All I want is that skirt. That straight skirt, slightly slit from the knees, meant to be worn to the movies, where he would softly touch my knees. The cry of the baby woke her from her conscious slumber. She was breast-feeding while pretending to listen to her cousin, who had ritualistically come over to pay her a visit. Priyankshi smiled and admired her cousin's clothes -- the fitted cropped top, loosely hanging over her slit skirt -- casually, like a shirt on a hanger, but well protected. She was yearning to get in those clothes, having been stuck to her maternal apparels for the longest time she could remember.
If only I could get one day of her life, now. By God, I would resist returning to my job, and live the life of a freelancer -- travelling at someone else's cost, writing because I want to, driving endlessly. With her hair, and charm. She placed the baby on the oil-cloth and pulled back her attention to her cousin, who was playfully bonding with her son. Her husband came in just at that moment, and Manjari was delighted to inform him of the IPL clubhouse tickets she had got passes for. "I have four passes, wanna come?" Priyanskhi's poor husband was at the ruthless mercy of her blank stare. He knew what it meant -- something in the lines of "You are not going anywhere, till I am too!", or, "He is bloody your son too! Why should I be the trapped one?"
"No, you go ahead" he meekly replied, passing a pretentious smile of content to Priyankshi.
"Sit here for a while. I am coming from the loo" she said, to which Paresh obediently acted. As soon as she closed the bathroom door, he let out a sigh of relief and looked at Manjari and said, "Mother hormones, man! Don't ever become one. It kills love. It finishes freedom. Which match are you going for, by the way?"
Inside the bathroom, Priyankshi took all the time in the world to have a good poop. No, I don't want that skirt. I want a capri and a shrug and the open sea. And I want no one sucking at my breast. And I would smoke a joint and drink litres. And may be, dump Paresh at his parents'. No, poor man. What fun would it be without him getting to know my value. My curves would call for hoots. She touched a layer of fat on her upper abdomen, the happiness disappearing immediately. I could always exercise and get back to shape. But how could I? Bloody baby. His shots, his playschool, his pre-school, his school, his pick up and drop, bloody his life! Why the hell did I decide to have him?
Under the shower, she shook herself as if in a manifestation that it would slide the guilt of her thoughts off her. Paresh loves me, I love him. Once Manjari leaves and Om sleeps, we will make love. Like the first time. Like we were discovering each other. Today I will seduce him. Back to me.
She came out, smelling of the extremely non-sexy Johnson's baby powder.
If only I could get one day of her life, now. By God, I would resist returning to my job, and live the life of a freelancer -- travelling at someone else's cost, writing because I want to, driving endlessly. With her hair, and charm. She placed the baby on the oil-cloth and pulled back her attention to her cousin, who was playfully bonding with her son. Her husband came in just at that moment, and Manjari was delighted to inform him of the IPL clubhouse tickets she had got passes for. "I have four passes, wanna come?" Priyanskhi's poor husband was at the ruthless mercy of her blank stare. He knew what it meant -- something in the lines of "You are not going anywhere, till I am too!", or, "He is bloody your son too! Why should I be the trapped one?"
"No, you go ahead" he meekly replied, passing a pretentious smile of content to Priyankshi.
"Sit here for a while. I am coming from the loo" she said, to which Paresh obediently acted. As soon as she closed the bathroom door, he let out a sigh of relief and looked at Manjari and said, "Mother hormones, man! Don't ever become one. It kills love. It finishes freedom. Which match are you going for, by the way?"
Inside the bathroom, Priyankshi took all the time in the world to have a good poop. No, I don't want that skirt. I want a capri and a shrug and the open sea. And I want no one sucking at my breast. And I would smoke a joint and drink litres. And may be, dump Paresh at his parents'. No, poor man. What fun would it be without him getting to know my value. My curves would call for hoots. She touched a layer of fat on her upper abdomen, the happiness disappearing immediately. I could always exercise and get back to shape. But how could I? Bloody baby. His shots, his playschool, his pre-school, his school, his pick up and drop, bloody his life! Why the hell did I decide to have him?
Under the shower, she shook herself as if in a manifestation that it would slide the guilt of her thoughts off her. Paresh loves me, I love him. Once Manjari leaves and Om sleeps, we will make love. Like the first time. Like we were discovering each other. Today I will seduce him. Back to me.
She came out, smelling of the extremely non-sexy Johnson's baby powder.
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