Cover Story

The lazy linseed wafted out of the canvas. The brushstrokes, loyally, did not reveal what the artist tried to hide. Her landscape had taken a golden shower, like her body. She wore a long sleeveless t-shirt, and a scowl, disappointed with the sunset shine and the coffee stains. Slender, silver bangles made slight sounds on her wrist, as she ran her hand under the tap. Anamika stole the evening to spend with herself. She came to this apartment, their apartment, once every month quite unannounced, and undeclared, deliberately.

Six years back, when they were both in their twenties, luck favoured them with the property, and they had moved into it, willingly. They liked the longing with which it looked out to the sad road, its sad noise and sadder sights. This was no place by the sea, with thick curtains to shut out the harsh light, but it was home to their secrets and to all what they had to shed. The apartment, was named "AM" after the initials of their names. It grew with their tenderness and failures, their fights and eventually their silences, till it too, like they, became a monument of habitual silence. 

The apartment had come to life, one stolen evening like this one, breezy with the smell of strong coffee, when Anamika stormed in and rushed into the bedroom, stifling howls. To the "What happened, Anamika? Tell me, Anamika" she had only her fists to punch into the cushion till the "what happened Anamika" was articulated with a soul crushing embrace that led from one kiss to another, from compassion to passion, from the ties of rights to the opening of wrongs. Since that moment, even with separate love interests, they came home to their mutual dependence in unbridled proximity, habits that they wore and woke up with.

But Anamika stole this evening to spend with herself. Since her marriage, she came to this apartment, their apartment, once every month quite unannounced, and undeclared, deliberately. She painted, she slept on the bed they had made theirs, and she generously whiled away a lot of time, commanding their memories before Mallika returned. Mallika, her elder sister, was now in-charge of a fashion magazine, while Anamika still struggled with her painting. She evolved as a rich man's wife though.

The sisters' commitment was a conspiracy that grew with their tenderness and failures, their fights and eventually their silences, till it too became a monument of habitual silence. As her bangles whispered, Anamika recalled the evening of tears where the entire passion had begun. After one and a half years, Mallika was back into the city with the promotion. 

Anamika wore a long sleeveless t-shirt, and a scowl, disappointed with the sunset shine and the coffee stains. She was feverishly hoping that she could initiate what Mallika did, six years back. I will sympathise the absence of your lover, Mallika. Anamika laughed and let a dab of red to remain on her wrist, partly covered by the bangles. You will notice this, I know. And you will kiss it, and all sad things away. She pulled the curtains and fell asleep with a copy of Mallika's magazine on her. 

Come home, Mallika.