Rain in straight lines drizzled down onto the roof of her house, momentarily washing away the sorrows, the jealousies, the anxieties, and the stress. She gazed longingly at each drop sliding rapidly down the tall window. A deep grey roaring sky brimming with hope stole her breath, paralyzing her thoughts, freezing them to a raging awe.
Mesmerized, her round wondering eyes followed every droplet as it performed its own cosmic dance. It was like the mysterious Lord Shiva’s tandav! She felt a sudden aching need for movement. A need to drown her anxieties in the cosmic dance. While pregnant earth, bearing the divine seed played her music, she imagined herself moving exquisitely to mother earth’s lull of happiness. Her despair temporarily oozing out of the curvaceous shelter of her body.
Her hands as if blessed with lives of their own, created waves, each narrating distinct stories. Tales which lay at the bottom of civilization. Her body in sync flirted back coquettishly with her hands. A whirl followed by a hand movement in gentle waves, accompanied by another whirl. Finally came the crashing wave, a striking move. She felt like free flowing water, moving in sync with the ebbs and flows of life.
Her mischievous musings moved to the disequilibrium in her life. The vacant spaces of a marriage. The hollow emptiness eating at her. A strange shine in her eyes overtook her, her hands moved much more rapidly. Her body followed, each step coordinating with another, everything the way it should be. Organised chaos! The sweat, an occasional aftermath of nature’s mischief, of Cupid’s arrow and of the lovers’ shenanigans, slithered down her temples, journeying towards her straight, sleek neck. Her thoughts introduced into her a dull ache, the sudden uneasiness of a lover’s first ever union.
Her mosquito thoughts set forth on yet another pilgrimage, this time halting onto the sham that was her marriage. The fights were never ending. They fought about everything under the sun; the bills, the maid, his clothes, her clothes, the increasing price of the vegetables, his in-laws, her in-laws, who would serve dinner that day and the following week. Often their clashes would be centered on the tiniest of things. Just that morning, they had fought again. Anger marred her beautiful features, when her thoughts trailed in that direction.
“Listen, I come home tired from work, you could atleast pitch in…”
“I do pitch in.”
“Yes, like filling a bottle of water or uh watching TV with your legs like that? That’s what you call pitching in?”
“Please don’t start again… I had a long day; I am not in the mood…”
“Right, bas. Say that and shut your wife’s mouth- husband had a long day, so wife can’t speak. What about us? What about our long days? What if we are tired of grinding spices and making daal?”
“Then don’t. I haven’t told you to… we could order from outside!”
“Right, that’s your solution to everything…”
Her whirls grew faster, steadier. An overfilled vessel that she was, frustration and helplessness spilled out of her. A strand hung loosely onto her wide forehead. The bottom half of her long white angrakha sported the swell of a heavy pregnancy. Her stance was that of a wild tigress protecting her cubs. She resembled a warrior princess safeguarding as well as showcasing her feisty and fierce essence.
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