It had been 3 months since that fateful day. We never broached the topic. It was almost like the stoic silence surrounding it would make it go away. Batool, my wife’s niece had gone back to India. We hadn’t heard from her since. The phone never rang, and the letters never came. I debated if I should make the first move. But then again, it was not entirely my fault. She was an adult, a consenting one at that. I had asked her not once, but a million times if she wanted to do it, damn it!
Tomorrow, we were scheduled to travel back home for our annual holiday. The stares that I was to be greeted with were giving me sleepless nights already. Batool had been warned, and yet she chose to throw caution to the wind. There was only so much I could have done. Then why did the burden of this responsibility rest uneasily on my shoulders?
“Go to sleep”, my wife said insouciantly. I guess the tossing and turning was not restricted to just my thoughts.
I don’t want to go any more than I can stay. I try to close my eyes but the accusations just keep filtering in. Right from her parents to my family, I see the look of anger turn to contempt in their eyes. Their opinion of me is no less than what they share for this alien country they call the US of A. Out here I don’t owe any explanations, but back home……..Why do annual holidays come with the native land tag?
*****
My thoughts were so fast paced that we are ready to land already. I gear myself for the turbulence ahead. For once I am grateful for Indian Immigrations. Any stalling at this point will do. I trudge slowly, unwillingly as a goat being taken to the slaughter house. I know my destiny, but I can’t alter it. It is too late. Temptation thrives in the avenues of freedom but regret holds you a prisoner of thoughts.
Amidst the sea of unknown eager faces, I spot some not so eager, familiar ones. A wonder they came to the airport for the customary welcome. I almost expected the winters of Alsaska to have set in the Bay of Bengal. I spot my in-laws and try to avoid their penetrating gaze. For once I wish I was Mother Sita, and the earth would graciously open to swallow me. The irony that I thought of a helpless woman doubted by her husband did not escape from my head.
“Kemana achena Mashi”, a voice echoed as my niece lovingly hugged my wife. She then turned around and I was the recipient of a cautious smile. Suddenly, I was surrounded by my relatives, all ecstatic. Some wanted to hug me, others shook hands. All inviting us home at the same time. Her parents too came and said how wonderful it was to meet us. They thanked us profusely for all the care we took of Batool. They informed us about her impending marriage in May and made us promise that we’d make it a point to attend.
I looked at her. Apparently, she had not told them. Then again, what would she? It was up to her new husband to discover her inked midriff, the result of a college exchange program and lots of Vodka shots.
Comments
Impeccably written, with such a brilliantly built up story line. Among your other accomplishments, you are also a master story teller 🙂
Ah, Ruch, trying my hand at story telling. My first attempt. And about time, I’d say!
It was amazing. Gripping till end and you conveyed it so brilliantly in so limited words. This is what I call as a real short-story 🙂
Thanks Animesh 🙂
What a prison! 😀
I am taking that as a HUGE compliment 😀
A wonderful debut at story telling. A gripping tale.
You liked Janaki? Means a lot, you know me and fiction na 🙂
Babes…you ace in every thing you try. <3
Now you just love me too much 😛
Inked midriff! Now I want one 🙂
Ha ha ha, you know where these midriff thoughts are coming from, right? 😛
oooh.. tattoo tales.. I like 😀
And I don’t see no reason why you would not 😛
That post would not have been trademark Vinita without the twist! 🙂 Good one Ma’am!
Ha, ha , ha …………incest don’t thrill me 😛
Beautiful story. But I don’t understand what’s the whole taboo thing about tattooing… am I missing the point here?
That’s the point about being a Prisoner of Thoughts, girl. There is nothing taboo in anything, not till you lend your two piece to it. Had she done the same whilst not at his house (responsibility), I wonder if he’d be bothered? We give too much to what the world will think if they knew? Damn, the world is full of itself, really 🙂
Impressive writing. Though, I doubt if a male would ever relate himself with Mother Sita and wish to be swallowed by the earth 🙂
Ah, you do have a point. Gotta think like a man. But I wonder if he would be any less a man if he thought so?
He will be no less a man. Just that he would not think so.. 🙂
Hmmmmm, there can always be a first time right? Kahin toh aisa ek aadmi mil hi jayega joh mytho main jeeta ho…lol!
Arrey, mujhe bhi chahiye!! 😛 I’m also a consenting adult, no?!
Jao pehle uss aadmi ka consent lekar aao jo aaj kal hero bana phirta hai………….phir tum jahan kahoge, main consent de doongi 😛
Brilliant story telling 🙂 was hooked till the end!!
Gee, thanks Aditi…..I just gave it a shot.
I loved your story!! I had to smile at the ending because it would take more than vodka shots for me to get a tattoo. I would have to be comatose or dead. LOL
Oh, I’ve known people do crazier things in something called love 😉
But, yup with you about the comatose part. Me too!
WOW. It has me in rapt attention. I think I know what the “inked midriff” here is about, however, I will wait for your next post!