She goes out in the balcony to water the little basil plant they have kept. One of those absolute necessities found in most Indian households. She is clad in a sari but in an unkempt way, sort of like a young girl would drape it….uncaringly.
As and when she sees a stray passer-by, she quickly fiddles with the sari making sure it covers the unceremonious marks on her body. The red colour has now changed to a bluish-green, standing out clearly on her fair skin. On most nights, she goes to bed with her heart beating in fear. It’s become a perpetual routine now…..she screams herself hoarse, yearns for old times and desperately tries to protect a sleeping Arjun. In a fit of rage, she even dares to throw away alcohol bottles that are sometimes shoved into cabinets in the most clandestine way possible. It doesn’t help. She only gets more bruises on her body.
When she calls up her mother every night, she sounds eerily farcical. But she must….her mother will worry; her father is already bed-ridden. She talks to them of happy days, long drives and the bright future that lies ahead of Arjun. Inside her heart though, she fears that these days will leave an indelible mark upon him. A mark that she fears will be too late to erase. She’s sure he’s already beginning to sense how different his home environment is.
She feels helpless. Sometimes she wants to give up, but she continues….she is the woman. They’re her family after all. Their lives are centred on her. And even if she will have no one to go to, they will all come back to her.
The sun has risen fully. She must get back inside. Plenty of chores await her. She will wait for them to leave; maybe then she can unwind. But she will not escape.
