Farah was back home, a home she and Arshad had done up together, her mainstay, her marriage home now. After, a month long stay at her mom' with a fast growing toddler Imaan. The only reminder left of the marriage that once was.
As if, the stench was not enough, she caught clumps of female hair, of different texture and even color from the corner of her eye. Her eyes followed it along the entire length of the bed until it managed an escape out of her view. Their marriage bed. This wasn't a unusual sight to her.
Trapped in the timidity in her mind and the long sequenced cracks of her lips rested in midst of the fingers, her thoughts melted in the lethal colours of darkness. sweat tickling down her neck and between her breast eloped a distinct distance from her within. She could sense a rage of countless bodies that milled around her now.
The emptiness of the enormous house was haunting her as she stood untangling the knots of her long hair in front of the huge expensive handcrafted mirror table by the window.
The constant congestion of the traffic reviving and then fading into a subdue seemed like a chores in the background. Her heart continued to thud at the constant ticking of seconds of the clock by the hallway.
A flamboyant living with the most exotic and expensive artifacts seemed more like a curse as she stood stubbed by the window relent imaginary describing her years in courtship with him, a life that she had always dreamt of growing up as a child, but in reality her living within the four walls and a ruley roof was a nightmare, she yet counts the distance in bed between them measured every living night of their relationship.
The unfettered rays never made it through the concrete walls. the nights were almost always an opaque silence left with a sense of endless embarrassment. And she was determined to conceive this silences for all years ahead.
The sun was about to set, the sky vividly coloured with birds make their way home. The sense of betrayal was making her heart feel heavy.By now all the lurking suspicions were seeing images of reality but she was afraid with the uncomfortable questions that she would have to put up to him.
In a state of epileptic fit, she see's him walk through the lane towards her. She as so flustered at presence of him in the corner of her eyes that she could barely give him a smile of recognition, she greeted him but could not recognise her voice. He walked past her ignoring her presence as a routine gesture leaving back a trail of belongings for her to reappraise.
She looked down and shut her eyes trying to regain conscious. there was a sound of liquid being poured with he cracking of ice into the glass. a fresh bottle of whiskey is now open.
She follows the flickering flame of the lamp evading the darkness of her silence, there stood an extra ordinarily calm faced unruly middle aged man evolved from the smoke of cigarettes. Spectacles, half haired head streaked with lines of thoughts, anger twisted his lips and more often spoke harshly.
She could hear him recite his creation as he believed his poetic soul to be above all trivial distractions even so to her, his lawfully second wedded wife Farah.
The wick flickered so as the shadow around the room as she accompanied the lamp to move the curtains and open herself to the night breeze.
'He contemptuously abused her with his loud gestures making her feel like a worm as he gave her a scronful smile
Wrinkles formed on his forehead and all his poetic verses vansihed as she stood stern as a pillar in front and looked straight into his eyes. She mustered courage to question the existence of the relationship and elicited him as a prime faced witness to a trial. He was never confronted with the desperation within her. Fraha never had raised her voice within the courtyard. This was an awkward situation and he had little to say as his words were struck in his throat.
His breathing became perceptibly racious, A dormant fear and panic surged him into a monosyllable storm, he could see the rage in her eyes as he strumbled his way out of his arm chair and firmly held her acting familiar, as he managed to look into her eyes; he muttered, what should I say?'
She snaps out of her reverie! Perhaps, this imagined abused too would have been preferable than NOTHING?? She wasn't sure of anything at all, these days.
She let her head drop coyly and shut her eyes as that one drop betrayed her and rolled down her cheek as she took a deep breath astounded by her inner voice. She had neven known this fury before and was frightened by the feel of it.
Her fight was over and her battle was lost as she slowly retreated clasping her thoughts as she continued to move around the house. Little Imman in tow. Her one champion, her single fan. The fear, frustration and anxieties all put to melt with a scoop of ice cream
She was quietened down, now pacified. She had now begun to put the words that were rising to rest. A fact of convulsion and lost consciousness. It was time for him to come back home again. And, the question remained. Will he? This night? Once again?
Her inner scream, succumbed to the silence. To the dominance of a correct life, filled with frustration, failure, distress. An interplay of sexual desire and element of trust (lost?) is just about being ordinary.
A rural Urban feminist connecting through a vivid imagery of a relationship is between the predator and the victim. The dust of the journey continued with the well orchestrated characters, leaving back the sound of boisterous laughter behind.
