Check out 16 Return-To-Work Programs In India For Ambitious Women Like You!
I really liked her. "She was feminine enough for me to fill a few more pages of my draft. So, I kept on faking it. Mornings were better than they used to be, because I got my smoothies made by her!"
TW: mention of drugs and emotional neglect
Varun turned twenty-five yesterday. He spent the whole night lying in his neon lit room, smoking pot, and thinking about the girl he had met on the staircase.
That damn staircase!
He couldn’t see her face properly due to him being in a slightly elevated position, but God, she smelled nice!
“Why did I even decide to go to the grocery store? I haven’t been eating much lately. Why haven’t I eaten anything? I think I’m hungry.”
The stuff he inhaled was starting to hit now. There had been some casual encounters with the girl previously, but she never seemed to care about his presence, and Varun had begun to obsess about the same.
“She was dressed in a magenta pullover and navy-blue trousers, and her hair were fastened back in a sleek ponytail. She wasn’t carrying a wallet, nor a phone. She always paid in cash and never looked elsewhere unless a madman drove closer enough to eventually infuriate her. God, I’m obsessed! I need to write this down.”
Varun rummaged through a pile of things to get hold of a sheet of paper and a pencil. He always wrote with a pencil. It gave him a sense of comfort and being at home kind of vibe. After another long drag from the joint and he began scribbling.
“And I don’t have any idea why I’ve been so vulnerable after my last breakup. I didn’t even love her. She was just there for an emotionally damaging experience so that I could finally finish my draft. She was fond of me. Anyone would be fond of me. I have deep dark-brown eyes. I jog (not on a treadmill) every day and I write.”
“Likewise, I’m golden.“
“Vrushali was fond of me. She made me handwritten cards and baked cookies too. On my last birthday, she gifted me a pair of joggers. She made smoothies for me when she was over at my place. She never complained about anything, not even at times when I used to leave unannounced for days to write in solitary. Not only that, but she was madly in love with a crack head like me.”
Taking another drag from his joint, the monologue and scribbling continued.
“But she didn’t notice me yesterday, again. She just passed through me like I’m a ghost. I could only smell her and say nothing. She speaks so heartily to the salesmen every time she visits the grocery store, but she does not allow me to speak to her. It’s like she is standing there with a knife and her brown eyes are ordering me to not say a word unless told to do so. I would love being told what to do. I think I know my type now.”
“What took me so long to figure it out? God, I’m a wreck!”
“I shouldn’t have proposed to Vrushali.”
“I was on a deadline, and my life outside the vicinity of my house was not so happening. I had a bunch of friends to hang out with, but a writer needs a little more drama than that.”
“So, I asked a friend of mine to introduce me to her cousin, Vrushali. We began chatting online and eventually started going on dates. Within three weeks, we shifted from hanging out at cafés to cooking meals together at my place.”
“I really liked her.”
“She was feminine enough for me to fill a few more pages of my draft. So, I kept on faking it. Mornings were better than they used to be (because I got my smoothies ready-made by Vrushali, bloody crack heads!)”
“But only last month when my draft was complete, I decided to come clean with her and to my surprise, she did not react badly at all.”
“There was no screaming, no abusing, just silence.”
“She collected her stuff and left me. Just like that. It was quick, and I seemed to have been a little affected by that, but I was the one to leave her first, so I didn’t complain much about that.”
“Is she ignoring me on purpose? Does she want me to follow her? But she doesn’t even know me. She doesn’t know that I write, and she clearly isn’t the type of girl who would fall for good looks alone (there should definitely be a cherry on top of the cake).
“I bet she is an angel in the making. A bad one indeed.”
Image source: still from the film Adithya Varma, edited on CanvaPro
Use of any kind of substance and drugs can lead to addiction. If you know someone, please make sure they receive immediate help.
read more...
Women's Web is an open platform that publishes a diversity of views, individual posts do not necessarily represent the platform's views and opinions at all times.
Stay updated with our Weekly Newsletter or Daily Summary - or both!
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.
Being a writer, Nivedita Louis recognises the struggles of a first-time woman writer and helps many articulate their voice with development, content edits as a publisher.
“I usually write during night”, says author Nivedita Louis during our conversation. Chuckling she continues,” It’s easier then to focus solely on writing. Nivedita Louis is a writer, with varied interests and one of the founders of Her Stories, a feminist publishing house, based in Chennai.
In a candid conversation she shared her journey from small-town Tamil Nadu to becoming a history buff, an award-winning author and now a publisher.
Nivedita was born and raised in a small town in Tamil Nadu. It was for schooling that she first arrived in Chennai. Then known as Madras, she recalls being awed by the city. Her love-story with the city, its people and thus began which continues till date. She credits her perseverance and passion to make a difference to her days as a vocational student among the elite sections of Madras.
Please enter your email address