Contd from “The Ideal?”…
He re-read the letter again in the dimness of the street light streaming in through the window. There was no mention of what really was going on at their place. He liked it that way. Folding the letter inside the envelope, he put it back in the diary where it belonged. He treaded lightly towards the cupboard and kept the diary on top of it. Looking at the woman sleeping on his bed, face towards him, the light unable to flit across her face, he smiled at her lovingly. He rubbed the gashes on the knuckles of his left hand. The gashes were so old, he now referred to them as birth marks. They were signs of his father’s love.
The naive woman thought he didn’t know she wrote to her mother. He loved her for how she covered for him. She really did love him. Was that how his mother was too? Nah, she was better. She never fought back, never talked back. She was always the loving mother, dutiful wife. She didn’t even show her tears to his father ever. His wife had a lot to learn. But she would – with time. He was sure. Maybe it was time for a lesson soon.
He loved his wife a lot. The marks on her body showed that bright and loud. That was the only love he knew. That was the only love he’d ever known.
To be contd…
Picture Courtesy : Pinterest.
The scratching of pens wouldn’t stop. The overhead fan was whirring at full speed. Yet, she could sense the beads of sweat forming over her brow. A couple more minutes and she would wipe it off again. The students had just another 30 minutes and then she could go and rest in the staff room.
This was the third consecutive day her cook hadn’t turned up. Her ailing mother in law was demanding even when on bed. Then there was her husband who couldn’t see her burdens even if she threw them in his face. Well, he was dead anyways. He met with an accident while he was on a trip with his mistress. The world thought he died alone and mourned him for all that he wasn’t. She didn’t care to correct their assumptions to save her daughter from the society’s cruel impending jibes.
She could see two students passing papers at the back of the room. She didn’t care! They were old enough to know what was right and what wasn’t. If they thought these marks could secure their future, she wanted to roll on the floor laughing at their silliness. The real world would make them repent for their underhand methods. Or at least life would. She let them enjoy the short lived moments of adrenalin rushed success. And noted their roll numbers for further reference.
If they were good, she was better.