Rathna Bai’s English- (Rathna Bayin Aankilam) by Sundara Ramasamy

Translated by Saravanan Karmegam

As usual, Rathna Bai wrote a letter in English to her bosom friend Ambujam Srinivasan, who was residing in Delhi. She concluded the last paragraph of the letter with these words: ‘If you see this silk sari, you will snatch it away from my hands, hold it on your chest, and jump elated; it is mine...aiyo...it is for me.’ No doubt about it at all. Without any qualms, I could address the person as a true artiste who has made it by blending Ratha’s beauty and Kannan’s flute music. The one who knows how to strew this array of dreams with the mixture of colours must be an artiste anyway’. When she posted the letter, Rathna Bai could not surmise that the letter had contained the seeds of problems as well. Ambu wrote in her reply, “Rathna… Your English! ... How many times have I wondered! Became spellbound, not being able to express what I felt! We had studied together. Hadn’t we? But from where did you get this language? Are letters fit to be memorised? I do it. Sometimes, he repeats the remaining half. When I feel the elegance of your language, I can feel Bharatha Natyam coming through the mind. I am also a college teacher… That too in English. The very thought of it makes me ashamed…. It is alright… What sort of spectacular is there in that sari? Get one like that for me too. Two for my colleagues too. When I went to them to show your letter to make them feel inferior—don’t be afraid; I did not show the complete letter, only some portions—this request came from them. Unnecessary trouble for you.” 

Having completed reading that letter, Rathna Bai murmured within herself, “Yes… it is a trouble. She remembered and brought forth before her eyes Ambujam’s well-built body and her reflex behaviour of frequently adjusting the edges of her spectacles with the tips of her left-hand fingers and muttered, “My dear Ambu! It is a bigger trouble than I think”. “It is a complicated trap… it is a complicated trap,” her mouth mumbled in English.

Milton had gone missing. Such disappearances occur these days after every meal!

Not yet even attained the age of seventeen! Within this age, this habit! Adding to the woes, a small shop has also come nearby. “ It is ok… From where does the money come? It seems that he must have stolen it from his father. When father could steal it from mother, then what could be wrong in that? Rosy and Mary had gone for tailoring class. Both of them were not good at studies. Despite being daughters of Rathna Bai teacher, the reputation they could earn at school was nothing but insults for being poor in studies. Both the elder sister and the younger sister were failing consecutively each year. “Shame …shame,” Rathna Bai muttered. “Are they my children? No…not at all. They are Jonson’s children. Daughters of a hunter. Children of a man who plucks out the aching tooth painfully without making it numb with an injection! His ever-permanent reddened eyes with the colour of blood! His hulking hands! His dark hair on his chest and hands is like the one that grows on bears! O…God! Why do you ingest such a loath into my mind?” Rathna Bai helplessly prattled. “How did I become this unlucky? Mother used to say it was all because of the people’s jealousy in their belly!” 

She was told that when her mother, Meera Bai, took her out along with her, every man and woman who happened to see her would burn with jealousy in their belly, and Rathna Bai’s beauty had induced an intolerable feeling of jealousy in them. This was how Meera Bai used to argue. 

“How long could I linger to write a reply to Ambu? One more letter has come. “Have you forgotten me, Rathna…? Isn’t it a holiday? Is it? Or any misunderstanding?” 

Rathna Bai got up and went upstairs. An old man was sitting on the floor on the terrace. Bald-headed. He was wrapping his neck, encircling his cheek with a dirty towel. His constricted, recessed eyes were sunk in the swelling of cheeks. The face was totally red in colour. When Rathna Bai appeared in front of him, he showed the door, which was kept closed upstairs, and signalled, ‘Please tell him to attend.” Rathna Bai’s face burst with anger. She knocked at the door so gently with the tip of her fingers. The door was not opened. She forcefully pushed it, opened it, and entered. Jonson was lying there on the floor utterly untidy with his lungi open, head on the big iron wheels of the tooth-filing machine near the chair, which was used for patients to sit. “What a disgust! Are you not ashamed of it?” Rathna Bai was yelling at him. “I will kick you with my leg,” she shouted. A mild mumbling came out. “I need some money. It is urgent. I could return it in ten to fifteen days or so,” she told. The same mild mumbling rose again. “I have come to you seeking help from you. I have become mad. Aren’t I? Have you ever moved even your little finger for my sake?” she was speaking in English. It looked as if one character in a drama was animating. It appeared to Rathna Bai that the old man had gotten up from his place and was standing behind the door. “Why should it appear to me that such a thing had happened behind the closed door? Was it because more senses are working to their limits? Or was it because of the arrogance of imagination? Have all my astuteness, gentleness, elegance, and divine playfulness been plundered by boorishness? She went to the door and opened it, imagining that if the old man was standing at the door, her actions would be to turn partly, and if he was not standing there, all the things would remain unchanged. The old man was found sitting in the same place. 

Rathna Bai entered again and shouted in a high pitch, “Do the things I say fall in your ears?  The same mild mumbling rose again. Once the face turned a bit, the saliva was seen flowing at the corner of his mouth. “Just an animal… Animal…worse than an animal,” her mouth mumbled. She opened a small wall-embedded shelf, took out two tablets from a bottle, and came to the old man. “Swallow this and sit here.” Telling him this, she came down through the stairs. 

Rathna Bai thought about what would happen if she could finish off everything at once now itself. Her mind was filled with the thought of writing a letter to Ambu today itself and how she should form appropriate words for appropriate situations. Closing the entrance door, Rathna Bai came inside. She closed the staircase door as well, which connected upstairs with the hall. Now, it became fully dark. She switched on the light. Lathered the soap in both hands and removed her bangles. She looked at her face in the mirror, pushed the gray hair inside, pulled black strands out, and threw them above her head. “The time sits on the horse and attacks me,” she talked to herself in English. “Do you know that I was an extremely beautiful woman twenty-five years ago?” she asked as if she was addressing a court. She kept the bangles in a handbag, came to the street, and walked.

Twenty-five years ago, Rathna Bai walking along with her mother in the street was actually a very important event in the lives of young men of that time. Getting disappointed after waiting to see her and seeing her unexpectedly without waiting for her had been important news in the world of young men. Meera Bai would be walking along with Rathna Bai without a gap between them, with the face brimming with pride as if telling how her paragon was looking and at the same time with the face full of worries as if telling how she was going to save her treasure from all of them. Very often, she used to tell the people that some doctors and engineers had sent their proposal to marry her daughter, and it was she who was not yet made up in her mind to take a decision in this regard. Whether it was true or not, no one knew. Nevertheless, Rathna Bai received so many love letters by post. Rathna Bai’s mother used to receive them from the postman. She would open them and read it. Being happy, she would keep them in her custody privately. In our village, many young men from well-to-do families had written love letters to her. Since it was widespread news that Rathna Bai had a strong penchant for the English language, everyone tried their best to write those love letters, inserting all possible hard vocabulary they were aware of, and appended along with it some English poems they knew. Meera Bai Teacher was calculating relentlessly in her mind which selection could be a brilliantly prudent one among all those boys who had written love letters. This had grown into a serious problem in her mind without the knowledge of her daughter. However, as the days passed by, the enormity of this problem had started decreasing. The reason behind it was many of the boys who wrote love letters to Rathna Bai had either gotten married to their uncle’s daughter or aunt’s daughter or any other girl from relatives arranged by their parents after their studies and got settled either in Bombay or Calcutta. If Meera Bai happened to see any one of those boys returning to our village along with their wives during vacation, she used to tell Rathna Bai that night, “The son of that Peacock House owner was going with his wife. I saw that. It would have been better had he married a Black monkey”. “Shameless fellow,” she would spew out irritation. “Mother! It is his wife. It is none of our business to be concerned about how she looks. I don’t like gossips,” Rathna Bai would tell her. 

“Only because of your short wits did no one come forward to marry you.” - Her mother would burst out in anger. 

“It is not your problem. It is mine”—Rathna Bai would reply in English. 

Rathna Bai could not pursue English in M.A. like many of her close friends. “What is the use of us studying this? It should be you who must have studied further,” her friends used to tell her.

“Why are you getting bothered by the shouts of creditors? They would shout, You should study. I will take care of your education, Meera Bai, the teacher, said. Stubbornly, she pursued a B.A. and became a teacher.

‘The day I could not study M.A. was actually the beginning of my tragedy.’ Rathna Bai had to utter this English sentence many times later. Now her face had started showing the signs that she was aging. Unable to bear with the queries from her known friends, ‘Have you found any match?’, Meera Bai Teacher reduced the frequency of venturing out. Now she could feel that those queries had a mild sarcasm in them. “Hasn’t any doctor become lucky yet?” her colleagues were asking Meera Bai. “You have made my marriage a social consciousness. It is the biggest harm you have done to me,” Rathna Bai told her mother. 

“These days I am unable to understand what you talk about. You talk like a stranger”, Meera Bai Teacher told her. 

When Rathna Bai went to school every day, she used to see Jonson on the way. He used to stand in front of the dental hospital happily, putting on his lungi. When she was going to her school in the morning, he could be found trying to start his old model small car. Four or five children would be pushing it from behind. Once the car started, all the children would open the car door and get into it, falling on each other. The car would take a round and stop in front of the hospital. “That deed—the simplicity found in it—the way those poor children treated you with affection—I loved you for all these.” Rathna Bai told this to Jonson in English on the night of the day their marriage took place. “Your English is more beautiful than you,” Jonson told her.

Within weeks, Rathna Bai could understand that it was impossible to share her life with Jonson any more. He drank liquor every day. Whenever he had the opportunity, he went out with his friends for hunting. Rathna Bai was so sure that sentiments like wife and house did not find a place in his blood. “I am a scoundrel. You can’t control me. If you are an aristocratic lady, you go and stay with your mother,” Jonson would shout at her under intoxication. 

“I have been cheated as I thought that you were a simple person. How life gets so horrible!” Rathna Bai would say. 

“I hate your English,” Jonson would shout. 

She received unexpected news from the bank on that day. They will give credit on gold mortgages only on Wednesdays. Rathna Bai went to the cloth store. She thought of selecting some silk sarees and giving a small token amount as an advance so that she could come again to collect those sarees after paying off the remaining amount once she got the money from the bank. When the sales boys came in front of her, she told them, “I need that same type of saree that I purchased that day.” She was feeling guilty. She talked to herself, “O God! Why am I talking like this? Have my senses gone awry? The sales boys looked perplexed. They came one by one and looked at her closely. “Who gave that saree on that day?” the shop owner’s tenor changed. Ratna Bai thought to herself in English, ‘How can they display the saree that I have not purchased? Punishing them beyond this point won’t be in good taste for a lady like me’ and told them, “Please show some good quality varieties.” ‘ I have lost my senses. Have I started believing imagination as real? The boys went inside the room to bring silk sarees. “Truly speaking, I shouldn’t have written like that. That too, my dear Ambu,” Rathna Bai was speaking to herself. I happened to read that English poem inadvertently. It was a wonderful poem. Every word of it resembled a gemstone fixed in a diamond stud. Some of the words in it had caused an inexplicable spell in Rathna Bai. It appeared to her that if she described a silk garment by using those words, the description would be marvellous. She could not control herself from immediately writing about that description on that day and at that time itself to Ambu. “It is a dangerous trap anyway,” Rathna Bai muttered. “That said, why am I saying that I had purchased a saree, which actually I had not? Why? Rathna…tell…why?” Rathna Bai was asking it herself. They displayed the sarees at the counter. “Which one to be selected? Ambu... which one do you like? Which ones do your friends like? Will my selection make your friends say, ‘your friend is a genius in English. We do accept. But in the selection of sarees, she is still a poor wit?’ Or will they say that her taste in English has deeply reflected in the selection of sarees too? If I want them to speak the latter sentence, which saree do I have to select? Why do English words come to me fantastically today? Has the time arrived to write a lengthy letter to Ambu?’ Rathna Bai selected three sarees. She gave a small token amount as an advance to the shop owner and told him she would come on Wednesday morning to give the remaining amount to pick up the sarees. She left the shop. 

That night, Rathna Bai wrote a lengthy letter to Ambu. She wrote in the last paragraph, ‘I have sent the sarees. For you and your friends. I have even imagined that you and your friends are standing in front of the college (its outer wall was erected with stones). Let me tell you one thing. I would get badly angry if you sent the money for your sarees. All you have to give me is only your photograph in that saree. Do not become skinny with the guilt that your friend has incurred loss because of you. Here, the children keep on failing anyway. There is no dearth of toothache too.’ Rathna Bai kept reading her letter seven or eight times. She liked it very much. “Language is a wonder. O God! Thank you so much,” she said. “Or else nothing is left for me,” she uttered. She stood in front of the mirror once again and read that letter with a tiny nuanced expression. 

Rathna Bai no longer remembered that she had to go to the bank on Wednesday morning.

*** End ***                         

 

Fish Bone - (Mul) by Charu Nivedita

Translated from Tamil by Saravanan Karmegam 

It must have been more than fifteen days since the fish bone got stuck in my throat. It must have got stuck while eating fish. I thus became so allergic to eating fish due to this that I wouldn’t even touch any fish if they have bones, no matter how tastier they are. Some fish have bones only in the middle. Just like a feather of a chicken. Some fishes have lots of bones in the interiors of their flesh. Karthikai Vaalai and Mullu Vaalai belong to this category of fishes. But there is one fish that does not fall into any of these categories…it is Kola Fish (Flying Fish). This fish also has a middle bone. But one side of the fish would have bones in the flesh and the other part would only have flesh. This Kola Fish will not be available throughout the year. It will be available only during Vaikasi and Aani months… (roughly in the months of May and June). Once Aadi month nears, arrival of Kola fish would dwindle down. There is a saying to denote this: ‘Once Aadi month comes, Kola would go to its mother’s home.’

Catching Kola Fish is itself a captivating experience. I had gone into the sea in a catamaran just to watch catching Kola fish. No one would use mechanised boats to catch Kola fish. What is the reason? ...One has to travel into the sea at least twenty miles to sixty miles to catch Kola Fish. If Mechanised boats are used, what will be the expenses on diesel to travel that distance? ... If six or seven persons get into the sea at 3 o'clock in the morning in Catamaran, sometimes it would take even two days for them to return. One could catch three thousand to twenty thousand fishes on one occasion. They used to carry green leaves and grass leaves along with them in the catamaran. They would tie them with a square-shaped wooden plank and leave it afloat like an island of green leaves. On seeing this ‘greenery,’ koi fish would throng into it, jumping to shoot their eggs in the green leaves. Many a time, one would be able to see the eggs that are sticking to that ‘island’ when it is brought ashore.

One more interesting aspect about catching Kola Fish is that the net will not be ‘thrown’ to catch it. This is the only fish which is caught by identifying through naked eyes. A lampara type of net is used to catch it. One needs to keep moving with that lampara net open, and can collect the fishes falling inside. This type of fishing net is unsophisticated one. Sometimes, not a single Kola Fish would be caught. The reason...Burla Fish. Not a single Kola Fish would come near if Burla fish is found moving around in the vicinity. There is a belief that Kola Fish will be available in plenty during full moon day. For them, Kola Season is their ‘harvesting’ season. A person would be able to earn up to three hundred rupees if he goes to sea to catch Kola fish during that season. At the same time, one must understand that there are only a very few dangerous jobs in the world that could match the dangers of catching Kola fish. It is said that fisherfolk used to put Vaaikkarisi (turmeric mixed rice put in the mouth of a person after his death) before sending them into the sea for catching Kola fish. Such customs are no more prevalent these days. Once the Vaikasi month arrives, the talk of the town would be only Kola Fish. Even if the wind blows faster, people used to grumble about its speed for its way of throwing sand on their face and mouth. They used to be contemptuous about the wind as ‘Satanic Kola wind.’

It has been fifteen days since Uncle and Aunt had arrived in. The time went by faster, just like fifteen minutes. It was on the day of their arrival that the fish bone got stuck in my throat. Immediately after their arrival, the uncle went out for shopping. He wouldn't touch the food if fish was not served. Among other fishes, Kola Fish was very dear to his heart. It was on that day the fish bone was stuck when I was having meals with him. After that, I never touched fish. The very thought of fish bones kills all my interest in fish. My aunt won’t eat fish. Whenever she ate fish upon being compelled by us, she wouldn’t miss out on vomiting it out after the meals. 

My aunt was just opposite to my uncle. Aunt was passionate about reading books. If my uncle was known to have read something, it would be nothing but a weekly almanac. Even in writing too, uncle used to be prudent, like reading. I have been keeping all the letters written by Aunt safely. Do you know how many times I have read all those letters that were filled with poetic exuberance? But what about Uncle! He would open his pen either just to write his signature or to write a letter to his mother (his letter would be like this… Respected Mother! This is a letter from your son! I am alright here. Please let me know about your well-being. I will be coming there on the coming 10th.  Nothing more to share. Thank you…) Later I understood that those letters to his mother were not written by him, but my aunt on his dictation. Funnier than this, his mother would write him a letter. ‘You do not have time to write a letter to me. Do you? Don’t make your wife write letters to me anymore. In case you wish to write a letter, please write it with your own hands’. Only after getting harsh scolding from his mother did he start writing even this regular letter with his own handwriting. We can enlist such things one after another…

“Dei Raja! ...I am going out. Will you accompany me?” - My uncle’s unclear voice cut short my thought. My aunt, who came there at that time, told him uninvitedly, “Raja is unwell. He won’t come.” 

“Ok…Ok… Keep him locked. Uncle went out angrily. 

If Uncle could not wander in the town during the evening from six to nine, he would be restless as if his head would break into pieces. My aunt was pitiable anyway… How was she able to spend her time alone all the time without becoming mad? These days, I watched one thing from her talk—she was not addressing me with the suffix ‘daa.’ Ten years of age difference was big enough anyway to call me in singular. Wasn’t it? But I like that way of being addressed. I felt a soft touch on my forehead; I raised my head. It was an aunt. 

“Raja…your forehead is very hot” … She sat beside me as she was casually speaking and cossetted my palm into hers. I was ready to be burnt alive for getting this proximity of my aunt in the darkness on the veranda, let alone the temperature on my forehead. 

Both of us did not talk for long. 

Suddenly, Aunt asked me, “You told me that a fish bone had stuck in your throat. “Did you get it removed?”

I bobbed my head, “No…”

“Then do what I say…while eating, make a big ball of warm plain rice and swallow it. It will go. 

I didn't reply to this advice. I am thinking why I shouldn’t kiss the hands of my aunt that were holding my hands. But…” 

‘What is stopping me from doing that?’

I have read ‘love has no taboos.’. If then, was the feeling I had on my aunt love...? Love…chee… They have abused this word too much in serial stories and cinema. 

‘Is it sex-love?’

No… I could not think like that. It must be a tender devotion. But what could its boundary be?

I am getting confused about it unnecessarily. The feeling of love I have for my aunt was not a recent development. Was it?

That day, I must have been six years old. My aunt used to tease me regularly, “Raja…who are you going to marry?... I used to tell her every time, “I will marry only you…it is only you.”

I didn’t forget even a bit of it. 

“Aunty… I will marry only you. But when I marry you, your hand and skin should not become withered and sagging like Grandma. It should be like this…’, I would show her fleshy, rounded hands.

Aunt would laugh at this and tell my mother. “Did you get what Raja is telling?” She would narrate everything from the start and repeatedly share my words amidst her incessant laughter. 

I am thinking about it now again. But why doesn’t Aunt ask the same question any longer now?

Even if Aunt asks me who I am going to marry now, will I be able to reply like earlier?

‘Aunty… I will marry you only because your heart remains the same even though your hands are not looking like the way they did fifteen years ago’. 

Due to the sudden, deafening barking of street dogs, my sleep got disturbed. I wondered how I came to that place to sleep. I could remember what I was last talking to my aunt about. However, I could not remember how I came here dozing and slept. How can I sleep after that? It was getting dawn. I was wallowing in the cot for some time and got up. Went to the backyard with a brush and toothpaste. While brushing, I could feel the prickling sensation of fish bone in the throat. After brushing, I cleaned my tongue with my thumb. I wouldn’t use tongue cleaner for this. A tongue cleaner can clean only a particular area of the tongue. The interiors of the inner tongue cannot be cleaned with tongue cleaner. So the better option that remained was thumb. But, in case of any rough, unpolished fingernail, it could cause a bruise on the tongue. Blood along with saliva would come out…then blood with saliva! A suspicion would ensue whether that bleeding was due to tuberculosis or any bruise in the tongue. To avoid this, one should keep thumb without any dint. Whatever it is, today I have to take the fishbone out somehow. I scooped out with my thumb and little finger one after the other. Nothing came out except a good amount of vomit.

The fishbone still remained there.

On earlier occasions too, fish bones had stuck in my throat. But it never bothered me like this, as if killing me alive for fifteen or twenty days. I remember one such funny incident when I was young. That time, I was staying at my grandma’s house. One day they had made roast made of yam for meals. I wasn't aware of yam at that age. Since it was tastier, I ate too much of it. Not a minute after the meal was complete, I started yelling ‘aiyo…amma…’. A very intense inching deep in the throat. Without knowing that it was an itching, I was yelling it was a thorn. The servant maid only came to rescue, telling that it was due to yam, and thus removed everyone’s fear and assuaged me.

After having tiffin, I was talking with my aunt, sitting inside the house. My younger brother told me that someone had come to meet me. Thinking that it could be some unknown person, I came out to see who it was… Surprisingly, it was Baby… 

“It is quite surprising to see you here… You used to roam around in the market till 11 o'clock. Don’t you?” 

“I didn’t go to the market. It is alright… Come with me up to the date palm orchard.” 

“Just wait… I will come in a minute." I went in and told my aunt, “I need to go out. I will be back soon.” 

“Come back soon, Raja…” 

Aunt didn't like me to go out at all. But the seriousness seen on the face of Baby!!

I went out. 

We came to the date palm orchard, still talking. The date palm orchard existed there only for namesake. Not a single date palm tree was found there. It must have been a date palm orchard earlier. Now what remained was only its name. We could change its name to Tamarind Grove. There were plenty of tamarind trees. We sat under one tamarind tree. He leaned against a big root of the tree and sat like a Chettiar, leaning his back on a stone. Initially he started describing his problems slowly and then gained momentum and poured out his anguish. The matter was a silly piece of a problem. His father had a lot of land property. Unlike him, who toiled on land, his undying desire was to see his son become a doctor. But this fellow did not even pass P.U.C. He was telling that he fell asleep the moment he picked up biology or zoology books. His interest was in farming. As he was not interested in pursuing M.B.B.S., his father had started treating him as his arch enemy. Following this, there was no scarcity of frequent scuffles between them. They had not come to a point to wrestle physically yet. That was it.

He was taking many decisions indecisively.

I diverted the topic. “It is alright… I feel thirsty. Let’s go home to have water.” 

After drinking water, he asked for a matchbox and lit a cigarette. But for me, after drinking water, the fish bone started causing more discomfort in the throat.

I felt like vomiting.

He knew about my problem—a kola fish bone getting stuck in my throat. I have been complaining about this issue anyway all the time. Haven’t I?” 

“Raja… Seeing this fish bone getting stuck for such a long time, I suspect whether it was a fish bone or something else. Perhaps it could be hair found in the food.”

My fears started increasing once I heard about hair. He didn’t leave it with that. He added, “It might be your illusion too.” 

I became annoyed.

“I was watching a movie along with your father last night. If that was true, how was it possible that you both were fighting yesterday? You must have dreamt. Mustn’t you?” 

I didn’t get angry. My irritation grew more instead.

“What, Raja! ...this much late! ... You must not go out hereafter. You should be at home till we leave for our home tomorrow"—the” aunt’s order came before I entered the house.

“Why this urgency now? You could leave after five or six days.” 

“What can I do, Raja… It is your uncle insisting it. 

“Yes…you are also repeatedly insisting on going to your home. Don’t you?” 

Aunt did not reply to this question. 

I came back to Veranda after taking a bath in the well in the backyard. Aunt was not there. Thinking that she must be lying in the room, I came there.

There… 

Aunty was weeping like a child with her body shivering and head placed on the table.

“Aunty…what is this? … I lifted her head, holding it tenderly.

“Now, are you satisfied, Raja…? Your understanding about me is only this much. Is it not?” 

I hated myself. I had hurt such a soft heart. 

I didn’t remove my hands from her head.

Still some more minutes… The house would wear a deserted look… 

Here they are. Uncle and aunt are leaving. I also leave along with them, till the railway station.

The train would leave at eight. We had reached the station one hour in advance. Younger brother and uncle got a seat near the window. Aunt was standing with me. “Will you write me letters frequently?” she asked me and held my hands with hers. Eyes were full of tears! 

I felt like hugging Aunt and crying to my heart's content. I controlled my tears that welled up in my eyes, biting my lower lip.

We didn’t know how long we were standing like that. At once, Aunt wiped away her tears, went inside, and sat at the seat beside her younger brother. He came out of the train. 

I went near the window and held her hands.

‘Why shouldn’t I kiss these hands? Should I?’ 

The train started moving slowly. I removed my hands. The train gained speed gradually. 

I could see a hand waving until the light was visible.

I came back home, went to my room, switched off the light, and sat on the chair.

A voice of a woman was heard with an elongated tune: “kolaa…kolaa…seven kolaa for a rupee…kolaa.” 

I went to the backyard and tried scooping it out with my little finger.

Only vomit came out. 

What about the fish bone…

 

*** End **