Artist in Confusion

Niket had received three letters from the school in quick succession. The first from Principal Molly, the second from the teacher, Neha, and the third from the manager, Jacob.
He had rushed home from the market after doing his shopping because he was aware that his wife, Anugya, might not tell him about the mail that had arrived in his absence. Today, the mail was still in the letter box. He took it out and ripped it open in great haste. Discovering it was also from his son’s school, he flopped onto the bed, mumbling to himself, “Another one from the Principal, Oh God!”
Anugya was unperturbed by her husband’s gloominess. Niket suspected that she had been reading the mail. She had, in fact, been doing just that. When she spotted the postman tucking the mail into the letter box, she headed straight for it and, after reading the letters, sneaked them back into the box. Now, her nonchalant attitude was a clear sign that she had read this letter as well. Niket inspected the envelope more closely. It had been re-glued after being steamed open.
Since the day of their quarrel over their twelve-year-old son, Lakshya, they hadn’t spoken, except for whatever was necessary to be said in order to carry out their daily routine.
After reading the third letter, Niket heaved a sigh and stared at his wife.
Anugya shed a few tears and whispered, “Why are they sending us letter after letter? Don’t they know Lakshya is dead?”
Without responding, Niket marched out of the kitchen. He knew it was futile answering any of his wife’s questions. He’d begun avoiding Anugya’s questions about Lakshya.
When their daughters came to visit on the weekends, they were civil towards each other and actually talked. But the daughters naturally sensed the friction between their parents.

I’m sorry, my sister

In summer morning when China clock in Mrs. Kulkarni’s lobby tinkles, she unfolds her drowsy eyes. She curiously sees the time on the clock watch, yawns typically and sprints towards the door. Typicality of mediocrity is noticed in her every action.

She has just woken after a short nap. In street, when she notices Mrs. Batra drifting out of her house, she explodes.

“In our street, some people are really mad” She cries to get Mrs. Batra noticed her.  Mrs. Batra is standing at the threshold of her house. She is in pensive mood. She understands the insinuation to who Mrs. Batra is saying really mad. Mrs.  Kulkarni combs fingers into her long and silky hair and stares at Mrs. Batra as if she only is her foe.

The Beautiful Mind

“Uff, papa, please show mercy, let me decide for myself,” she begged. Her distant relative, Auntie Sheela, shouted mockingly at her, “Spinster, spinster, spinster.”
“See, what the relatives speak about you?” Her mother murmured through eloquent peony lips.
“Let them speak! Let them speak, mummy!” Ruby fumed. She hated to show herself off to men here and there, but might she ever ignore papa’s callous command? Mummy, under the strict guidance of the ever-strict papa always helped Ruby in decking her up before showing her off to would-be grooms.
“Might I come with Ruby, today?” mummy asked at the time of papa’s departure to his office.
“No, no, boys dislike girls who come with their mothers.”
So, she busied herself with her daughter in the dressing room, helping her as if in the service of Alexander Pope’s beautiful Belinda in The Rape of the Lock. Mummy suggested her donning a light blue sari. She considered Ruby’s lips too thin, so gets out some imported lipstick.
“Let me put on your lips, daughter. Today, boys don’t like thin lips.”
Ruby restrained her impatience. How parents of girls show off their unmarried daughters to everybody. Boys don’t like this, boys don’t like that. Uff!
“Talcum powder?”
“Here, it is.” Mummy applied some smoothly to her cheeks.
“Hair?”
“Ponytail,” mummy advised her. “He dislikes fashionable girls.” And she braided her daughter’s silky hair into an attractive ponytail.