Was it because I had been thinking about her? Should that have made a difference when I had never forgotten her in the first place? Or was it a much simpler reason? Like Punishment. For a man engaged to one woman, one for life, lusting after another woman, a passing acquaintance and in love with yet another woman, an impossible dream?
Even thinking about myself in that accurate, demeaning description couldn’t replace the shrouded fear with shame. Shame, be damned, I thought. I am not the only man in this world to be wanting different things at the same time and not knowing what I wanted at all… At least I wasn’t the cheating manipulator. Yet.
It had all started with a simple favor to a girl’s family without a prospective groom for their daughter. You might think it’s strange and even ridiculous, but what was strange to me was that the girl was pretty and sweet. Why would they need me in the first place?
Living with her day in and day out, as much as it irritated me, made me conform to some unknown reality. She started to grow on me. She was not my type. But then, call me a man. But whatever it was, I knew my affection wasn’t harmful. And the lust, easily controlled, was just of a man deprived. We all have lived through that.
At least it was all harmless, till one day, I called out to her from the kitchen. The dal was boiling over and I was busy with the bhaji. So innocuous a setting and so poisonous a revelation it was!
Avisa came in frowning, a naive, adorable combination of the confused and the curious, “What did you call me?”
I looked at her quizzically and she asked again, “I thought you called me something like, Meher?”
I burned my fingers in the hot frying pan, and didn’t feel the blisters or hear her shout. I didn’t feel the pain as she shoved my hand under the flowing, cold tap water. All I could feel was that the harmless had ceased to be so. To me, and to her. My lust wasn’t just a lust anymore, it had become a juxtaposition of what I had wanted and never had, to what was easily available. And added to that volatile mix was a sense cruel of justice, one of vengeance. The ugly inside me had reared its head, and taken control and I had not known.
There was no way I would have called her Meher, if it wasn’t the primary thing in my mind. And there was no justification to what I knew was now inevitable.
There was no way I would have called her Meher, if it wasn’t the primary thing in my mind. And there was no justification to what I knew was now inevitable.
You could see me from afar and say that I am rotten. But then. Step into my shoes, and say it again. Maybe you will see the justice.
Maverick Misfit 
Hey Guria,
would you like to join Impulse? http://impulse.org.in/
RSV(I hope you remember me)
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welcome back G 🙂 finally a fiction from you.. waiting for the next part 🙂
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intriguing…
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The long-awaited Part 4, which showcased your skills so well that I now await Part 5!
Good Job Guria! 🙂
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I missed this post before. Its good to read a fiction from u after a long time.
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question mark
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