racyreading

He is staring at me. I can sense it. I look up but his eyes are vacant.  There is no life, no light. He is just a hollow shell of a man.  My father was not always like this. As a little girl, I trembled if he glanced my way. What if it was me, I'd worry, what if I was the chosen one, and what if it was not... my mother? But she usually was. Nothing she did was ever good enough. Either the tea was lukewarm or too hot. Or too sweet. Undrinkable, either way. If the rotis were warm, the bhaji was salty or spicy or something. Always something. Anything. "What is this s*%*t you've made today. How can anyone drink/eat such filth?", he'd shout. Then he'd remove his belt. Take off his shirt too. All the better to teach us a lesson.  Why did my mother, a school teacher, stay with him? I do not know. She had a job, she was Teacher Madam for all the children in the neighbourhood. But the other women, they knew. I am sure their husbands did too. T

"Shalu, open the door. For god's sake, let me see you. Please, can we talk?” She can hear the desperation in Ajith's voice. In the background, a child is crying loudly, their son. He is scared something is wrong with amma and appa. His hands, feet and neck are red and slightly swollen. The mark of an angry hand is clearly visible. Her hand. She cannot open the door. cannot move, the pain inside her so full to bursting that only a greater pain can make it bearable. This hand I used to hit him, she mumbles to herself, this hand, I wish I could cut it off, if only...it will break, crumble into nothingness. Just like me, just like me.... She stops, body bruised and aching. Throwing herself against the wall again and again, to dull the pain inside, has left her knuckles grazed, but the bones are not broken. No, not so easy to break, she thinks. Not so easy to erase what I have done to the one being who is solely dependent on me. I am a monster. Outside the