Kulpreet Yadav's Blog - Posts Tagged "fiction"
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EXCERPT from Story 2 of UNLOVED IN NUDE TOWN (Available only on Kindle).
Anita’s mother had died the previous year, the year in which there was no rain, and now, with the anniversary just a week away, Anita recalled what her mother had said when Anita returned home, blamed by her husband’s family for his death.
Her mother had confronted her before Anita could even enter the house.
‘I was certain you would be a boy when you were inside me—because mothers know, don’t ask how—and when you were born a girl, I knew something was amiss.�
‘But Ma, how does that make a difference? Just think of me as your son.�
‘Obviously, you should have been a boy; you want to be one even now.�
‘No, that is not what I meant. I can be your boy, even though I am a girl—�
‘I think you are a bad omen; yes, that is what you are.� Her mother repeated, ‘You hear me, bad omen.�
That was how Anita—the widow, who should have been a boy, and whose husband died because of her being a bad omen—was welcomed back home.
Her mother-in-law had said the same thing: ‘Bad omen.�
For six months, Anita stared into the mirror and watched the woman grow each day. Her body was taking revenge, turning her more womanly, her breasts enlarging, waist narrowing, and hips widening. Was her body fighting with the memory of her mother accusing her of being a boy when she could be such a beautiful woman?
*
The window of Rohan’s house was closed, like always. But that afternoon, Anita thought she saw a shadow on it. She angled her head for a better view, and yes indeed, there was someone watching her. It had to be Rohan. His wife was at work, and Anita knew there could be no one else. The servants would have already retired to their quarters at the back of the house for their afternoon nap. Was he watching her? She waved nervously, but the figure didn’t move.
Anita pulled the curtain and went back inside, blaming herself for the errant fantasy that was making her hallucinate. When she returned to the window after drinking a glass of water, there was no one there. But something had begun to stir inside her—she thought of the tadpoles in the cistern in the courtyard—and she wanted that movement to stop.
She walked out of the house and, without looking left or right, headed straight for Rohan’s house, where she paused at the gate. It was unlatched, so she pushed it open and walked in. She pressed the bell and strained her senses to hear it somewhere inside, and when she didn’t, she tried again. Worry gripped her. Is Rohan well?
Anita walked through the lawn to the back of the house, where she startled a few hens, which ran for cover while she looked in the direction of the servants� room. There was no sign of life.
She turned her attention back to Rohan’s house, pushed open the kitchen door, and moved indoors. It was the first time she had entered Rohan’s house, and the unfamiliarity of the house, together with its silence and smell, hit her with a strong feeling of dislike. As she moved further inside, she heard muffled sounds. She followed the sounds and was soon at the bedroom door, which was ajar.
~UNLOVED IN NUDE TOWN: Stories of Modern Indians Obsessed with LOVE, LUST, and AMBITION
To read more from THE WINDOW AT THE END OF THE STREET please visit Amazon.
Her mother had confronted her before Anita could even enter the house.
‘I was certain you would be a boy when you were inside me—because mothers know, don’t ask how—and when you were born a girl, I knew something was amiss.�
‘But Ma, how does that make a difference? Just think of me as your son.�
‘Obviously, you should have been a boy; you want to be one even now.�
‘No, that is not what I meant. I can be your boy, even though I am a girl—�
‘I think you are a bad omen; yes, that is what you are.� Her mother repeated, ‘You hear me, bad omen.�
That was how Anita—the widow, who should have been a boy, and whose husband died because of her being a bad omen—was welcomed back home.
Her mother-in-law had said the same thing: ‘Bad omen.�
For six months, Anita stared into the mirror and watched the woman grow each day. Her body was taking revenge, turning her more womanly, her breasts enlarging, waist narrowing, and hips widening. Was her body fighting with the memory of her mother accusing her of being a boy when she could be such a beautiful woman?
*
The window of Rohan’s house was closed, like always. But that afternoon, Anita thought she saw a shadow on it. She angled her head for a better view, and yes indeed, there was someone watching her. It had to be Rohan. His wife was at work, and Anita knew there could be no one else. The servants would have already retired to their quarters at the back of the house for their afternoon nap. Was he watching her? She waved nervously, but the figure didn’t move.
Anita pulled the curtain and went back inside, blaming herself for the errant fantasy that was making her hallucinate. When she returned to the window after drinking a glass of water, there was no one there. But something had begun to stir inside her—she thought of the tadpoles in the cistern in the courtyard—and she wanted that movement to stop.
She walked out of the house and, without looking left or right, headed straight for Rohan’s house, where she paused at the gate. It was unlatched, so she pushed it open and walked in. She pressed the bell and strained her senses to hear it somewhere inside, and when she didn’t, she tried again. Worry gripped her. Is Rohan well?
Anita walked through the lawn to the back of the house, where she startled a few hens, which ran for cover while she looked in the direction of the servants� room. There was no sign of life.
She turned her attention back to Rohan’s house, pushed open the kitchen door, and moved indoors. It was the first time she had entered Rohan’s house, and the unfamiliarity of the house, together with its silence and smell, hit her with a strong feeling of dislike. As she moved further inside, she heard muffled sounds. She followed the sounds and was soon at the bedroom door, which was ajar.
~UNLOVED IN NUDE TOWN: Stories of Modern Indians Obsessed with LOVE, LUST, and AMBITION
To read more from THE WINDOW AT THE END OF THE STREET please visit Amazon.
