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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 and children's book Airavata. read more...
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Why do parents avoid explaining the physical part of relationships to their children? The mindset is-'they will learn on their own like I learnt.'
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Trigger warning: This has sexual abuse, victim blaming, and gaslighting, and may be triggering to survivors.
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With the anger and shame, that day, Sharmi had seen, in her mother, the face of a woman who had had enough. She had seen resolve in place of forbearance
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The fourth winner of our June 2020 Muse of the Month contest is Abarna Sekaran!
She sits in her usual spot, away from the throng of identity card clad, almost-identical humans on their work break chattering away with their chai and samosa. She sits there even though there are better spots in their small tea shop. And she sits there even if it means that she must endure the wrench of the overflowing garbage bin near her.
But one just needed to scratch the surface, and voila! It revealed a truth bitter than medicines. People behaved like dogs in heat, panting after anybody in a skirt or a saree.
Kalyani was about to knock at her superior’s door, when the desk phone trilled. Muttering a silent curse to herself, she turned back, and proceeded to her position. There goes my plan of leaving early! She could hear him barking into the phone, and felt sorry for the person at the other end of the line. No wonder the people fear the police! Suddenly, the hair on her skin stood up. Did she hear the name right? No! It must have been a figment of her imagination. And then, she froze in her tracks. The inspector was confirming the name. Sunshine Housing Society it was!
She tottered to her desk, gasping for air.
“Kamble! You ok? You look as though you have seen a ghost!” Constable Kulkarni looked at her with concern, while biting into a vada pav.