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A woman, a man and a room. This short story takes place in limited space-time, but speaks volumes about the brain and heart. Winner of May's Muse of the Month theme
A woman, a man and a room. This short story takes place within limited space and time, but speaks volumes about the brain and the heart.
One of the top 5 entries for May’s muse of the month writing cue, “What does the brain matter compared with the heart?” (from Mrs.Dalloway, Virginia Woolf).
It was a quiet evening.
The need to be needed was not extinguished though.
A look of his was enough to build castles of wonders and his touch enough to turn her into cinder. Magical pixie dust.
His house, rather room wasn’t spacious enough, yet the walls and that worn out floor wanted her. He didn’t hug her but he got her a glass of water.
His presence had a kind of warmth that was making her melt on his bed. She was nervous and he was accommodating. It was her first time meeting a stranger like him. But it wasn’t his first time. He had met many women before but he was attracted to her rawness.
She was drawn to him. He satiated her urge to overcome her loneliness. He had a strange smell. A mix of beer and rajnigandha incense. He played with her hair, unlocked her thick curls. Her soul was being nurtured like a parched piece of land blooms with the first rain of the season.
He was quite detached from himself. He couldn’t connect to her soul either. He didn’t believe in the concept of souls as such. Yet they had a spark.
He had a small window in the room. It had a blue broken frame. It had tinted glass, faded in color. It had wild ivy all over. It was as if hidden secrets were trying to sprout.
The sun was setting and the orange and red rays were casting a love spell on the bed. He held her close and her thumping heart met his racing pulse. She pulled his hair back.
There was no power. Only a thin veil of fresh breeze over their sweating faces. A taste of her saliva made him giddy. He had never been held so fiercely by a woman before. Their bodies were swinging in sync. Their passionate kiss lasted for a while. The sun had set, the room was dark and the street light was struggling to pierce through them.
She was getting late. Her son would’ve been back from his grandparents’ house. His heart was sinking. She dashed to get a taxi while he saw her vanish from the broken window corner…
Pic credit: Geezaweezer (Used under a CC license)
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We can’t bombard impressionable young women in the name of enlightened entertainment to feed them the same drivel. At least let us not label misogynist movies as helping the cause of women.
I have watched at least 2 ‘purported’ trailblazing Bollywood movies in the recent past that left me with a feeling that I had taken part in the ice-bucket challenge all over again. This time around, however, without even the satisfaction of having supported a worthy cause.
Both the movies have about a 90% liking rate on IMDB/Rotten Tomatoes. Both are touted to ‘sensitively’ portray the taboo topics that seem to be mostly hidden underneath a layer of banana peels – dangerous to even tread nearby.
Dushyanta clearly remembered everything. But he didn't have any intention to accept a poor woman from a remote hermitage as his wife and her son as theirs.
Dushyanta clearly remembered everything. But he didn’t have any intention to accept a poor woman from a remote hermitage as his wife and her son as theirs.
She sat motionless on the royal bed, her knees drawn up to her chin, staring vacantly outside the palace window.
She was sheathed in exquisite scarlet red silk, shot through with golden threads forming intricate traditional patterns. Chests of gems and jewellery were strewn all over the bed. The maids were fussing over whether a diamond-studded necklace would suit their queen or a gold choker would look better. Another younger maid was arranging her tresses in a coiffeur.
Deepak stared at the two women with disbelief and angst seethed through his body. He wanted to lash out against them. He wanted to scream at his mother for taking his wife’s side.
The Muse of the Month is a monthly writing contest organised by Women’s Web, bringing you original fiction inspired by women.
Meha Sharma is one of the winners of the November 2020 Muse of the Month.
"But the dream had opened an altogether different possibility to her." It is never too late to find out that standing up for yourself is possible.
“But the dream had opened an altogether different possibility to her.” It is never too late to find out that standing up for yourself is possible.
Here is the fourth winner of our July 2016 Muse of the Month contest, Nikita Jhanglani.
The cue was: “Dreams have a strange beauty, no matter how terrible.” – ― Samhita Arni, The Missing Queen