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Society still harbours discriminatory and sexist notions that can threaten the existence of those we hold near and dear to us. Is there a way out?
Manjari lit the oil lamp kept in front of Lord Krishna’s idol. She looked at it with reverence for a while, closed her eyes and offered her prayers for the day. Tucking the loose end of her saree around her slender waist she proceeded towards the kitchen section of her one-room apartment.
On the shelf,s tood her cherished asset, ‘Murphy’s Radio’, she turned it on. *‘Jago mohan pyare…’ She smiled, listening to it and made herself a cup of tea.The radio was her companion for life. Both her daughters were still asleep. She got down to her routine.
As a street food vendor she could hardly afford to rest. She placed a heap of potatoes into the cooker for boiling. Her customers loved her *vadas and onion fritters. Keeping an eye on the watch she began to prepare lunch for the day. She was kneading the dough when the radio played *‘dushman na kare……’.Without being aware, her mind started ruminating about the past.
After satisfying his carnal desires, Milind whispered into Manjari’s ears. “ This time I want a son.” She gave her husband a reluctant smile camouflaging her anxiety. Hearing the wail of her first-born Chavvi, five months pregnant Manjari got up to nurse her. In the darkness of the night she cried bitterly,as the baby suckled.
Milind was an indolent, drunkard and lecherous man who gave her only pain. But as an optimist, Manjari hoped bearing a son would change him for the better.
Hell broke loose on her when she returned delivering a second daughter. “Get out! You whore.” Milind howled and pushed her out of the hut along with the babies. Her sutures were fresh and body feeble, after childbirth. Somehow she gathered herself back. “ Where will I go with two daughters? I have no place to go!” she begged.
“To any brothel. And take this dowry back, your stupid radio.’’ He slammed the door on her face. The shanty town remained a mute spectator to her predicament. That night she trudged through an unknown path carrying her two babies and the radio.
“Ma!” Chavvi’s voice broke her reverie. Manjari’s eyes twinkled seeing her daughters. She served them milk and biscuits. She was proud of herself and her daughters. In those nine years, they had come a long way. Her daughters gave her company till their school gate. Later, Manjari pushed her cart towards the market all alone listening to songs. Her radio kept the customers entertained while she fried *vadas and onion fritters.
At the end of the day she packed a few leftovers for her kids.
She was taking her usual path back home,when a ravenous tramp acted as an impediment. One look and she knew who it was. His eyes pleaded for forgiveness and mercy. Manjari remained unmoved.
She loathed his presence and tried to ignore him but he kept following her. This time she gave him alms and strode ahead without looking back as the radio played *‘Zindagi ke safar mein ..…’ (in life’s journey).
Glossary
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Finance professional,an avid blogger. I write to keep the child in me happy and contented. Contributing author of the poetry anthology Nyctophilia.Children's book Airavata and The Femme of Animal Kingdom. read more...
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Neena was the sole caregiver of Amma and though one would think that Amma was dependent on her, Neena felt otherwise.
Neena inhaled the aroma that emanated from the pan and took a deep breath. The aroma of cumin interspersed with butter transported her back to the modest kitchen in her native village. She could picture her father standing in the kitchen wearing his white crisp kurta as he made delectable concoctions for his only daughter.
Neena grew up in a home where both her parents worked together in tandem to keep the house up and running. She had a blissful childhood in her modest two-room house. The house was small but every nook and cranny gave her memories of a lifetime. Neena’s young heart imagined that her life would follow the same cheerful course. But how wrong she was!
When she was sixteen, the catastrophic clutches of destiny snatched away her parents. They passed away in a road accident and Neena was devastated. Relatives thronged her now gloomy house and soon it was decided that she should be married off.
Women today don’t want to be in a partnership that complicates their lives further. They need an equal partner with whom they can figure out life as a team, playing by each other’s strengths.
We all are familiar with that one annoying aunty who is more interested in our marital status than in the dessert counter at a wedding. But these aunties have somehow become obsolete now. Now they are replaced by men we have in our lives. Friends, family, and even work colleagues. It’s the men who are worried about why we are not saying yes to one among their clans. What is wrong with us? Aren’t we scared of dying alone? Like them?
A recent interaction with a guy friend of mine turned sour when he lectured me about how I would regret not getting married at the right time. He lectured that every event in our lives needs to be completed within a certain timeframe set by society else we are doomed. I wasn’t angry. I was just disappointed to realize that annoying aunties are rapidly doubling in our society. And they don’t just appear at weddings or family functions anymore. They are everywhere. They are the real pandemic.
Let’s examine this a little closer.
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