Zoya

Sitting across from the table she gazed intently at her. How could she have missed her? She knew her for the person she was (somewhat) but now as she looked at her in that dim kitchen light she wondered how she could have really missed her.

They sat in silence. It was late at night. Zoya asked if she wanted another cup of tea. She nodded in the affirmative not thinking and followed her slight figure get up from the chair and walk toward the stove. Her long skirt flirted around her ankles as she moved pouring water in the kettle.

There wasn't much in common between them. Yet, there was something about Zoya she couldn't resist. She was an extrovert with a nervous energy about her. Zoya, on the contrary, was a woman of few words and a calm disposition. One would say almost aloof who didn't let on much. And it was precisely that that made up for the air of mystery around her that intrigued the girl.

Now as she made her tea, she realized there was something more to her than just her composed and calm disposition that was so endearing. 

She placed the tea on the table and sat next to her. They watched the steam curl up fogging up the spoon that she held gingerly over the cup. They struggled to fill the silence. Earlier that day, she had thought out stories to recount but now not a word escaped her. Scared she would sound silly and embarrass herself she kept quiet. Zoya, on the other hand, was just plain tired.

The silence was numbing. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Zoya's husband burst into the kitchen asking if they were ready to call it a day. It was late after all and it had been a long day.

She sensed relief in Zoya's voice as she said 'yes'. She, in the meanwhile, wanted just a little more of their time together. Even if it meant sitting in silence.

But not wanting to be difficult she said she was ready for bed. Zoya led her to the guest room up the wooden spiral staircase. It was a cozy room with lace curtains, pictures on the wall, beautiful lamp shades, an antique chest of drawers and wall paper that accentuated the beauty of the room.

She sat on the bed feeling a little lost. Zoya stood at the door smiling wearily. 'See you tomorrow morning' she said and was off.

She continued sitting on the bed surveying the room and gradually proceeded to survey her life. 

Life had been a struggle and through it all she had somehow managed to get through. But the hardships had left a void in her heart, a yearning for peace and love. She had never felt completely happy and free or been able to live to her full potential. It gnawed her but over time she shirked off feelings of regret and took each day as it came.

But when she met Zoya it was a stark reminder of the things she never had.

A happy home to begin with. She was married into a large joint family. It didn't feel like hers. She had little authority and not much freedom. The atmosphere was always stifling and there was little cheer. She yearned to have her own home one day. One that she would keep pretty and joyful. One where she'd feel she belonged.

One where she would feel safe.

Now as she sat in the room, she felt a pang. She really wished she had a happy home, a life of her own. She saw Zoya live the life she always wanted and maybe unbeknownst to her, it was this emptiness in her heart that made her want her to be close to Zoya and be part of the perfect life she led.

Her perfect life.

She heard Zoya wrap up for the day. Oh, to be close to her. She pulled the blanket over her and curled under it.

Sleep... chief nourisher in life's feast.

That night she dreamed of them. A vision in the mirror. They were both naked. She stood in front while Zoya stood behind holding her close by the shoulders. The sun streamed in through a window and painted them in soft white light. Not a word was spoken but she felt understood. It was warm, peaceful and calm. The dream trailed off in a haze but when she woke up next morning the comforting feeling lingered on.

She felt composed. Just like Zoya. She sat in bed holding on to that peaceful feeling that enveloped her. It was so beautiful it felt surreal. The sun shone in the room just like in the dream. It was so soothing she could almost taste it. A sweet buttery taste.

She got ready to leave and tip toed across the kitchen, round the back garden and got in her car. She didn't want to see her. Seeing her stirred up emotions she couldn't handle anymore.

The emptiness. The sadness. The pain. The struggles. The loneliness. 

As she drove off she looked in the rear view mirror and saw Zoya run into the garden watching her pull onto the main road.

She stood by the fence waving. The sun bathing her in that familiar soft white light.

Just like in the dream.

The Hulk

     Amy first heard about him through the grapevine on the school playground during recess. She wasn’t sure whether it was just puerile gossip or whether there was some truth to it. Whatever it was, it sent chills down her spine.

     After all, he did live next door to her.

    Having moved to the city recently, she didn’t have many friends. Being shy and reserved didn't help either and she hung on to the periphery of groups of giggling girls. Not that she cared. She preferred being on the outside. She was the observer striped of opinions just witnessing and taking in information about people and places without prejudice. She felt much like Alice at Mad Hatter’s table amused and entertained except for that bustling afternoon on the playground when she heard of the Hulk. It made her uneasy and for the first time she wished she was part of the group; for the talk around him started just as quickly in hushed whispers as it dwindled in unfinished sentences and left too many questions unanswered.

    Now as she trailed behind the group her complacency was shaken, which propelled her to, rather clumsily, grab the closest elbow and give it a harsh pull. The girl gave a start, stumbled a few steps and pulled herself away, a look of annoyance. She stammered 'The Hulk's my neighbor.' This piece of information stopped the group in its tracks but the fact that it came from Amy made it all together more intriguing. Most seemed to take notice of her for the first time and regarded her with quiet contemplation.

    She stood defiantly, eyes burning and resolute in getting more information. The color rose to her cheeks and her lips, which had turned a shade paler, quivered uncontrollably. She shrank under everyone's hard stare but maintained her composure. Her hair tied back in a stiff braid exposed every little feature of her face, every little flicker of emotion. Her arms drooped by her sides, fingers curled loosely at the knuckles. She wasn't particularly pretty but it was her small frame, her easy mannerisms, her shy, resigned attitude that was so nonthreatening that it left most, who spent time with her, feeling confident and superior.

    One had to feel a bit sorry for her as she stood alone with no friend or a good story for cover. It took the girls some effort to break the stinging silence.

   'She's timid. He doesn't like aggressive people' said someone at last. They waited for a response. When they got none they walked off in silence.

     Amy watched the retreating figures before continuing aimlessly down the road. The sun was high up with not a wisp of cloud in the washed-out sky. She stopped momentarily looking down the desolate road till it turned a corner, her mind fixed on him. She remembered seeing him a couple of times on his driveway polishing his metallic 1976 Cadillac DeVille. There was nothing unusual about him except for his big build and formidable disposition. He was hardly seen and rarely spoke. A mysterious man but after the talk at recess he seemed to take on another dimension for Amy. They said he was a convict; a hardened criminal. A slight word, a mean gesture and he would do you in. He was as mean as they come they said. Thoughts crowded her mind.

    The still torrid air made her dizzy. She continued down the road in a half stupor. The Cicadas made loud sounds all day. Their calls grew sharper and more high pitched as it got hotter. It was the only sound you heard; the cicadas unanimously hitting a crescendo till it gradually died down only to begin in a few moments.

     The road turned and almost immediately gave way to an open field. It sloped gently to a small embankment where water flowed quietly. She sat close to the river; a sense of peace come over her as she watched the water form tiny ripples as it moved along the banks. The sharp sun, the quiet gurgling of water, the shrill of the cicadas and the soft grass made her drowsy. For a while she forgot herself and drew in every bit of the scene. In this moment there were no thoughts; in this moment she was happy. 

      Before long she fell fast asleep lulled by the sharp sun and the buzzing of the dragonflies. It was dusk when she woke up to the sounds of boots hard against the asphalt. The orange over the horizon was turning a quick black. The commotion seemed to get closer. She looked in it's direction and saw an angry mob. Their torches light up the evening sky as they marched in her direction. A mob of unbridled anger. She looked about for cover but saw open fields. The very fields that comforted her now seemed to turned against her. She cowered down in the grass with bated breath. The ornery crowd inched closer and the clamor sounded louder than ever when suddenly, she felt a rough tug and within seconds was scooped off the grass by a pair strong arms. She turned to see a big man, his face lighting up sporadically by the dancing flames. She couldn't tell who he was as he hurled her on his shoulder and ran as fast as he could to get away from the crowd.

     The mob grew more and more distant and their loud cries were reduced to a muffle. They passed through the open field and into a thicket and to her amazement came up on her neighborhood from a back road. It wasn't until he reached her driveway that he put her down. 

     It was the Hulk.

    'Next time be careful where you go. I might not be around to help you' he said, a look of concern and asked her to hurry home.

    Speechless, Amy stood watching him in disbelief as he walked away. Ignorance fuels fear and now suddenly there was nothing to fear. She smiled to herself.

Her little secret. She would let the girls worry. 

Postprandial

It's the silence that stings.

After everyone's gone, the music's stopped and the drinks have stopped flowing.

It's the silence that's difficult to bear.

She goes over the stories of the evening trying to find a place in them. She can't. She lets it go.

She looks over the kitchen, the leftovers, the half eaten plates, the half empty glasses and the dishes in the sink. Those dishes. Her heart sinks.

Maybe later.

The evening feels distant now. Still lonely, she lets out a sigh. Maybe call a smaller group next time? She wishes she had spent a quiet evening by herself. At least they had a good time. She looks over the spoils of the evening - cushions askew on the sofa, ash trays on the floor and candles flickering on their last tiny bit of wick.

A sweet concoction of perfume lingers in the room. She finds comfort in it. But it doesn't last long. The silence is overwhelming. It comes stinging back like a bee.

She decides to take a quick walk.

It's pitch dark and frigid. She pulls her jacket tighter and starts down the lane. There's not a speck of light. The houses make foreboding silhouettes against the dark sky. She wonders who the inhabitants are, what their stories are.

Everyone has one.

A couple blocks down she notices a tiny room on the lower level of a big house light by a lamp. A man bent over his desk hard at work. The room is quite stark. A wall painting and a couple of empty shelves. She wonders who the man is; wonders what his story is.

Thoughts start crowding her mind. She wonders how she got to where she is. Not that she ever had it all. But she feels worse off now than when she started.

So many battles to win, demons to slay, wounds to heal and miles to go. Day after day, week after week. Will it ever get easy?

Her toes start to feel the cold despite the thick boots. She walks till the end of the lane and quickens her pace to head back home. The wind's picked up. It sure is chilly.

She gets closer to the house of the tiny room. This time there's no light. She notices a man standing on the driveway. A long dark cloak flutters lightly around him. His face hidden deep within the hood. Curls of smoke rise up into oblivion from it. She wonders if it's the man from the tiny room. He watches her, a dark looming figure, as she passes by the driveway. She sees no arms, no face. It's all blended in the darkness of the night. His face, a hollow abyss.

'A few close people is better company than a large crowd with little in common.' His voice cuts through the air like a knife.

She gives a start. How did he know?

She jiggles the key in the door frantic to get in.

The candle are out. The house in darkness. She turns on the light. Home, a familiar place. This time the disarray provides her comfort. The dishes piled up in the sink don't feel as daunting and the silence is welcoming. She sits on the sofa to catch her breath.

So lonely. The evening's left her feeling more despondent.

She looks about her and sees a paper on the center table and turns it over.

On it, someone's scribbled, 'Silence is eloquence.'

She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes. Next time, a quiet evening.

A Happy People

His voice came thin and tense over the long distance line. The unmistakable quiver in his voice, the sound of speeding cars in the background intercepted by the shrill of crickets didn't exactly evoke a pleasant feeling in Annie on the other end of the line. She waited giving him time to gather his thoughts. 'I won't be able to make it tonight. I still have...' He paused for another car to pass by. When the noise faded into oblivion, he resumed. '...another 6 hours till I get home and it’s already getting dark.'

'Where are you right now?'

'Still on the freeway 80 miles from Hersht. I'll keep driving till I see a motel to put up for the night. Is that ok?'

'Yes, but do be careful. I'll see you in the morning then?'

'Yes, G'night. Love you.'

'Love you too.' He hung up suddenly feeling very lonely. The sun made long shadows on the gravel. He looked at the sky turn a slow dark purple and felt his heart sink. He longed to be home to his wife sipping on tea while they watched TV.

It had been a hard life. Growing up poor where nothing was taken for granted was a lesson he had learnt early on; one that had become a way of life for him. His father, a rough hardworking man of loud ways and a booming voice, worked tirelessly to keep the roof over their heads. His mother, a thrifty and a strong spirited woman made sure nothing was wasted. With money hard to come by and three little mouths to feed the parents seemed perpetually harried. The constant squabbles over money, the children, and limited provisions did little to bring cheer to the house. Ivanko’s childhood memories consisted of waiting in long ration lines in people's hand-me-downs, playing football in the dark narrow alleys and waking up to cold damp days. There were, however, lighter moments when they would go out for an evening of movie and dinner, a welcome change to their dreary existence.

His parents divorced when he was barely 10. He knew all along it was going to happen someday what with the bitter fights and endless arguments. And when it did, it hit him hard. Being the eldest he felt oddly responsible. He withdrew into himself and sought solace at his best friend's house where everything seemed picture perfect. But when his best friend's parents too separated, he lost all faith in the institution of marriage, in the concept of a family. As he grew older crumbling marriages and broken relationships became common news. Concerned that he would never be able to have a successful relationship himself, he decided never to get married. He concentrated on his career and worked his way out of the poverty. But life had other plans for him. He met his girlfriend while in his final year at university and in spite of himself got married a few years later.

The insecurity and fear of his marriage failing made him anxious and he made every effort to keep the threads of his marriage intact. Ever so often, he felt engulfed by that familiar feeling of desperation. Try as he might, he couldn't wish it off. Will he too end up like his parents? It could be his turn too one day. Why did relationships have to be so complicated? Why couldn't we live in harmony? The world isn’t so bad he reasoned, and there are many who lead fulfilling lives with their spouses until the very end.

‘Just be’ he reassured himself.

Now, cruising down the freeway back from one of his work trips, he peeled his eyes for a motel. There was little else about but vast spaces of nothingness, dry earth and desert shrubs. He drove for an hour before catching a glow in the distance. As he got closer he noticed the glow came from a farm house sitting conspicuously in the middle of the desert. There were a couple of dusty pick-up trucks parked arbitrarily in front of the house. A rusted wire-fence ran from the side of the house before running aground at a corner. Metal scraps, dirty chicken coops and farm tools were thrown carelessly about. The only inviting aspects were a couple of wooden benches facing the open landscape. These looked like they were being used.

He took the chance and he drove off the freeway onto the dusty path to ask for directions to the closest motel. A dim night lamp lit the tiny doorbell. He pushed it hard till it gave out a harsh ring. A dog barked. Ivanko, his heart pounding, suddenly had second thoughts and was about to leave when a genial looking woman with delicate features and a small frame opened the door. Ivanko began asking for directions for a motel when she cut him short and ushered him in with a friendly wave. Surprised, he stepped in.

It was a neat immaculate house, quite contrary to its ramshackle appearance outside. At the far end of the room crackled a fire and a group of people sat around it looking rather grim. He followed the woman to the group who gave him a very puzzled look. The lady explained that he was lost and was looking for a place to put up for the night. After a moment’s hesitation an elderly man with a shock of white hair shuffled to his feet his hands extended in a hand shake. The man introduced himself as the husband of the lady. Ivanko glanced at the group huddled on the sofa; a couple of adults, a few children, and a sleeping baby cradled very lovingly in one of the girl’s arms. A cat sat quietly by the fireplace looking rather bored.

‘Make yourself at home’ said the man gruffly and pulled him a chair. Ivanko sat rather awkwardly feeling their gaze on him. He introduced himself and gave them a glimpse into his life, and his work. The group listened with keen interest. He noticed how stiff they were and sensed fear in their eyes. Very slowly they introduced themselves in a rather officious way, cold and dry. They were family – a mix of sons and daughters. There was a foreboding feeling one couldn’t ignore. The conversation got off to an uncomfortable start with reluctant one-liners and long pauses but as the evening wore on the somber mood gradually started to fade. The group started opening up and the conversations took on an easy cadence. They joked, teased and shared stories about people and places. It didn’t take them long to come out of their shell thought Ivanko. He felt he had known this happy group for a long time. He let his guard down and for the first time he felt inexplicably comfortable with himself. There was no fear, no anxiety, and no regrets – in this moment he was a new person, carefree and confident.

The group too looked a different people. There was a glow about them. They forgot about their worries, whatever they might be, and chatted merrily. Children played and ran about the house screaming excitedly. The cat taken aback by the sudden ruckus hid behind an old armchair and eyed everyone with suspicion.

Dinner was a simple fare. Someone corked open an aged wine bottle to loud cheers and applause. Wine flowed freely and the meal simple though sumptuous filled Ivanko who by this time, a little light headed, was full of funny tales and anecdotes. People laughed, raised their glasses to the unexpected guest. Dinner was followed by desserts around the fireplace and more joyful moments.

When Ivanko went to sleep that night, he lay awake reliving every moment since he stepped in this nondescript happy home. He felt a change come over him; one of contentment and faith that families can live well together - taking care of each other and overcoming life’s travails together. Life, after all, didn’t have to be this serious. With his faith somewhat restored he felt a burden lift off of his shoulders. For the first time he felt could just be. He closed his eyes and was transported to a faraway place that knew neither anxiety nor fear.

Morning dawned to a lively house and excited chatter. After a sumptuous breakfast with the family he got ready for the road. As he was leaving the eldest son, Joe, asked if he could ride with him to the next town. Happy to oblige they left together.

Joe seemed a little preoccupied. Ivanko pulled over to his stop and thanked him for the wonderful stay. Just as he was going about to drive off, there was a tap on the window. With an earnest look in his eyes Joe said 'This is going to sound incredulous but it’s you we need to thank. Thank you for helping my parents find each other again. Just before you turned up at our door, they had been fighting and on the verge of moving out. You came in and they felt happy and themselves again. There’s hope. Thank you.’

Lidiya's Lucky Charm

The morning had got off to a sluggish start. The day lay stretched in front of her like a blank slate. Lidiya wondered how she was going to fill in those long hours and wished her friend hadn't stood her up the very last minute. They had planned to catch the matinee at the local theater and now that the plan had fallen through, she suddenly found herself alone and feeling rather petulant. She could go by herself, she mulled for a while but the movies aren't much fun alone now, are they? And so she wandered around the house aimlessly before settling on her bed staring at the peeling walls.

The eerie stillness of the house broken only by the ticking of the wall clock was impetus enough to get her off the bed.

'There's got to be something to do' she thought hard.

She stood in front of her dresser and felt she could get useful and tidy the drawers. But the very thought of squatting in front of her dresser and sorting the confused pile of paper and forgotten items made her heart sink further. But it had to be done someday and today was perfect so she switched on some music, poured herself some wine, took a deep breath and pulled open the bottom drawer.

A thick musty smell of wood, and decaying paper filled the room. She peered inside, covering her nose and narrowed her eyes. Stacks of old cards, stamps, address books, letters scrawled in broken handwriting in ink, the ink now blotting the paper in places stared at her in neglect. She picked up an old card and wiped the dust that had come to stick to it over the months. It was from an old friend, who she had lost touch with. She tossed it to one side not caring to renew her lost friendship. There was a jumble of old warranty papers, receipts of electronic items, and such like. Most of which was of no use to her. She made 2 piles - one for items she would keep and one for those she would discard.

As the 'to be discarded' pile grew bigger, she decided to pull everything out and trash it in the bin without surveying each piece of yellowed paper. 'What a waste of time that would be!' So she pulled out another heap and tossed it carelessly. She dug her hands further into the drawer for another pile and felt something unusual; soft and spongy. Startled, she withdrew her hand and wondered what it could be. A dead rat? Horrified she got a flash light and directed it in the corner, her eyes wide with curiosity.

A little doll no bigger than her palm in a black cape, a red scarf and bright blue eyes shone in the white light. There was a ladder tied to his back and a little piece of paper stuck to his front that read 'I'll be your lucky charm and not bring you to any harm.' She took it in her hand and stared. It took her to a faraway place in a distant time. Wrapping her fingers around it, she gave it a gentle squeeze and wondered where she might be and what might have become of her?

It had been a glorious day, she remembered. The house smelt of cupcakes, wine flowed freely and music played softly in the background drowned by the happy chatter of her mother's friends. She was in the lawn that smelt of freshly cut grass watching the clouds drift and form funny shapes when she heard them leave. She raised herself on her elbow and watched them languidly as they got in their cars. It was then that one of her mother's friends, a radiant smile on her face approached her. She sat up and gave a half smile. 'How are you dear?' said the woman. 'Here, I want you to have this' and saying so she thrust a little doll in her palm, closing it with her manicured hand. 'It will bring you luck. Keep it with you.' She smiled and walked away.

Lidiya watched the retreating figure, puzzled at the unexpected gesture of affection. She toyed with the little figure in her hands and decided to give it to her friend, Anna, who she was visiting that evening. She had always wanted to give her something as a token of her friendship. ‘This will do’ she thought out aloud.

But when she went over to Anna’s place that evening, it was teeming with youngsters her age. This wasn't how she had anticipated the evening. She was hoping for a quiet evening with just the two of them – a more private moment to give her the doll, the 'Lucky Charm'. She sat self-consciously on the edge of the sofa feeling very out of her depth. She didn't know anyone. It was a boisterous crowd, very self-assured and loud. She wondered who they were and looked anxiously for Anna, who was talking animatedly to two other boys. She smiled at the girl sitting opposite who looked coldly at her. She felt lonely and wished she was back in her lawn; the heady smell of cut grass and Earth, the buzzing of dragonflies with the wind in her face.

She tried to fit in but found acceptance hard to come by. Feeling confused, she sat by herself in a corner. It wasn’t long before she noticed a girl, a waif of a thing, sitting cross legged on the floor in the dark balcony by the far end of the room. The little girl looked on, eyes wide, at the unruly crowd of girls and boys. Next to her sat a woman, perhaps her mother. One could tell from their appearance that they were probably the domestic help. Lidiya’s heart went out to them. They didn’t speak a word but you could tell they drew comfort from each other. There was a sense of calm about them. Lidiya watched them, especially the little girl in her tiny plait that tapered to dry scraggly strands of hair. She wore a white frock with pink motifs, which was a ‘hand-me-down’ from Anna. Her mother was in her torn work clothes and looked disheveled but had a pleasant countenance. Lidiya wondered if they had been offered any refreshments at all and felt terrible.

Minutes passed when the clamor in the room was abruptly stilled when someone suggested they play a game. Everyone started throwing ideas. It was finally decided that they would play ‘dark room’, where everyone hides and one person looks for them in the dark. While they were deciding who would seek them out first, Anna’s mother very graciously asked the little servant girl to join in the game. Everyone looked at her. She shrank under their stares, petrified. Lidiya felt her discomfort at being singled out as she emerged clumsily from the safety of the shadows. She wanted to take her by the hand and make her feel wanted. Her mother sensing her fear patted her on the shoulders. The little girl came closer and stood on the fringes of the group maintaining her distance; indicative of her lower social-economic status.

And so began the game. They chose the person who would seek them out first and turned off the lights. There was utter chaos as everyone tried to find the best hiding place. Lidiya managed to hide behind a closet and thought of the little girl. She peeled her eyes in the darkness for any hint of her but the pitch black room reflected no light, no shadows or silhouettes. She waited with bated breath. The eerie silence was suddenly interrupted by a small shriek. It was the little girl. The seeker had bumped right into her, who hadn't moved an inch.

On came the lights and there she stood, transfixed, looking scared and sheepish. ‘Apparently, she didn’t hide!’ said someone and laughed. It was a funny sight but given it was the poor hapless girl, Lidiya felt indignant. Others laughed, some mocked while she stood staring at the floor, shamefaced. Someone shoved her and said ‘Well, it’s your turn to seek us out. Get ready.’

Lidiya, overcome by the insensitivity of her peers and the helplessness on the little girl’s part, suddenly shouted over the din and said ‘I will fill in for her.’ Everyone turned towards her. She felt bold and fearless much to her surprise. The little girl looked at her with those familiar wide eyes. Lidiya walked to the door and shut it. Never had she felt this confident, this excited, this strong. She loved the feeling. The game carried on for another half hour after which the crowd started to disperse.

Lidiya changed her mind and decided to give the ‘Lucky Charm’ to the little girl, for she liked her. She rummaged in her pockets but couldn't find it. She looked frantically all over but in vain. She had lost her ‘Lucky Charm’ in the chaos of the evening! ‘Oh no!’ She felt torn, not because she had lost the doll but because she couldn't give it to the little girl.

Weeks passed and memories of that evening faded. Lidiya thought often of the little girl in the beginning but forgot about her as days went by.

Until one day.

It was a hot summer evening. Anna’s mother had invited Lidiya and her mom over for tea. They were gossiping over scones and sponge cake when someone knocked on the door. It was the little girl with her mother. Memories of that evening came flooding back and Lidiya wished she had given the little girl something and not lost that doll. She felt torn again.

After an hour or so of chatting, Anna got up to go to the restroom. Lidiya sat alone in the room when suddenly the little girl walked in. ‘I want you to have this’ she said shyly and placed the ‘Lucky Charm’ in her hands. Lidiya stared at it in disbelief. ‘Anna’s mother found it the day after the party and didn’t know whose it was. So she gave it to me. I always wanted to give it to you. I waited for us to be alone so I could give it to you. You were kind to me. Thank you’ she said timidly. Lidiya caught by surprise could only manage a watery smile.

They heard Anna's hurried footsteps in the corridor. Startled, the little girl made for the door leaving behind a speechless Lidiya.

The Haircut

           It had been 12 years. 12 years since she had had a haircut. She had always prided herself on her hair. After all, it were her long tresses that had got her her husband. Well, that wasn't the only thing. There was her too; a bright, vivacious girl he couldn't have refused. It was an arranged setting. An alliance suggested by her uncle, who knew both the families. Fortunately for everyone, and more so for the girl and the boy, it worked.

         They met at her place. She wore a white salwar kurta with a light gold border. Her hair, thick and lustrous, the color of chestnut, cascaded down to her waist in perfect little curls. It was parted to one side and pinned carefully behind her ears where a dainty Hibiscus flower sat tucked in her pretty ringlets rather inconspicuous. They spoke nervously at first but as the evening wore on; they chatted and laughed like old friends. It was an instant connection and talks of an impending wedding soon filled the busy household.

             Two years hence and much had changed. Twins within a year and a lucrative job offer had ushered in a better lifestyle although it brought with it copious amount of work at the office, longer commutes, shorter evenings and busier weekends. But in spite of their hectic schedules, they made time for each other and lived a happy family life. Their fondness for each other had only deepened and they loved each other just as much if not more.

            While she made every effort to keep the threads of her married life intact, she did, however, neglect herself. She wasn't particularly good looking but it was always her hair that had set her apart. It was her identity and if there was ever a mop of hair that did justice to the words 'crowning glory', it was hers. She couldn't remember how it had grown to this length. Maybe it were the compliments or just her general apathy of the hairdressers. And so it grew and the attention it got made her feel good. She tended to it with utmost care. She would plait it, tie it into a ponytail or just leave it loose. Anyway she wore it, it turned heads. It boosted her confidence and she loved it when people said 'the girl with the beautiful long hair.' It framed her face and gave her character. 'Don't ever cut your hair' her mom would say lovingly while running her fingers through it. She wasn't vain but she indulged in her hair and she knew she would be devastated if anything were to happen to those perfect locks.

             Times change, and people do too but sometimes, disappointingly, out of their own folly. That was two years ago and sadly, it was that very hair she now neglected. Her indifference was deliberate and quite unfounded.

          She remembered that evening like it was yesterday. It was her honeymoon. They were at the beach watching the sun go down. The sea was calm and shimmered in that mellow light. The orange silhouettes of fishermen and their dinghies bobbed in the distance. The waves crashed gently on the shore wetting their toes bringing with them tiny shells and yellow sand before receding into the deep blue waters. A warm breeze, the smell of brine, played softly and teased the strands that had come undone from her tousled bun. The rays light up her hair and the light brown traces shone in that soothing light. He looked at her tenderly and brushed the loose strands back into her thick bun. 'How could I say no to such lovely hair and that Hibiscus laughing mockingly at me!' It was a casual comment made in good humor that she should have taken in the right spirit. But something burned in her and she felt dejected. She smiled at him ruefully, saying nothing. She felt he had married her for the wrong reasons. She knew she was wrong. He had married her for her but try as she might, she couldn't shake off that remark made in pure jest.

            Years passed and she carried on never letting it hurt him, hurt their marriage for that would be foolish. Those words though stayed etched in her mind. There's more to me than my hair she thought indignantly. She knew he loved her but the human mind is such; quite cynical. It latches on to the negative and distorts the truth. She felt loved but she also felt there was something missing, like an important piece of a nearly complete puzzle, all of her own doing.

          And thus began her impassiveness towards her hair. Deliberate at first till it became a habit over the course of time. 'How silly of me!' she would reproach herself but she was beyond reasoning. Her indifference began to show gradually. She stopped coloring her hair or trimming the ends. It started looking unkempt. A carelessly tied scraggly plait with split ends. She soon reached a stage where she almost forgot she had hair. Busy she was, yes, juggling home, work and the kids but if it weren't for that unfortunate comment, she would have still had that beautiful mane. 'Your hair doesn't look as nice now' her friends would say with concern but she was impervious to it all.

            It was on one chaotic morning while combing her hair and running to get her kids ready for school that she reasoned she might as well cut it short than leave it to fall apart. A comforting thought but she couldn't muster the courage to do it. She blamed her busy schedule but the truth was she hadn't gone to a salon for as long as she could remember and the thought paralyzed her.

          Weeks passed but finally one day she made up her mind and made that appointment. So after work, she made her way to the salon bustling with energetic, immaculate women. All eyes turned on her when she walked in and she shrank under their stares. When it was her turn for a haircut, the hairdresser exclaimed 'Oh what long hair!' She cringed. Am I doing the right thing? She was at crossroads. Maybe I can just trim it and nurse it back to health. A stream of thoughts riddled her mind before being rudely interrupted by the hairdresser's terse question, 'What would you like me to do?' A tense pause. She shot the hairdresser a look of despair and confusion. 'I don't know. Could you just trim the ends?'

            'Yes, but your hair is in bad shape. I'll have to take at least 4 inches off if that's ok.'

            An unsure nod and the scissors got down to work. Snip, snip snip. Every movement of the hairdresser's fingers moving swiftly through her hair and the sound of the scissors cutting those neglected curls were a rude reminder of her own stupidity, the neglect and she felt her life crumble with every trimming that fell to the floor.

            The hairdresser’s face wore a contorted look. 'When was the last time you had it cut? It looks so dry and lifeless.'

           'I can't remember. It's been a long time.'

          'If I were you, I’d cut it shoulder length. It will be easier to grow it back well....' she said her voice trailing off.

          All through she wondered what her husband would say. Would he like her any less? The words 'How could I say no to such lovely hair and that Hibiscus laughing mockingly at me!' resonated in her head. The more she thought of it, more vengeful she felt and bolder she got.

             'Yes! Cut it way short.' she ordered.

          Snip, snip and more snips. It took a whole hour to trim it down. She closed her eyes not wanting to think of the comments and looks she was going to get. She visualized her husband mortified. Her children, nothing to play with as they sat on her lap while she read to them. Her mother, a look of absolute disbelief. Well, it’s my hair she concluded and tried to curb the myriad of thoughts crowding her mind.

           When it was all done, she looked about her; a carpet of jet black trimmings. She felt a catch in her throat and looked in the mirror. She couldn't recognize herself. 'Well, it is what it is. Hopefully it grows back soon.' she thought out aloud. The hairdresser smiled reassuringly.

              She got out and started her anxious drive back home.

            When she reached home, she stood at her doorsteps, heart pounding. She wasn't sure whether she had liked the haircut herself and felt naked. She stared vacantly at the door and regretted her attitude. If only she had been mature and sensible. ‘I’m worse off now!’ she thought and let out a sob. She jabbed at the doorbell and waited with a pained and resigned look on her face.

She heard the latch go after what felt like an eternity. The door swung open and he stopped short. A disconcerted look crossed his face. He gasped and stared stupefied. It took him a few seconds to gather himself before saying 'You've got rid of your hair!'

She stood incapacitated and scared, her drooping shoulders very suggestive of a hard battle lost. He pulled her close and hugged her tight, 'I can’t believe what you've done to your hair!’

‘Do you like it?’ she asked shakily. He pulled her away and holding her at arms length gave her a long look, ‘I like it!'

               'Will you love me just the same?'

 His face changed from a puzzled look to one of amusement, 'I will always love you no matter what hon!' She light up like a pin ball machine and smiled. He gave her a searching look and asked 'But whatever made you do that?'

 'You don't want to know.' She said sheepishly feeling a wave of relief.

 She pulled him closer and felt a sense of peace. Resting her head on his chest she closed her eyes and pictured the missing piece slide effortlessly into that empty spot completing her unfinished puzzle. 

Him

When Natascha woke up that frigid Monday morning, she felt an unmistakable sense of urgency tinged with excitement. She looked about her room trying to remember what might have caused this furor. She felt uneasy but even then, it was a welcoming feeling. She couldn't put her finger on it and wondered why she felt the way she did, an undeniable mix of frenzy accompanied by fear and most of all, adventure.

She got up from her bed, mindful of the growing pit in her stomach and walked to the full length mirror by the window and saw a disheveled but a comely figure staring back at her. The eyes were dilated from the inexplicably mysterious feeling and the mellow rays streaming in from the partly drawn lace curtains accentuated her light brown eyes. She stared back at the reflection in a stupor. It didn't feel like her own. And yet, it was her.

She reached for the window and threw the curtains apart and drew in a deep breath of the crisp winter air. The neighborhood was still waking up to the morning. Other than a few hurrying pedestrians, and an occasional school bus, the street wore a deserted look. The deathly silence amplified the rumbling sounds of the subway train grinding on the metal rails in the far distance. She took in every bit of the serene setting, all the while wondering at her rather fragile state of mind.

And then it struck her, like a bolt from the blue. Just as she was walking away from the window, she heard the long, hollow horn of a train traveling through the dense cold air and it all became clear. In a flash, just like that. She stiffened, stopping in her tracks.

Yes, today was the day she decided she would speak, say something, or smile. Even if it’s just a smile. Something.

Suddenly, her life had a new purpose. She dug her toes in the soft carpet, heart pounding. Today, she would pull out her little vanity case of maquillage stashed away in the deep recesses of her closet. She would wear that Christian Dior perfume, gifted by her brother years ago and saved since then to be worn only on exclusive occasions. She would wear the prettiest dress she had with her 3 inch heels even if it meant stumbling and getting a few sores.

She would look her best.

She hurried, with a spring in her step and heightened senses. She listened to the spirited chirping of the tiny warblers, the merry whistle of the wind through the bare branches and oddly enough, even the heavy footsteps of her neighbor upstairs felt like they were dancing to a tune. Nothing perturbed her. 'Oh! How I wish everyday would be like this!' She filled her lungs with the neighbor’s warm saccharine smell of waffles wafting in through the open window and when her toasts popped from the toaster, she spread an extra layer of the herbs and garlic cheese. She wrapped her long fingers around the warm cup of coffee, eyes closed and took in every bit of the warmth.

Oh Joy!

And when it was time to get dressed, she felt giddy with happiness. 'Should I put on my makeup first or the dress or vice-versa?' She couldn't make up her mind. 'Bothers! What difference does it make? I'll be the prettiest girl there has ever been!' she sighed.

Oh Joy!

She wore her reddish brown tweed dress, a subdued yet stylish garment. It had a pretty belt with a big buckle in the center that sat firmly on her tiny waist. After carefully drawing the eye liner over her eyelids, dabbing pink lipstick and patting some foundation and blush, she let out an impromptu happy cry. She did look Vogue worthy – the cover page! Her hair was tied in a high pony tail, revealing her high brows, and cheek bones, her kohl lined eyes and her perfect mouth. She threw on a matching scarf, slipped into her heels and stood in front of the mirror with her Coach bag. She felt a million dollars.

Oh Joy!

When she stepped on the pavement, the cold air cut through her like a sharp knife. She shivered, gathered herself and continued her suddenly-not-so-arduous walk to the train station. The city was limping back to life. Cars whizzing past, a bevy of school girls waiting for their bus, the newspaper boy on his round flinging newspapers onto driveways, yellow taxi cabs dotting the city progressively and the chattering of early morning walkers. She didn't normally look up at passerbys and smile, but today she nodded at at least a dozen.

She could take on the world on a day like today.

'Why am I so excited now? It's only on the ride home that I see him.' But she didn't want to spoil the magic and kept up her buoyant mood. 'It will prepare me for that opportune moment.' 

The train ride to work was uneventful and passed by quickly. She wasn't lulled to sleep by the sound of the wheels on the tracks. She was wide awake, au contraire, and watched the landscape turn from sprawling fields bathed in mellow sunlight to a bustling city with its familiar sights and sounds.

At work, she moved feverishly through her assignments and when it was lunch hour, she slipped out alone for a soup and salad combo. A big change, eating alone! She couldn't ever imagine eating out alone. She felt out of her depth and awkward. She never understood people who sat alone in restaurants and ate without feeling self-conscious. She would rather go hungry than go alone and secretly admired people who were so comfortable in their skin. Today, she was one of them. She got her tray and sat confidently in a booth near the window. She watched people and conjured up stories about their lives between succulent morsels of clam soup and fresh salad. All the while thinking of her ride back home. She dug her toes into the soft cushion of her heels. 'It will be ok. It will be better than ok.' she reassured herself.

When she got back to work, she felt numb with anticipation for the hour was drawing closer. She couldn't concentrate and her mind kept going back to the events that led up to today.

It was about two months back, two months too long. She noticed him standing at the other end of the rail car holding on to the bar. A tall, lithe figure in checked green shirt and blue jeans. He had a denim jacket with him, she remembered. Staring vacantly ahead, her eyes had caught hold of the jacket, which he held lightly in the other hand. It's sleeve had fallen from his grasp and swayed with the movement of the train. It was the sleeve that held her attention. The gentle sway, the light blue color and the metal buttons at the cuffs.

She didn't make anything of it at first but in the days that followed, she noticed him regularly. He would get off one stop before her but she didn't know where he got on. He had a soft look, always smiled, made way for people and would give up his seat to the elderly. There was a look of pathos in his eyes, she felt. He needs someone to make him feel less of a stranger in an unfamiliar city. For she thought he was new to the place. She wanted to be that person. One who'd hold his hand and tell him, 'It's ok.'

He started to grow on her. Everyday, she'd peel her eyes to seek him out. He stood out from the crowd; his refined ways set him apart from the others like no other. He was effortlessly smart and sophisticated. He was always so well put together, his clothes, his mannerisms. An alluring man! Yet there was nothing exaggerated about him. His hair was mostly drawn back neatly but sometimes it wore a ruffled look, maybe from the wind. It suited him though, made him look rakish. She wondered what was going through his mind, who he was and where he lived. All she could do for the moment was try and make up a story - something she would do to pass those dreary hours of her long commute. She would let her imagination run wild but not with him. With him, she was careful. She couldn't make anything of him but watched and admired.

She looked forward to the ride home and never missed the 6 'o' clock train. And there he'd be standing on the platform waiting to get on. He never shoved or pushed, just waited patiently. There was something about him that was so vulnerable and endearing that she wanted to take care of him. It wasn't love. No, it wasn't, it was just her need to be his friend, to protect and nurse him. She wished he would stand next to her but it never happened. She started worrying that he'd just disappear one day and not know her. She had to make him know her. But how? Every time, she thought of going up to him, her mind drew a blank, her knees buckled and her mouth would go dry.

So after two months of watching him, she had made up her mind to go up and say 'Hello'. Would it work? She had no clue. But she felt hopeful. It had to be done. She didn't want to live with that regret.

When it was time to leave, she brushed her hair, neatened her dress and re-applied her lipstick. Suddenly, she didn't feel as cheerful as she did in the morning. She didn't want to come across as too loud and lightly wiped the extra layer of lipstick.

Her stomach was in knots when she got on the train and almost wished he never existed – at least not in her life. When the train screeched to a halt at his station, she looked frantically for him. There he was, standing tall and handsome to one side. She felt nervous and waited with sweaty palms. The train lunged forward and gained momentum, its wheels making those repetitive patterns of predictable sounds. She kept summoning courage, looking for the right moment to go up to to him. Nothing felt right. 'What if I appear desperate and silly?' She agonized over it and at one point, almost gave up. But when she saw him looking placidly out of the window with a bored expression, she thought they might have something in common.

She got up, determined in her resolve. She made her way through the motley crowd of men and women. The train was overcrowded and she got pushed about by the motion of the train and people trying to balance themselves. When she was half way, the train came to a halt and to her horror, she watched him get off.

She pushed through the crowd and jumped out on the platform just as the closing doors sign came on. As she followed him on the platform, she realized it would look out of place to make that first acquaintance on a platform or the road. She knew him from the train rides and the train felt a more appropriate place for their first encounter. Her mind raced, should she give up now? Maybe not. Maybe she could just pretend this is her destination and make it look like she bumped into him. Sly but the best workaround. Comforted, she moved quickly through the milling crowd. She felt happy all of a sudden. There was hope and it had been a good day – maybe a sign of good things to come!

Oh joy!

She quickened her step, made that turn onto the road and saw him enter a cafe. 'Perfect! I could use a warm cup of coffee myself!' She felt. She crossed the street and opened the door to the noisy cafe. 'Oh every thing's shaping up in my favor!' The color rose to her cheeks and she felt a warm glow.

She ordered a cup of coffee and gingerly made her way to his table, hidden behind a small partition. She turned round the red brick wall, coffee in hand and stopped short.


He was pulling her a chair before settling down himself. A warm look in his eyes.

She stared incapacitated for a second or two, a look of despair. 'Yes?' said he, with a light smile. 'Oh nothing. I'm sorry' she managed befuddled and got out. The wind chilled her bones. She took the next train home.

Once home, she kicked off her heels and opened the window for some fresh air. She watched the bright city lights, her heart heavy. She stood there for fifteen minutes until it started drizzling.

She closed the window and saw her shadowy reflection against the big round bokehs from the city lights on the rain splashed window.

She reached for the cup of coffee resting on the sill. Her eyes welled up. She looked away, a tear slowly rolled down her cheek.