Clothesline

She dusted the clothes noisily till every fold opened as if she were undoing a piece of origami. They succumbed to her jolts and the water hiding covertly in the corners of the clothes were defeated. They fell as droplets on her face and limbs. Her bodice was soaked in soapy water and around her tummy there was a dark moist stain of where she had held the bucket. She scrunched her face each time she shook out the clothes, her strong arms worn by the humdrum of housework wrung the clothes she stretched them for the sun. She lined them meticulously, taking care to keep the dark coloured ones away from the sun. A few more and she was about done. But before she could reach out, the bell rang. She was annoyed. She had so much to do and it was unexpected that someone would show up at this hour. It was too early in the morning. She wiped her hands on the wet patches on the thighs and ran to the door. It was a young man delivering her post.

“So early?” she thought to herself, unable to hide her annoyance.

“Speed post ma’am”, he answered almost as if he could read her expression and quell her irritation.

She took it and looked at the name, her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected to hear from this person ever. Infact she had thought him dead. And now to received letters from a dead man? He wasn’t dead! He was very much alive!

*****

“It is impossible, Medha. So, you should let it drop”, Shekhar spoke as he lit another cigarette and slowly drew it to his mouth. His actions were almost comical and long drawn. When he breathed in is cheeks became sallow and he breathed out a whiff of white smoke away from her face. Medha didn’t like him smoking and had protested. He had reduced since they had started out, but his “reduction” had been marginal. But now she was not able to stake any claim in his life or even his existence. She looked at him and she wanted to laugh. She felt like picking the tumbler of chai in front of her and throwing it at him, at his spotless check shirt, that was buttoned to the top, despite the heat.

Shekhar always wore his shirt that way even in the putrid heat of Bombay. And his sleeves were always folded exactly three times. He never wore a watch, but he had been as punctilious as clockwork. In fact, she could determine the time based on his activities. He was exacting and it was all these idiosyncrasies that had convinced her to be with him. They were what made him him.

But two years later, these didn’t matter, and she sat in front of him like an errant child being admonished by their parent. She sulked at his directness and her heart felt cold. He was leaving for Hyderabad. He had to, he always had to. She was the whimsical dreamer.

*****

They had stepped out of the movie hall hand in hand. She rolled away the leftover popcorn and stashed it into her bag. It had begun to rain, and he opened the umbrella as they walked. She let him have most of the shade since she knew how much it irritated him to get drenched and she was not in a mood to listen to his litany of whining. She didn’t mind the wetness, and she clenched his hand tighter in the rain. She knew he was getting more irritable as the rain increased. And suddenly he closed the umbrella leaving them both naked to the benevolence of the weather.

“Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know, this is probably what you would have done?”

“Maybe”, she said, clutching her bag closer to her breast, still surprised at the suddenness of the occurrence.

“Let’s just walk” he said and grabbed her free hand. They walked in silence, and their synchronized steps were muffled in the sound of the downpour.

*****

But all this had been a long time ago. She opened the letter and the familiar hand seemed to gnaw at her. She slumped as she read the note, this was not the Shekhar she knew.

Dear Medha

I hope you are well.

You must be surprised that I am writing to you. You maybe mad at me as well, your feelings are justified. I am not writing to you to make matters worse, (maybe, I don’t know, that was not my intention).

Hyderabad is not working for me, so I am considering moving with my family to my hometown, Chennai for a bit. I have shifted my family there already actually and I am hoping to start afresh there. My company has agreed to put me for a similar position (same pay) in the Chennai branch. Luckily there was a vacancy I could fill.

I begin there on 16^th August. However, I do have to stop by at Mumbai for a bit of work before the final shift. Grateful if we could catch up sometime during the next weekend. Let me what day and time works for you. We could catch up somewhere near your place. Feel free to suggest any other place or the same old Konkani one we both used to like? I’m fine with anything.

This is my number 9………. and you can just leave me a text, you don’t have to call.

I hope you are still dancing!

Love

SR

Medha looked about her, puzzled. She still had two days to decide if she wanted to meet Shekhar or not.

******

Medha sat in a vermilion red kurti and slacks at the same table they sat at the Konkani joint. She didn’t want to be dressed up, no. It would hurt her ego too much to let Shekhar know that she had somewhere hoped that they would see each other. She had no make-up except a little kohl under her eyes and small jhumkas. She had carried a book to entertain herself while she waited. Knowing what a stickler he had been about time, she reached 10 minutes earlier than the time they had decided via message. She did not call and had let a day pass before she had messaged him. She read the brief volley of messages exchanged between them and checked if she had let her emotions slip. No. They had been curt and careful. There hadn’t even been an extra punctuation mark or a typographical error. It was time, and there was no sight of him. She ordered herself a light snack and tea and savoured her tea with deliberate slowness.

Ten minutes had passed since the time they had agreed. This was very unlike Shekhar.

Twenty minutes and it had begun to rain heavily. She looked out of the window, hurt and confused. She raised the book to her eye level to pretend to read, but the words made no sense to her. People gathered in front of the window seeking refuge under the shop’s awning blocking her view. She looked at the people standing, they were joyous, irritable- of different hues covering their heads with their hands, kerchiefs and plastic bags. There was still no sight of him. She was tempted to call but she resisted it. Ten more minutes had passed and now tears flowed. She paid for her meal and got up to leave. She didn’t care how heavy the rain was, she just couldn’t bear to stay any longer.

*****

It was humiliating and hurtful and time had not healed the raw gnashes of pain that Shekhar had caused. No, love was not practice, like he had claimed. Love was hurtful, from the start. She walked silently back to her door. She looked around but there was no sight of him, no arm that reached out and grabbed her wrist and drew her lips to a kiss.

*****

It had been three days since that incident, and she was walking back after work with a bag full of vegetables and provisions. She got about doing the housework and turned on the TV as she worked.

She bathed and went up to the terrace to put her clothes to dry when she saw a man who looked just like Shekhar walking towards her house. She felt her heart racing and the TV seemed to grow louder. She hid behind the clothes and peaked again. There was no one. She waited for the bell to ring. She paced up and down the terrace. There was no one. She made peace with the fact that this was just her mind playing games with her. She rustled up some dinner and slept off on the couch itself.

*****

It was pathetic. This whole suffering was mortifying and unnecessary. She felt stilted and she had cried herself to sleep. She felt like throwing things, breaking things and she was appalled at how her mind hinged at insanity. She seemed alright at work, impassive—but when she stepped inside her home, she felt monsters lurking around the corners of her room and her mind. She felt heady, like a psychedelic light and she did not want to believe that Shekhar could cause such a disruption to her life. Had she told him this, this would have been reason enough for him to leave her yet again. She could not give him such power, so where was all this coming from?

She could not comprehend herself, she looked at her reflection in the dark black liquid that filled her with curiosity. She stared back and she could see her eyes melt into a nothingness she could not fathom. The reflection broke into a sneer…