I can come on my own. I am a woman, no baby."

And she walked away.

Rohit looked perplexed. He did not understand those cryptic last words.

Four
She went to Ananth's place and told him all that happened. He smiled.
"Now what? Are we live-in partners? I'm game."
"No. Before we start that, I have some things to do. A divorce to take. And then a purification."

Ananth had a questioning look.
"I'll tell you what I have in mind. Let's have food first. I'm damn hungry!"

She had decided on the way to Ananth's place what to do with her life now. She'd take a divorce first. If Rohit refuses a mutual divorce, she'll fight for one on the basis that she has fallen in love with Ananth. And that she can't live with Rohit anymore. The children could be a problem. They have the right to decide since both are above 18. Maybe there won't be a 'for the children stay together' jazz in this age. That should or out fine. Trisha may understand her, Anoop may not. Or neither might. Or, best, both would. They could stay with her and Ananth, or with Rohit. Let them have their choice. Anoop has a girlfriend, Trisha has a boyfriend. They'll get over the divorce soon enough. Life's so much easier with the true partner.

The next thing was a visit to Kerala. Meet the old relatives, go around old homes, write about them, maybe stay there for some months, and feel like a Malayali....

Five
And that is how she finally headed to Kerala. With Ananth. She went to Thrissur, her native place, visited all her aunts and uncles, who were in fact happy to hear that 'the Kerala hating son-in-law' was finally off her.

It wasn't easy though.

Anoop, now an earning software engineer, decided to stay on his own with his girlfriend whom he's marrying soon, while Trisha wanted to stay with Anu. She also wanted to go to Delhi to do her Masters in Film Making.

My kids have grown up, Anu thought. Now I can afford to break free. Ananth came at the right time.

Her pilgrimage made complete sense now.

She was going back to cleanse herself of her subservience to an indifferent husband. She was going back to remove the sin of ignoring her motherland from within her, and reviving her love for Kerala. She was going with someone who identified with her devotion to the land. She had reached the purpose of her life.

Ananth and she started a Root Awareness for Keralites group when they returned three months later. She had the support of several of her relatives settled in Pune, whom she never knew. The group taught Malayalam, spoken as well as reading and writing, and held open forums and seminars on Kerala culture, traditions and Arts. They grew through the years.

Once Trisha returned from Delhi, she too became active in it, making short movies for the group.

Anoop came along when he got time, though he still seemed to resist being with Ananth.

Ananth, who gradually gave the entire management of RAK to Anu was always there when needed. His Sacha Ghar gained power with the Domestic Violence Act in place.

And, God gave them more challenges, but for Anu Kerala always remained the holy land. Her pilgrimage centre which she never missed now. Her purpose on earth was achieved. She was ready for eternal life now.