window shopping

Lying on the couch she tried to have a siesta. Vidisha’s words were stuck in her head like a leech. She dismissed her reasons point black and told her that recent problems arose from her voyeuristic fun have deeply engrained family dysfunction issues. It struck her vexatiously close to home. She kept tossing and turning. After a short while she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When Vidisha got the call, she had never seen them and had little idea of what they had accumulated. The unseen caller poured out but Vidisha disconnected. It was more than enough. But in an instant, the caller rang her back. It continued for an hour, enough to unhinge a normal person. There was nothing to respond to. Pretty clear what the person was made of.

In the meantime a wen began to burn badly. Father said it’d be normal soon. How? She wasn’t quite sure about wen and boils, couldn’t relate to it. What is the foundation of any relationship if not honour, understanding, right intent? Is it dishonour, gluttony, grandiose, and willingness to take shit? That’s how one is trained to take the shit. By and by, they moved to another town where she started to dump it all on the paper. And the wood pushed them far away from light. Darker and darker.


Continued…

Published by Smita Ray

Smita Ray is the mother of two lovely kids and hails from northeastern India. Her perpetual displeasure arising from the hypocrisy in the society underneath the semblance of religion, culture as well as the conditioning for compliance urged her to put down the impressions in her mind. In her spare time, she likes to have some culinary adventures along with her kids trying new recipes or crafting. She describes herself as -- a soulmate, a life alighted on the earth catching the rhythm passing by her. A tinge of joy colours her world and lays its feet on the land where revellers are awaiting her to get into the groove.

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