Short Story #005 : The Woman by the Window

The Woman by the Window

How beautiful is that woman who sits by the window! She gazes outside fixedly as if enraptured by the view outside, which I know is a dismal excuse for one.

Not once does her gaze shift from the point it is fixed on. Listlessly she drums her fingers on her knee then she rests her chin on her right palm, rests her elbow on the window sill, and leans out. Her entire posture reminds me of a soul in anticipation of release.

Somebody calls out to her. She has not heard and her closest neighbor taps her on the arm to get her attention. She is loath to leave her contemplation behind. She smiles a sweet smile to hide the annoyance. She says some words to the caller. The caller is satisfied, and leaves. She decides to turn to the window again but before she does she languidly sweeps the room with a steady stare. Her eye catches mine.

A smile unlike another spreads over her face, her two eyebrows arch upwards and she makes a movement to rise. I don't want to trouble this beautiful woman any longer, I move towards her. I have stood and watched her from afar struggling to find meaning in a room full of bores, now I must go rescue her.

These few minutes of quiet observation has provided me assurance of this woman's love. It may be for eternity.

“Hello,” I say when I am finally within her orbit, “How have you been?”

Our neighbours very kindly shift to let us sit beside each other.

“You kept your promise,” she says with a smile, “You came.”

I smile. How could I resist coming, when my prize was this look of love?

“You were looking so bored I couldn’t stop myself from coming to your rescue,” I say by way of preamble.

“Indeed!” she says surprised, “I am stuck here only because of my husband who sees it fit to amuse himself in this way. He enjoys the company of people, though he knows I don’t.”

“So he does, I know. He enjoys the company of each and every soul in this room and wonders why his wife is sitting in a corner by herself in a corner when she should be out mingling with her guests and enjoying herself.”

“Oh do let him wonder!” she cries exasperatedly, “It was his idea after all, to fill our drawing room with strange people and strange chatter, things I tire very easily of. Instead of taking me out to see a show or movie he has made me host this party on our anniversary. He must bear up with my mood just as I bear up with his.”

“Come, come, there must be a compromise somewhere. Say you will do as he says and in return he will do as you say and take you out to a show or movie or wherever it is you wish to go.”

“What an amiable solution young man,” she says pursing her lips, satisfied with my compromise.

“Hardly young, ma’am-“

“Oh young still,” she butts in, “I would not describe you as old. If you describe yourself as old what does that make me?”

I laugh. I know this woman well. There is something brewing beneath her placid answers. Something has happened to push her to a corner of my drawing room. Harsh words have been spoken to her and I must get to the bottom of it.

*

I go first to the side of my friend Alicia and tapping gently on her arm to get her attention I ask, “Why is Maggie sitting by herself in a corner?”

Alicia breaks off from the company she was busy with and looks at me in surprise. “I don’t know,” she says, “perhaps she isn’t in the mood.”

Hmm, I wonder. Not in a mood? Don’t I know all about that woman’s moods? No, today isn’t a mood. Today is the effect of a deep wound struck by someone who knows where it hurts. Who could it be and what could have passed?

“Who has she been talking to? Did you notice?”

“Not really,” says my friend.

I am plagued by the sense that someone has hurt my wife very badly and I cannot shake off the feeling that I must get to the bottom of the mystery soon enough before the people leave and I can do nothing about it. 

“All right,” I say, “Get back to your lot.”

I wade through the crowd.

I am stopped by a podgy outstretched arm. It is the arm of Mrs Gupta, a kind charitable soul.

“What is wrong with your wife?” she asks, “Why does she sit in a corner as though ostracized by her own guests?”

“I do not know,” I confess.

“She was talking earlier to Mina Iyer. I wonder if anything Mina said upset her.”

Mina?

My mystery has been half-solved.  

My wife has been talking to Mina Iyer. Mina the minx. The Mina whose tongue has been sharpened over time on a heart of flinty stone. Mina, the girl who walked out on me ten years ago to marry one of the wealthiest men in the country. The Mina I had struggled to get over.

What could she have said to my wife to upset her?

I spot Mina from across the room. She is as lovely as ever. Dressed in a beautiful black and white sari Mina Iyer is the cynosure of all eyes in my drawing room.

Tall, slender, and proud, she is the woman every person is secretly afraid of. Full of cutting observations and witty comebacks she is drunk on self-love.

Crossing her is the equivalent of suicide.

It’s hard to believe but I was once madly in love with her and so was she, at least that’s what she said. The relationship ended abruptly when she left me to marry Mayank Malhotra.

I go towards her. It has been my policy to extend a friendly hand towards all those who have hurt me in the past. I find that Life is too short to hold grudges for very long. In obedience to this philosophy I had invited Mina and her husband home to mark our wedding anniversary. I didn’t expect her to abuse the olive branch extended after a period of ten years.

“Mina,” I say, and take a drink from a passing waiter.

“Manuel,” says Mina imitating my tone.

It would be too mean-spirited of me to cut to the chase so I beat around the bush a bit.

“Enjoying yourself? How is the party?”

“Yes, actually I am. I didn’t think I would, but credit to your wife for keeping me entertained.”

A dangerous gleam shines through her eyes.

“Do you want to talk privately?” I ask coldly.

“Oh sure!” she says and the high note she hits grates on my nerves.

I lead her out onto the balcony.

“How have you been?” I ask.

“Not too well. Mayank lost a great deal of money at poker yesterday and took it out on me.

I look at her grimly.

“Look at me like that all you want and say that I told you so but I won’t pay attention. I made a mistake by marrying him Manuel and you know that. Now I must abide by my mistake or else exchange it for something better.”

She gives me a meaningful glance. I’m flabbergasted at her suggestion. How dare she suggest we rekindle a burned out fire? I do not hesitate to put her in her place.

“You’ve made your bed, whether you lie in it or not is up to you, Mina. I want to know what you’ve been telling Maggie.”

Mina’s eyes narrow and she looks at me as if she would love nothing better than to push me off the balcony for thwarting her advances. I don’t think the woman ever expected that I would dare to cast her off like an old coat.

“Maggie? Has she been tattling to you?”

“No,” I reply, “I knew it was a mistake to invite you.”

“She won’t be able to give you children do you know that?” she says spitefully.

I look at her with cold eyes.

“That’s what you wanted most in the world wasn’t it? You wanted me to be the mother of your children, do you remember?”

I did remember, but I wasn’t pleased to be reminded.

So that’s what passed between my wife and my ex.

Maggie must be heartbroken.

*

I do not go to comfort Maggie at once. I stayed on the balcony and watched Mina go back to the party.

The evening was a cool one for summer. A half-moon and a few faint stars marked the night sky.

Five years ago Maggie had been diagnosed with infertility and since then my wife and I have had to deal with the crushing fact that we may never have children.

You only get only one lifetime and what does that lifetime amount to without having raised a family of your own?

I let out a deep sigh and go back to the party.

My wife is exactly where I left her, and I go towards her.

She looks at me coming and her eyes narrow.

“Are you going to brood in a corner forever or are you going to have a jolly good time with me today?” I ask.

She smiles wanly. “You’ve been talking to Mina I see.”

“Yes, and I agree with you that sometimes Mina needs to have her tongue cut out. I can’t apologise enough for inviting her Mags, please forgive me. I took my goodwill a little too far I see.”

“I feel sorry for her,” says Maggie, “I heard her husband lost a lot of money at a poker game yesterday.” And with a shrug of her shoulders Maggie gets up. The black mood is gone and my wife is restored to pleasantness once again.

I wander around the drawing room for a while, greeting guests here and there till I spot Mina standing out on the balcony. Her back is to me. Quietly I sip my drink. She turns and I know she has seen me watching her.

Since I don’t go to her she comes to me, a mysterious smile playing on her lips.

“Has the cry baby been shushed?” she whispers in my ear.

“You need to leave,” I say coldly.

She is taken aback that I would go so far as to ask her outright to leave.

“You’ve changed,” she says as a final analysis.

There was a time when I would have never dreamed of telling Mina Iyer to leave my house. But today she has crossed a line. I turn around and leave her gaping after me.

Mina finds her husband and says something to him. Together they move towards the door. She shoots me a look of murderous hate. Her nascent love for me is that easily converted. How worthless it is!

I go and sit in the corner my wife had previously occupied. What is a married couple without children to cement their relationship?

I confess that I find them incomplete.

It is my turn to gaze out the window. This is something I have to accept no matter how hard it may be.

I look up to find my wife smiling at me. I look at her with tender compassion. Her eyes are shining with gratitude. Many unspoken words pass between us. They assure me that we are complete just as we are.

Short Story #004

Second Place

Every time I think about you, my First Love, my face bursts into a shy smile. I try to stop the corners of my mouth from curling upwards but I try in vain. The smile manages to break loose. Soft laughter escapes my lips.

You see nobody at home knows about you, so if they were to ask me why I was grinning from ear-to-ear like an idiot I wouldn’t be able to tell them. That’s because I kept your identity a secret for thirteen long years.

Anyways here goes… let me put it down on paper for you.

First Love, I was thirteen years old when I met you. I can clearly recall the day when I saw you for the first time. The memory is still vivid in my mind.

It was the first day of high school…

A bunch of us juniors were shuffling our way to the classes we’d been assigned, I was among the crowd jostling and being jostled. In a bad mood because the class assignments had thrown up a surprise for me, (I was the only one singled out from my gang of friends and put in a different section), I wanted the day to end so I could go home and bawl my eyes out.

Stranded and forced to navigate my way through my first day of high school without the security of my coven I was in a sulky mood. How was I going to survive high school all alone?

That’s when I entered my allotted class and saw you.

*

You were so cute.

That’s the first thing I noticed about you. You simply took my breath away.

A mop of thick black hair fell across your forehead. Merry eyes twinkled with mischief. You had a wide grin and perfectly white teeth. I was smitten from the get-go.

I stopped in my tracks and swallowed.

I had never seen such physical perfection before. Quickly I came back down to earth.

You were sitting with a bunch of your friends when somebody in your posy said something and the whole gang burst into laughter. That bright sunshine laugh of yours broke through your lips and I was caught off guard. You happened to look up and our gazes locked for a second.

That’s all the time it took for me to decide that I was in love with you.

Since you had already bagged a seat on the second bench, I quickly hurried over to a spot behind you. I knew no one in this class so I reckoned I’d make friends with you and your lot.

After I had managed to bag the seat behind you after a brief tussle with another student, you responded to the summons of one of your friends and left to sit three rows behind. That was a waste, I thought disappointed, but I could still hear you making conversation from where I sat so all was not lost I reckoned.

Besides it was just the first day. There was the whole year ahead for us to get acquainted in. 

*

My new bench mates and I introduced ourselves.

They seemed all right and we got talking. All the while I kept an ear out for you.

Why had all of you laughed when I entered the class? I was curious to know.

My heart began to beat strangely fast. It was the standard response I had the whole year to your presence. Then entered the Class Teacher...

She introduced herself and announced that she was going to hold an election to select a class monitor. Who wanted to contest? Four of our classmates stood up. One of them was you.

Everyone took out their pens and the Teacher passed around some scraps of paper.

I quickly scribbled down your name. So did a bunch of others, and you were named Class Monitor.

Just my luck! Now you would be at the forefront of all things concerning the class. Ahem ahem! We would have to interact at some point or the other.

I was elated. Satisfied with the day’s outcome, I exhaled.  

After school, I went home experiencing a jumble of emotions. I was sad to be split from my gang of friends and I was annoyed that they didn’t seem too disappointed to be separated from me. The term had started and the course work seemed tough.

I fell into one of my ‘woe-is-me’ moods until I remembered that today I’d met you.  Immediately my face brightened up.

First love, do you know that your mere presence saw me through many of the rough and stormy seasons of that first year? Seeing your sunshine smile was the highlight of my day.

*

Back home I told my sister about my first day. I omitted any mention of you. She’s the world’s biggest tattle tale, you see. She would’ve told Mom, Mom would’ve told Dad, and the whole Conservative Party would’ve jumped down my throat.

That night as I lay awake after the lights were turned out I thought about you. Again I burst into a grin.

What should I do?

Should I make friends with you first and then tell you that I liked you? Or should I confess that I liked you and then wait for your response? What was the way to go?

But I was dead set on one thing. I had to get to know you and tell you that I liked you, and hope that you liked me back enough to start a relationship with me.

“Relationship” that’s a big word to use for a child of thirteen to use. But that’s what I wanted.

*

The next day I found out why you had laughed when I entered the classroom. Someone from your gang cracked a joke about my haircut (it was cut as short as a boy’s) so you had laughed.

My nebulous hopes were dashed to the ground and I mumbled something to the person who informed me.

That was that then.

You found me funny. I pondered about it for a while and grew dejected. You found my hair cut funny. Not in a good way funny, but in a ‘she’s weird’ way kind of funny. I sobered up really quickly. There was a chance that you might not like me, I mused. 

Hmm, well…

I swallowed nervously and took my place. I caught a glimpse of my reflection on the window pane. A shock of hair rose up from my head. In vain I tried to smooth it down. Before the year was out it would grow out, I reasoned. I could then change my hairdo maybe…?

I endured that day and the next couple of weeks quietly. Luckily I wasn’t the butt of anymore jokes.

Time to time I hoped that something would take place to force you talk to me or something might come up to throw us in together but I guess my luck had run dry.

In the free periods I made up scenarios and role-played them out in my head. It was an excruciatingly futile period of time. Until the day the drought turned to rain.

You were minding the class while the Teacher was out and you asked to borrow a pen.

I think I almost leapt out of my seat to provide you with one. You smiled at me and said thank you.

That was all it took for the sunshine to break out over my gloomy life.

I think you even said my name when you said ‘thank you’.

I felt my heartbeat rise. I took in a lungful of air then released it. Okay, he knows my name, I thought. That’s something.

I forgot to mention why I behaved so secretive about liking you. My Mom was a teacher in the same school and she was a part of the Conservative Party. Having a boyfriend was a strict no-no with the Conservatives, so I had to be careful of the company I kept in school.

I sat down again. You returned my pen. The rest of the day passed without event.

This would not do for me. I had to get you to like me I decided.

But how was I supposed to do that right under the nose of the whole Conservative Party and their acolytes? Hundreds of eyes were on us. That’s how school worked.

Where could I be alone with you in a crowd of people with no one getting even the slightest hint that I liked you? How was I to hide my love for you in school full of beady eyed teachers and gossipy girlfriends? 

How could I avoid being linked to you (which was what I was most afraid of)?

*

The month droned on and the dry spell continued. Being separated from my gang meant my closeness with them began to fade a little. I made new friends in class, absorbed new information, learnt a lot of new things, got involved with the extracurricular activities at school and school life in general continued.

I quit being proactive about getting to know you, choosing instead to bide my time and let what will be, be.

First term tests were scheduled and I began to work my butt off.

I was pleasantly surprised to discover that you were a “studier” too. I hadn’t pegged you down for one but when the first term marks were announced, it turned out you were in the running for the top prize. That’s when I saw a glimmer of hope for me.

Prize Day…?

On prize day the prizewinners were made to sit separately from the rest of the student body for convenience’s sake, so if things worked out, I might be sitting next to you.

This turn of events got me excited.

How was I to ensure that I was placed next to you?

I had to come in second place and you had to come in either first or third, that was the only way for us to sit side by side. Then I could talk to you in peace.

I heaved a sigh of relief. Now I had a goal to work for.

*

The universe did me a huge favour next. It happened somewhat like this:

One June Saturday I set off for my Chemistry tuition.

The situation at home had intensified to epic proportions. A Cold War was being fought. Democratic USA (Mom) was furious with Despotic Russia (Dad) over something Despotic Russia had done and as a result other non-aligned states such as myself had to face the flak of the fallout.

I hated it when the Cold War broke out at home. There was no place to hide.

I entered class, took a seat, and began to doodle on the last page. Chemistry was one of my least favourite subjects. I liked the teacher though and I had some friends in the class, so it wasn’t all a waste.

At around six forty five, forty five minutes into the lesson, you entered.

I almost stopped breathing.

I was so surprised to see you.

Of all the chemistry tuitions in the world, you chose to walk into mine.

I hoped to catch your eye, but you didn’t appear to recognize me. You said something to the Teacher and sat down right in front of me.

This was a sign! This was the universe telling me that we were meant to be together.

I coughed and hoped you would turn around to check who was coughing because it was one of those
“Ahem-ahem-nice-to-see-you” coughs, but you didn’t so much as turn your head. And for the next hour and a half your attention stayed fixed on the board.

Mine didn’t.

I began to imagine what it would be like if were together.

I would make sure we never ever fought a Cold War. I would take the onus of drafting out the peace treaties myself.

I think it took you two more classes before you noticed that I attended the same Chemistry class as you.

*

The next time we talked was three weeks later. It involved the monsoons and a little bit of miscommunication which resulted in me arriving for Chemistry tuition early only to find the premises locked up. There was no one about and the sky threatened rain.

Wondering what to do, I called up my sister and asked for advice. Stay, she said, until someone turns up. So I stayed and frantically texted the others to find out why class wasn’t being held.

Then you arrived on the scene like another clueless cuckoo.

You saw me and you asked—“No class today?”

A low growl of thunder interrupted me. I looked up to find that the sky had darkened with thick black rain clouds. Any minute now it would begin to pour.

“I don’t know,” I said, “I was just texting the others to find out.”

“Oh,” you said.

And then silence.

Luckily no one responded to my texts.

“What are you going to do?” you asked.

“I’m going to wait,” I said.

“For how long?”

“I don’t know. Half an hour?”

“Okay.”

I took that to mean that you would wait with me. And you did.

I was over the moon at this opening the Universe had provided for me. We might get talking. And then who’s to say what could happen with the rain threatening to pour?

The low growl of thunder turned into a mighty roar and it began to rain.

 I was pleased with myself for coming.

“What are we going to do?” you asked.

“It hasn’t been half an hour. Let’s just wait.”

“I don’t think anyone is going to come. I’m leaving. Don’t wait here by yourself. Go home.”

I swallowed. You sounded like you cared about me. It made me feel fuzzily warm on the inside.

I wanted you to stay long enough for me to confess my feelings to you because the setting was perfect, and there could be no better timing. A proposal in the rain…? How romantic! But it looked like you had places to be.

“I’m waiting,” I said stubbornly, “You go.”

But you didn’t go. After about five minutes you asked me another question. “How will you go home?” you asked.

I looked doubtful. From where I stood I could see the autorickshaw stand. There was just one autorickshaw waiting there.

“I’ll take that,” I said.

You nodded.

“What about you?” I asked.

“I came by car,” you said, “My driver’s waiting.”

I nodded.  You had a car on standby. So there was no need for you to rush. I felt you would stay and keep me company.

Then suddenly you made a dash for your car and I stared after you gobsmacked.

“You’re crazy,” you screamed as you ran into the pouring rain holding your satchel above your head.

My heart crashed to the ground again. First Love, how was I crazy to want to stand in the rain with you for half an hour? It seemed like the sanest thing in the world to do.

*

I went home dripping wet. The Cold War escalated because Despotic Russia told Conservative USA that she should pay closer attention to the state of dependent countries such as myself and see to it that we’re not neglected in the bargain. USA asked me why I hadn’t the sense to take an umbrella with me when I knew the monsoons were about to hit. I made no answer. I’d rather stay out in the cold rain than spend an hour at home trapped in a Cold War.

That night I thought of what happened. “You’re crazy,” you’d said.

I’d again made the wrong impression on you.

I lay back in bed and stared at the plastic glow-in-the-dark star stickers my sister and I had taped to the ceiling. I smiled. That’s okay, I told myself, I was a little bit crazy. Everyone in love is just a tiny bit crazy.

The year crawled by slowly. Every week at Chemistry tuition I sat behind you, but we never spoke to each other after the rain episode.

Second term test scores came in. I beat you, and as things stood I was going to come in second place and you were going to come in third.

Before third term began I had a panic attack. What if I scored so well that I came in first? Or what if you did a tad poorly and came in fourth? How was I to ensure that you got a rank as well?

First Love, I cannot impress upon you enough the agitation I felt during those two weeks of exams. I calculated all sorts of permutations and at one point left two Geometry questions unanswered just to make sure that I didn’t top the class.

The exams concluded. One week later the results were announced.  I came in second place and you came in third. Another boy came in first.

I could finally rest in peace.

*

Prize Day came in February.

I was super excited. A whole year’s planning was going to come to a head that day. I groomed myself well. I waxed my arms and legs, did the best I could with my hairdo and arrived smelling like a rose garden. I made all that effort for you, but things didn’t go according to plan.

First Love, something I was totally unprepared for happened.

As per our positions we were placed together. For the first half an hour the principal gave a speech and I couldn’t speak to you. Later, when the prizes were being distributed I tried to speak to you.

“Congratulations,” I said.

“Thank you,” you replied and looked at your watch.

I couldn’t think of anything to say after that. You clearly did not want to talk so I sat back feeling disappointed when the boy to the right of me spoke up.

“Congratulations,” said the boy who came first.

“Thank you,” I replied. “Congratulations to you too.”

“Thank you,” he replied.

I tried to include you in the conversation but you sat quietly next to me, looking bored and tired of the whole show.

The boy who came in first was a thin, bespectacled squiggle of a person. I’d never spoken to him until today. I couldn’t even recall his name.

“What subject did you get highest in?” he asked.

“Mathematics,” I replied.

“Oh,” he said, “Congratulations! I got the highest in English.”

I nodded politely.

“Do you know, we’ve never talked before?” he said. “I always wanted to talk to you but you seemed like a very cold reserved person.”

I swallowed. A cold reserved person? Me? Besides, what was he actually saying? He had always wanted to talk to me?

“I didn’t know,” I mumbled, “What did you want to talk about?”

“Nothing specific,” he said, and a sly grin broke out on his face, “I always thought you were cute.” He laughed nervously and tried to brush it off as nothing. My eyes widened in surprise. First Love, the day wasn’t going as expected.

“Oh,” I said in surprise. Then I looked to my left. You were everything I wanted. I had patiently waited the whole year to have this moment with you, but you didn’t seem interested in me. In a strange turn of events the boy who came in first was confessing his feelings to me. First Love, what was I supposed to do?

I made a split second choice.

*

The next year, and the next year, and the year after that, I came in second place. I continued to come in second place until I graduated high school.

Only this time it was to sit beside Another Love.

Short Story #003

Adulteress

She eats, wipes her mouth, and says, "I have not done wrong." They are enthralled because she is lovely. Few have escaped her snare. Few have resisted. Few have prevailed.

She has ceased to cast her spell personally. Her apostles know the incantation. They do the converting now.

He was walking on the street below her flat. She could tell he was poor from the state of his clothes and shoes. He halted under the lamppost. He had the strangest eyes she had ever seen in a man. They looked like the ocean—deep and calm.

She leaned against the railing of the balcony. Like a bird of prey she watched the world from her eyrie. A cool breeze lifted the curls off her shoulder.

 The man she lived with was not home. From her lips dripped honey, she swung around on her heels and left the flat. To whom was she being faithful? To a man who treated her like a body and not a soul? Just like the five other men before him?

It was twilight, evening, darker than the day when she walked up to him, "Are you lost, sir?"

He turned around to look at her. She smiled innocently. Oh the thrill! What pleasure it gave her to make a man kneel at her sight! After that, all he would want was to touch her.

He met her eyes calmly.

 "No. Could you give me some water to drink please?"

She wanted to grab him and kiss him because he appeared so resistive to her charms. She would plead with him to stay awhile. He looked like the beauty of her body was lost on him. She found this amusing. She would show him. "You'd better come up then."

The stranger followed her up the stairs to the place where men said they'd been transported to heaven. She opened the door. A sweet smell of spices wafted out.

"Are you embalming a dead body in there?" he asked. She stiffened at his joke.

She gave him a seat at the table and poured him a glassful of water. "Are you new to these parts?"

"Yes." But he did not drink it. "Where has your husband gone?"

She laughed. "I have no husband."

The stranger lifted his eyes. "You are right when you say this, for you have had five husbands, and the one you are with now is not your husband."

She jumped from her place as though she had been stung. "Are you a prophet sir?" she snapped

The man did not reply at once.

 "Are you thirsty? Is there something without which you cannot satiate your thirst?”

When she made no response he asked again, “Are you searching for something? What is driving you from one man's arms to the next?"

She lifted her proud chin and raised her eyebrows. "If you've had your drink of water, you may leave. I don't wish to answer the questions of a stranger."

"If you ask, I could you give you water that would quench your every thirst."

She looked at him in wonder. What sort of magician had wandered through her door? She did have an insatiable thirst. She lusted for the blood of prophets and saints, for men who condemned her without knowing the life she had led. She wanted to drink the blood of those hypocrites who would drag her by her hair to the marketplace and stone her if she stopped peddling her wares. She was a body not a soul. They never let her forget it.

He seemed to read her thoughts. "Woman, where are your condemners?"

"Everywhere. Wherever I go they are there before me. They have left me the night in which to hunt for food. They have pushed me off the streets to the corners. The righteous will have no association with the sinners."

He got up from his seat. "I came for the sinners, for those who need to be saved. I do not condemn you."

His words set off an alarm in her heart. She wanted to follow him to the ends of the earth. She wanted to live in his presence. She sought the forgiveness of the stranger as if his one word would wash her clean.

She followed him down the stairs. "Give me the drink that you promised, so that I shall never thirst again!"

He looked on her with compassion. Blood began to pour from the wounds on his palms and feet.

She began to wail in sorrow. No, the blood of this man was too holy to drink! She began to wash in it and her sinful body was made clean.

 

 

Short Story #002

After the Sack

Parents

The rumors had been doing the rounds at office for the past two months. I won't divulge the details because it was mostly my fault and I am ashamed to recount it. I got the axe.

I was not entirely shocked. The weeks of anticipation could finally cease and I was glad the uncomfortable tension was over, but a new horror presented itself: what was I going to do now? I was unemployable. I had been fired from my past five jobs.

I didn't actually remember this fact but Radhika was ever so quick to remind me. She laid the blame at my door. The sight of her mongoose-like face eager to pick a fight put me off and I threw one of my finest temper tantrums complete with flinging some glass items and knickknacks around. She packed up, took the kids and left for her mother's house.

I've done nothing all morning except brood. I received a few calls from some of my office pals. The sound of their obsequious sympathies helped reinforce my belief that the whole wide world was seriously screwed up. I lounged around the house and wondered if I was as useless as the bosses in the five M.N.C.s thought I was. Perhaps I was like a cough or a rupee note that exchanged hands a thousand times a day. I was pushed back and forth. They hired me then they fired me. I drew a salary then I lived on it.

I gave myself a week to inevitably succumb to depression. It wasn't a brand new feeling. This time something told me that I was finished for life. I was fifty five. No one is hired at that age. I was forced into an early retirement.

*

I made the choices that were easy to make. I picked the highest paying jobs without knowing they were the most stressful. I married the prettiest woman my parents introduced me to. I had two children because the government said that two was all I was allowed. I bought a flat in a neighborhood which was safe and respectable. I did the usual things that countless middle-aged men do. Where did I go wrong?

I tried not to blame anybody. I am not a very smart person. There are things I know because I’ve been taught to know about them but I’ve got no appreciation for the work I’m trained to do. I was never excited by machines, tools or equipment yet I managed to get an engineering degree. Come to think of it, I rarely played with building blocks as child. Those were not my dreams.

The first time I lost my job the feeling I had was of pure relief. I wouldn’t have to wake up and go to work in the morning, but I was the only one who felt that way. When I woke up with a hangover the next morning and skulked around the kitchen for a mug of tea, I spied my father with his face grim and set. He was scanning the wanted section. I left him to it.

All through college I would think about the kind of job I wanted.

I found jobs frustrating. My deep distaste for them sprang from my hatred of desks and chairs. For the greater part of my childhood I had sat at a desk and studied. I didn’t enjoy studying, I enjoyed learning but the foolish adults around me equated them to be the same thing.

My mother was never fully convinced that I was prepared for a test until she saw me sitting at my desk for two straight hours. While I sat on the hard chair, my mind wandered. It took trips to other countries and worlds. In those worlds I was predictably the Lord and Master of all I surveyed. This is why I find the real world startlingly bleak.

I got a job soon enough after the first sack. My parents wasted no time in getting me married. After twenty seven years of rigorous mollycoddling they were ceremoniously kicking me out of the nest. Why do we do this, why do we grow up, get jobs, get married, have babies and die? It’s not compulsory. It’s not even a prerequisite to dwell in society. There are countless bachelors. Batman is a very cool bachelor who saves Gotham’s innocents by night which is why he is called a super hero. ‘But who will look after Batman when he is old?’ my mother would ask. I don’t know. The Salvation Army, perhaps?  

I had imagined a very different end for me. I had wanted to be a personality. I wanted to be a film maker or an artist or a writer.

My parents were quick to beat the arts out of me. I would never be good enough, they said. They expected brilliance in everything I did. They had wanted a prodigy.

 Children and Wife

Radhika came home on Wednesday. I didn’t ask her to. I called the kids once a day and asked them if they wanted to come back home. “Yes,” said Nikki, “But Mummy won’t let us.”

Radhika has the same hold over them that my mother had over me. For nine months mother and child inhabit the same body which is why they are slow to disobey each other. If Radhika is upset with me, the children are too, and vice-versa. I am the outsider.

My father was the outsider too. My mother couldn’t get along with her in-laws so she went out of her way to avoid their company socially. This meant that we rarely went to their homes and attended their functions.

My father felt alienated, and since he was so shy he never created a fuss. My father was nothing to my mother except a fixed source of income.  He worked in the Indian Railways. He could never be fired.

I was scared to tell the children that I was without a job. I didn’t want to witness the confusion and fear in their eyes firsthand. In a way I was glad Radhika took the trouble of telling them what a wastrel their father was. I was scared that they would say something that would irritate me like – ‘What are you going to do now, Dad?’

But they were very tactful. We follow a strict policy of not talking about the rhinoceros in the room. They made no mention of it when I called and sounded cheerful. How do they cope? Where does this inner mental strength come from when they are faced with challenges? Do they know that their mum and dad won’t always be around to protect them? One day they won’t have a safety net. What will my little girls do then?

Radhika looked repentant and the girls were very happy to see me. My father-in-law drove them home. He said many kind things. I was not to worry about getting another job. I could join his business. I was relieved when he left.

I admire my wife. She usually gets what she wants. “I’m sorry,” she said, her kohl-lined eyes opening to their widest.

The pressure cooker was whistling in the kitchen. I have been making my own meals for the past week. I flicked off the hand that she rested on mine and got up to turn the blasted thing down.

When I swear allegiance to someone, it’s for life. When Radhika swears allegiance, it’s until the cash runs out.

Society and the World

How do you get from point A to point B without living through the interim? How do you go from rags to riches without the hard work? I have lived most of my life believing it is luck that propels the ship of life.

How easy it is to live and yet how difficult. It’s easy to live from day to day without worrying about the ten years from now or the retirement funds but living, actually living from a five year plan to the next is life. Either you wallow in the shadows as the underdog hoping to make it one day or you can bask in the safe glow of an ordinary existence. I regret that I chose the latter.

Soon the word got out. The neighbors, the servants, the geckoes in the corners all got to know that a man stayed at home while his wife went out to work. I couldn’t hide forever. They castrated me with their words and the long unashamed leering. A few retired men sympathized with me in the elevator.

“It’s difficult to hold a job nowadays. The pyramid structure of a company has to be maintained you know. Only the best succeed.”

“Yes,” said another, “Only a government job will see you through. Live quietly, live safely.” I liked his mantra. Live quietly, live safely. Like a mouse or a squirrel.

It’s very necessary for polite society to know that a man can hold a job. A man is a dangerous thing without a job to tie him down. A good job is the hallmark of a man. Everyone let me know indirectly that I was now no longer a man.

My peers looked apologetic, as if I’d suddenly grown an extra ear and it made it difficult not to stare. I usually meet them in the parking lot when I go to drop the girls off at school. They all promised to look out for an opening.

“Are we going to be poor?” Milli asks me in the car. Her sister whacks her on the head.

“Shut up, stupid!”

It’s been a month now. I look straight ahead at the traffic. No, not desperately poor. We have a house without a loan to pay off. We have clothes, food, water which is more than the beggars who knock on our rolled up window to beg for money have. The girls ignore them.

I want to tell them that we may be poor but we still have each other. It’s the lamest excuse. In a couple of months’ time when it finally hits home that I’m going to stay at home and watch TV all day, the girls will want to be rid of me…This reminds me, I can finally watch TV all day…Yay!

Milli looks disappointed at my lukewarm response. They don’t know how to forego pleasures. They don’t know the difference between necessities and luxuries.

“We’re not poor.”

“Everybody says we will be”, she blurts out. A second later she is mortified at her foolishness. Did some kid tell her this at school? Why is the world conspiring to rob my children of their innocence?   

I had never given a crap about the unemployed. It was just a statistic that politicians, economists and social scientists debated over. Is this the universe’s way of getting back at me?

Self

I’ve asked this question almost every single day of my life – why did God put me on this earth? It’s a question that has irritated my parents and my wife but strangely got my two brats debating.

“To tell us stories, Dad.”

“It’s the only thing you’re good at,” says Nikki matronly. They’re right. I was a master story teller at school. I stood second in most of the competitions because the first prize went to the student with the better penmanship.

I wanted to live quietly but in another world. In a world where nobody was forced to sit at a desk and stare at a text book filled with irrelevant things. I closed my eyes. All sound and light seemed to fade away…

“Daddy, start the car!”

I wake up from my reverie. The traffic lights have switched to green. I suddenly remember the venerable Principal of my boys’ school, Father Patrick. He had once said in the morning assembly that we ought to do the things we love the most, only then we would excel in it.

I came home and told my father. He laughed, “Only those Catholic priests have that luxury! Look at the fees they are charging us for such platitudes!”

I know what I’ll do. I’ll go home and write a story. It will be about a man like me who ignored his true calling until he was fifty five years old, but this time he’ll be lucky because I gave him another chance.