Crimson

Sitting on a pedestal, she looked at the reflection in the mirror that stood in front of her. She watched herself as she delicately brushed her long, raven black hair that tumbled down to her waist. She put down the hairbrush and picked up the Kohl pencil. She bent forward and started lining her eyelids. She rubbed away the excess from the corners of her eyes and then took a bit of foundation and dabbed it over the skin under her eyes to hide the dark circles. She took some foundation and applied it on her cheeks and then on the blue bruises that had started to appear on her neck and near her collarbone. She applied lipstick, a bright, crimson shade that complimented her pale, fair skin and then applied perfume behind her ears and on either side of her neck,  near her shoulders. She stood up and winced, the pain reminding her of the ravenous events of the previous night.

She readjusted her blouse, that was so low cut that a bigger part of her cleavage could be seen through the semi - transparent cream coloured sari that hugged her sides suggestively. She readjusted her hair and let it fall over her right shoulder. She looked at the clock above the door. She still had ten minutes to herself. She sighed and walked across the room and touched the black grills of the window. She peeked outside, peeked at the hawkers sitting on the pavement on the opposite side. She watched the men sitting on a small, broken wooden bench, enjoying cups of tea and watched the rings of smoke that rose from their lit cigarettes. She watched a little girl holding the hand of her mother who was busy haggling with one of the hawkers, creating enough din to scare away the crows that were sitting near the railings only moments ago. She scrutinized the little girl, watched how her eyes fleeted across her mother and the hawker. After a minute,  she kicked a pebble and let it fly on to the tarred road. She smiled at the child and realized that she bore some resemblance to her own little sister. She wondered how she was. Was she safe? Was she still going to school? Did her parents sell her off too? She fervently hoped that fate had been kinder to her sister.

She heard a sharp knock on her door. She heaved a sigh. She dragged her feet towards the other end of the room. As soon as she opened the door, she was greeted by the stench of alcohol. She led him to the bed in the centre of the room and laid down over the green quilt. The mattress creaked as he got on top of her. She could smell the faint scent of cigarettes in his breath. She stared at the cracks on the white ceiling. She closed her eyes.

The Homemaker

"I bring food to the table.  What do you do? Sitting at home,  all day long,  what would you know how it is to be in my position?" She listened to his words that reverberated inside of her. She hid a tear as it accidentally escaped from her right eye and brushed it away. She turned around and resumed chopping the vegetables. Yes, she spent the whole day at home, working in a kitchen with poor ventilation and wasted hours dusting the furnitures. She had nothing better to do.

She remembered what her parents said to her the day they fixed their marriage.  "Marry him. He comes from a decent family. He earns a good salary. He will keep you comfortably." "Job? What job? Why would you need a job? Well, your job is to stay at home and look after your family. I can't spend any more money on your education", he said to his 20 year old daughter who had spent her entire childhood reading in a government run school.

She was reduced to the position of a housewife,  a crude, demeaning version of the word 'homemaker'. Unlike proper jobs, she received no salary, she worked throughout the day, kept the needs of her family ahead of hers and never got a vacation either. Of course, that's an awful thing to be in this century. It requires no skills and no degree. There's no glory and there's no pride in it.  How could there be? Her family didn't appreciate her. She was taken for granted. Growing up in a joint family which favoured a son, her needs were always secondary;  her requests flicked away as childish wilms. She got married to the son of a 'modern' family where she faced another sort of hypocrisy. The daughters were encouraged and the wives were pinned down under the weight of responsibilities.
Throughout her life, she had others to make her choices, take her decisions.  She was reduced to a mere puppet, the strings controlled by hands that often changed. "This is your fate. Accept it." "This is your fault. Face it.You never had a strong personality." She looked for a solution; she received preaching. She looked for support, she received nothing.

She wanted her own identity. She longed for individuality. She wanted no one's sympathy. She needed no pity. She wanted to be her own saviour. And today, she became it. She put down the knife, wiped away her tears and turned around. "I have had enough," she thought. It was her turn now. 

Matters Of The Heart

It was 1:30 and in the last two hours, he had barely solved 7 problems. He was sitting hunched over a book on 'Multivariable Calculus And Differential Equations'. In the silence that surrounded him, there was nothing to distract him.  Yet, his pen was lying on the table and his head was resting on his left hand. In the copy in front of him,  there were scribbles and lines scratched out. At the top right corner of the battered copy, there was a doodle.  A pair of eyes stared back at him. He was good at sketching but even the beautiful eyes that stared at him seemed dull in comparison to HER eyes. Her beautiful,  beautiful eyes. Lined with kohl, they seemed to be the prettiest eyes that he had ever laid eyes on. Her dimpled smile was just as heartbreakingly beautiful. When she laughed, he would hold his breath and listen. Just listen to the sweet sound which made his heart grow warm. She had raven black hair that fell down in ringlets on either side of her narrow face. Sometimes she would braid it, other times she would let her hair fall down to her waist.

They were good friends. They were classmates and sometimes bunked boring lectures to catch a movie or sit in a small cafe and talk. Hours would pass by but their stories would never end. He loved the sound of her voice, but it was her stories that captivated him. Her myriad stories that kept him mesmerised and longing for more. They had their fights. Meaningless bantering on their favourite bands, football teams or movies. He would sometimes let her win. Just to see her face light up and how she would scrunch her nose and tease him. He was hopelessly in love. However like any other boy,  he was scared to tell the girl how he felt. He was afraid, he didn't want to lose what they already had  in the pursuit of something more. However, the heart yearns and he craves for her. There hasn't been a day when he didn't talk to her.Maybe she likes him too...maybe, she's afraid too. ..But he can't know for sure. Maybe it was time for him to finally tell her about it. He couldn't bear to imagine seeing her walk away with someone else. He wanted to be that 'someone else'.He checks his phone again. An empty, illuminated screen greets him, signalling no reply to the message he had sent 10 minutes ago. He waits.

She woke up disoriented. Grabbing the phone, it didnt light up when she pressed on the power button. "Battery must be dead", she thought. She checked the digital clock. It read 1:30 A.M . She turned to her side and she peered at the light coming in through the cracks of her bedroom door. "He's still studying. I'm so proud of him. " She smiled and turned around and went back to sleep.

Rain

Leaves rustling. Winds blowing.
Sky rumbling. Heart sighing.
You sit with a cup of tea nestled in your palms. You watch the steam rising slowly, making circular tracks that disappear within a second. You watch the raindrops as they strike the windowpane and race against each other, each desperate to prove their agility.
After weeks of unbearable heat and humidity, it's finally raining; and raining heavily. The clouds are all grey and occasionally bolts of lightning illuminate the dark sky and the rumbling thunder break the monotonous pitter patter of the rain.

You set down the empty tea cup and stand up. You walk towards the window and push the doors wide open. You let the cool wind ruffle your hair and caress your skin. You let the raindrops kiss your face like a lover. You close your eyes and take it all in.

Suddenly you hear the sweet chorus of laughter echoing from somewhere. You open your eyes and see a group of children playing, in the rain, in the road opposite to your house. Some were wearing school uniforms, others wore flimsy garments and tattered shorts. They were drenched to the skin but having the time of their lives. Jumping on the puddles, dancing in the rain; things you don't remember doing yourself. How long has it been, you ponder.  You watch the grown-ups standing under the shade of the tea stall; enjoying cups of tea and shaking their heads; all imagining the scenario when the children finally went back home. A shrieking mother, feet shuffling towards the bathroom; euphoria replaced by bouts of regret. Didn't they know, that the kids knew what awaits? But they choose to ignore it. They see the rain, seize the chance to enjoy the moment; unmindful of the consequences. You watch the scene outside,  you watch the smiles plastered on their faces.

Moments later the grown-ups witness another grown-up turning into a child again.