My Body

My Body

Rima had never felt so happy and sad at the same time. The cramps in her lower abdomen signaled the onrush of anger, madness, and masquerades. It was a routine affair. Every month she would slide into layers of self-denial and self-assertion. The pain felt like a relief. It spread into her lower body, radiating in sharp darts keeping her calves company for almost four days. This was normal. Every woman went through the monthly woes.  She was 28 and just married. Her mother-in-law laid out a stringent set of dos and don’ts for her. Don’t enter the kitchen, don’t sit on the sofa, stay in the bedroom, keep to yourself. A student of social science she had recently completed a paper on untouchability. Before Independence India had clearly segregated caste divisions and the ones outside the structures were the untouchables. They could not touch anything belonging to the high caste people. How inhuman she thought….

It’s the second day and she has been almost locked in her room. Her mind and body on fire. She wanted to scream and cry and burst into the choicest expletives she had gathered in her college days. The blood running through her veins had broken all frontiers. They rushed unfettered like the waves gushing at the shores, untamable. The splitting headache numbed her senses. Ravi came loitering inside her room. This was her jethani’s son. He was five. She was not particularly fond of children. They did not fit in her scheme of life, intractable and incorrigible as they were. At first, she feigned ignorance and complete denial of his presence, wishing he would leave without bothering her much. The boy was in a difficult mood. Initially, he was a little put off by her aunt’s demeanor and had perhaps got a hint of the do-not-disturb message plastered on her face. In no time he was his usual self. Buoyant and nagging. He had developed a liking for her dressing table and curiosity possessed him like a little devil whenever he caught sight of the flashy make-up which Rima had so sedulously arranged. Without a speck of warning, he flew at the nail-polish which was her favourite. Before she could read into his designs it was all on the floor. A thick spread of luscious pink she had bought during her last visit to Singapore on an office tour. Her heart sank. Her voice was quivering with livid anger seething like the water hissing tenaciously to overturn the very container it occupied. She kept herself calm. The boy had invited trouble and apprehending his lot disappeared beyond sight.

It was 7.30 and Rahul her husband would be there in no time. It was an arranged marriage. She had never been approving of this. In fact she had verily discouraged her friends from getting tied to a person without knowing anything about him. And here she was. Yoked in this relationship with people she knew nothing of. The pink stain on the marble floor was gross. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. What would she tell Rahul? The cramps had become unbearable. Her head was in a bundle of mess and she tried to pull herself through. She saw Rahul standing at the door. He had unfailingly noticed the ugly pink blot crying for attention. A stickler for cleanliness she could sense trouble written large on his face. “What on earth is this” - he bellowed. “What have you been up to…”

Rima tried hard to think of all the beautiful things she had experienced. In a recent art of living class, she had accidentally come across - the advice to switch your mind off, stayed with her. Take deep breaths, relax, and imagine things that make you happy. She slipped into this alternative reality where the pink and red were not stains anymore. They were resplendent flowers, in gardens she had visited with her parents. Parents she had wished to be with. Her mother had passed away when she was fourteen. She did not remember much of her. She had rather locked them in the dark pit of her memory which is referred to as forgetfulness. Her mother had never shared the experience of menstruation with her. No one referred to it as an existing reality. It was all such a hush-hush affair, a sad and uncouth secret, never to be uttered and discussed. The first time she noticed blood in her underwear the only person she could share it with was her close friend Shelly. Her mother had been so peripheral to her life. She did not blame her for it though. So many years had flown by. Her death was a sad shock but not entirely unexpected. Faint episodes of pain and disgust enveloped her as she was awakened to Rahul’s acerbic onslaught.

Today was the third day. The days appeared long and deserted. Rahul had left for office. Her mother-in-law had left her lunch at the door. Hemmed in with hunger and a returning sense of self-control she stepped outside. The plate stood staring at her. It had a miasma of ineluctable coldness about it. She took it inside and pushing back tears dug into the placid rice and dal. Her father had never been very cordial especially after her mother’s death. He had always preferred her younger brother. Slighted she had kept her distance. She had been a good student and had enrolled in the much-coveted Masters in sociology at JNU. After the course - some of the most memorable days of her life - she had landed up a job. Every month she would take a couple of days off. Her casual leaves had always fallen short of her requirement. Why couldn’t the government come up with some more leaves she had often grudged?

Last night was miserable. Something had unlocked inside her. She had unleashed the savage beast, waiting in some dark corner of her memories. The blood coursing through her veins and making way through her vagina had mingled surreptitiously with the beast’s. Together they were menacingly uncontrollable. Rahul had been sober that day. As his hands groped her in the dim moonlight filtered through the netted windows she felt the pain crawling up her throat. Her body did not feel like her own.