siiky
2023/11/22
2023/11/22
2023/11/22
words,archive,society,psychology
https://rawlit.weebly.com/issue2_10.html
Sumitra Singam
Dedicated to the many women who have had to compress themselves for others.
The girl is pale, her skin like an undercooked biscuit. She is beautiful, but like a doll - her features unmarked by life. She could be fifteen instead of twenty-five. Deepak, my son, holds her to his side as if she might run away. His height crowds her so that she seems to be sinking into him.
There is a coin in my pocket, and I twist it over and over, feeling the markings on either side. Heads I will, tails I won’t.
My husband invites our son and his new girlfriend to the table. “Sit,” he says, “My wife has made food for us! Sit!” We sit at the family table, as we have done for almost thirty years. My husband makes a sweeping gesture over the food as if he has produced the briyani, the palak paneer, the chicken korma with his baby-soft hands. He invites the girl, Kareena, to eat. She looks to Deepak for guidance. His hand grips hers as she reaches for a second ladle of briyani. My breath catches in my throat. The harsh coin speaks in braille – heads I will, tails I won’t.
They’ve been together six months, Deepak says. Already I can see the hunch in her shoulders, as if her thin body is a yellowing sheet of paper, curling at the edges, warping in Deepak’s virile heat. Heads I will, tails I won’t.
My husband asks the girl about her work. She starts to answer, but Deepak finishes her sentences. “She’s in PR at the company! Doing really well too! She won’t be junior associate for long, will you darling?” He grips her shoulders, and she jerks towards him. My shoulder aches like a memory. The coin is cold and heavy, like the stone in my gut. Heads I will, tails I won’t.
My husband asks about her family, and she drops her gaze, “They live in Canberra.” Deepak laughs, “You get really homesick, darling, don’t you?” She has two spots of colour on her cheeks, high and hot. I try to remember the last time I heard my sister’s voice, her laugh like a waterfall. Heads I will, tails I won’t.
I clear the dishes away and bring the dessert out. Golden gulab jamun balls like little suns swimming in syrup – Deepak’s favourite. He serves himself three, four, five. “You can share with me, darling,” Deepak says. My husband guffaws, “Yes Deepak, that’s right, you have to be careful with these women! No self control! Right, Sonu?”
I invite Kareena to help me with the dishes in the kitchen. “What can I do?” she asks.
Heads I will, tails I won’t.
I grasp her hands. They are fragile, like holding a quivering sparrow. “I have something to say.”