It was a good morning. I was sitting on a chair in the balcony soaking in some fresh Vitamin D. This chair was my favorite, among all the others in the house. I had fallen in love with it at the Saturday Chor Bazaar near Bhagaltalao. It reminded me of some great times. Grandma used to sit in a chair just like this one. I sipped my tea as I stared at the newspaper in my hand.
TWO YEAR OLD MISSING IN THE CITY
I had only started reading when he called out to me to fetch his towel. Why couldn’t the bastard do his own work? He always forgets to take the towel! But I was a demure, dutiful wife. My six month pregnant body got up clumsily as I rested a hand on the arm of the chair to balance myself. It was always a struggle.
I hate the way he shouts at me when I ‘inadvertently’ add some extra sugar in his tea sometimes. As if his stomach will mysteriously deflate by avoiding sugar. I hate it when he snores at night. It makes me restless and I think bad things. I hate the way he brushes me off when I hold his hand in public. Why am I not allowed to do that when he wants to fuck? I hate how he always forgets my birthday when even the doodhwallah remembers and gives me an extra milk packet on that day. I hate it that he always cuts me off when I try to give a suggestion. I feel like killing him sometimes. But he has every right to live. It’s a man’s world out there.
Sometimes I have bad dreams. They look so real. The room looks like it has been empty from some time. Why is it occupied now? I see a small girl, scruffily dressed, cowering in the corner. “You have no right to live!” yells a dark old man with a stick in his hands. The little girl cries and prays to god. I don’t even know who she is. Though she always looked familiar. But doesn’t she know there is no God? There is no God. Only Irony.
I wish I could kill her too. Relieve her of the misery of it all. But she’s a dream. Just a dream.
I do not know when my mind got twisted. But I realize it has. I should have known. My old man would have laughed if he’d known. But we had a complicated relationship. And my mother? She was so dead. How could she have known? I could say that I didn’t want to do the horrible things that I thought about. But it would be a lie. Because I wanted to. And then I saw her. She looked just like her. That girl in the dream.
She was dressed in a white fluffy dress with a crown on her head. So wise so young, they say do never live long. It was probably her birthday. To die on the day you were born two or maybe three years ago. Ah, what a tragedy! I so loved tragedies. Maybe that’s why Shakespeare had a special place in my heart.
But you can’t blame me. I did try to control myself. I took up all sorts of things to avoid it but everything I did led me to her. And I killed her. The wrong baby. I thought the urge would stop. But it didn’t. What a waste.
What's gone and what's past help
Should be past grief.
I break away from these thoughts as Nikhil slams the door, leaving without saying a word to me. He’s angry with me. And perhaps a little scared. I inadvertently told him what I felt like doing, though in a lighter vein. It was my mistake. What did he know about me? I would have to suffer long silences till he was back to normal. If I managed to control myself for another day. Generally, I took this disease of mine one day at a time.
But something tells me today is the day. I want it to be today. I seem to be remembering too much Shakespeare, for one.
*****
I had only wanted to go to the Supermarket to buy some Rajma. Truly. I swear! Nikhil loves Rajma. I was hoping to pacify him by making some for Dinner, you see. But mysteriously, it seemed like the steering wheel had led the car and me onto the highway. And now it had turned left onto a narrow kutccha road. I hated the fact that I seemed to have lost all control of myself. I parked the car in the field. The scenery looked like one of the few good dreams that I had sometimes. It seemed just a perfect setting for my second and last murder. Or was it the third and the last murder? Actually, it was all second, third and the last, all rolled onto one. Ugh, so much technicality at such a time!
I took the knife out of the front compartment and waited in the car. Should I kill her inside the car? The car would be spoilt. Hah, I’d want to see his face when he sees his beloved velvet seat covers spoiled by blood and human insides. But no, that would make him sad. Sadly, I loved him. Bastard though he is. Lord, what fools these mortals be!
I marveled at myself. I was so unemotional about this all. But then I had been the same when I killed the little girl. I had thrown up afterwards. But I think it had been my pregnancy talking. I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. Did my eyes show fear? I had researched all the ways to kill the child inside me. But to insert something inside me seemed so cruel. I guess this was the easy way. Or else the urge would never cease.
O happy dagger!
This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die.
Hah, I was no Juliet. In a tiny stroke, I cut a vein on my wrist. I waited for the blood to flow. He was going to be so angry. He would never get to see Aditi or Aditya. But I was sure it was Aditi. I was such a killjoy!
Was I laughing? Or was I crying? I could feel the hotness of the blood now.
To sleep, perchance to dream-
ay, there's the rub
That was not something to worry about. I waited for the blackness to appear once and for all. Black had always been the color in my life. I tried to paint it red. But I forgot that Black can never be masked with any other color, as much as you try. It was always all pervading.
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances…
This...was my exit.
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After a long time, something from my pen ! But please don't ask me where this came from. I do not know myself.
P.S. All the bold lines are by Shakespeare, not mine !
P.P.S I think I overdid the Shakespeare ! :-|
