Wish Woman

Its the weather, thought Kaavya. It must be the weather.

She sat in a room surrounded by books, from ceiling to floor. Stacks of information lay like musical instruments -- collected, and collecting dust. This room was her home, yet the books clawed up to her with expectations, which when she tried to fall asleep, sounded something like, 'Open us. Read us. Know us.' The soft lull of the air-conditioning was cruelly distorted by their chorus. Peace was a chocolate winged horse in a turbulent blue sea. Wishes appeared in a harlequin pattern. 

She moved on to the next page of the book in her hand as the black coffee beside got thicker and cold, attended only by faraway but fulfilling little sips. The world was screaming about equality of the sexes and for the breakdown of patriarchy. Perhaps it was time school-books incorporated the idea, this needs to be felt off an established concept. Perhaps I could pitch about a revision of school syllabus to the Feminists of India. Perhaps it will then become a further fallacy like Compulsory English and Environmental Studies. She opened a new tab and clicked on a link offering 'Deals of the Day.' How swiftly thoughts slide into an unknown terrain, by a known act. Let me take out the rice now. I can heat the fish later. Oh, I have to call Snigdha. Get going girl! Kaavya slowly rested her elbows off the bed-table and on to the bed and started fiddling with the TV-remote. Harry Potter please, I want a Harry Potter movie. And started watching the appetizing and alluring images of hotels and food. She closed the book and put it away. Slowly, she got drawn into the extremely gooey cheese fillings and the lusciously rich suites. It was an involuntarily lapping up of the sins to voluntarily do away with the studying.

But it was the weather. It made her feel like a fool, a happy fool. A sad, happy fool. She bent her neck and looked outside. She was in an uncomfortable position, but the breeze demanded her surveillance. Its gonna rain, I must bring the clothes inside. And behaving as if the command came from a Commanding Officer, Kaavya leapt up to get the clothes. Pizza, pizza weather. No. The rice and fish will be left over. Yes, rice and fish. No, pizza. No. I have become fat. I need to be sexy. Nobody will touch me. Lets get done with the bath. As she went to fetch her towel, she paused the moment to find a favour in the weather. It began raining. From a melodious drizzle like a flautist to thunderous drum beats, it rained.

How she wished for wishes to come true. Just for a day. By a sudden love-letter, accompanied by a square of surprise, carefully ribboned. Wavered only by the joy of seeing a face, which could love, intelligently. To be out of this room, her home, into a day beginning at dusk, well dressed and well smelling. Into a road of monsoon driven leaves carpetting the wheels. Off into a region of bountiful sky to the front and generous greens on either side. All the while the tinkle of butterflies raising a flurry in the stomach. He had to have a furnished house in the outskirts, waiting to be occupied just for the day. By the master, and his new mistress. Kaavya did not care for the word. It was just a word for all that she wanted for a day -- flowers, attention, love, touch, all of which came in a beautifully done package of words. Not to be read, or written. To be heard, felt. Lived. 

The day would unroll in his arms, all that she wanted. She would unwind in a day of love. A day where she would be wooed. Like a woman. I need to adjust to the lenses. Where her curves would come to life by his fingers. I need to be sexy. An intense afternoon intoxicated by the squish of beer breath in between. I need a haircut. Spent with all the wishes-come-true.  I need to have the bath. 

Kaavya had a beautiful bath, leaving behind in the bathroom a pronounced trace of fruity woodiness. Very alive. As she ran her fingers through her wet hair she went back to all the minor events of the day she needed to return to.

Do we want wishes, do we need them?