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I.
“Uma! Hurry up. They will be here any minute”
“Ashchhi (coming) Ma! I can’t believe you asked me to come early for this!”
“Chhod-di (common bengali terminology for “younger sister”). Cha (“tea“). You are wearing that?”
Uma stands in front of the mirror brushing her hair vigorously. “What is wrong with this?” she asks Pushpadi pointing at her yellow and orange cotton skirt and the white top.
Pushpa wipes the cup with the corner of her saree and puts it down on the dressing table. She starts wiping off the dust from the dressing table and tries to explain to Uma why it is inappropriate to wear that skirt and why she should wear the gold bangles and not the cheap ones bought off the street.
“Pushpa di. You see, he is not going to marry me anyways. You know them.”
“No I don’t know them. I know you and I know you never listen to your mother.”
“Will you stop wiping my table, please. There is nothing left to be wiped there.”
Pushpa turns away and looks around the room. There are books lying around on the bed. Some are heaped into a pile on the reading table. She picks up the newspapers from the floor and the red coffee mug from the bedside table. The cup has little hearts on it. “Your Baba, gave this to you? No?” Uma doesn’t bother to answer. She has tied up her hair in a bun and is looking for her kohl in her handbag.
“Do you think, I should leave my hair open and let him admire my long cascading knee length hair?” Uma, asks with a smile. Her cheeks are dimpled.
Pushpa begins to say something but sees the sarcasm in Uma’s eyes. She stands near the windows and stares at the sky. The stars are almost there. Almost. If only that orange streak would go away and the let the evening quietly set in.
“If only your father was here today…”
“He isn’t Pushpa di. He isn’t.” Uma says, looking at Pushpa’s reflection in the mirror with a stubborn streak in her eyes. “It is Ma, you and me. He isn’t here with us anymore.”
II.
“Ma can you hear me?”
“Yes. Where are you calling from? Why aren’t you in the hostel? Its 9 pm.”
“Ma. I am at the Police station. I have been raped. They are taking me to the hospital.”
***
“Why were you wearing these clothes? And you were out with a boy in the evening?”
“Yes Baba.”
“And you complain of rape?”
“I didn’t invite it Baba.”
“Hah! You think!”
***
“You are not being the mother that you should be.”
“What?”
“You should be talking to her about dressing appropriately. And her boyfriends.”
“What is inappropriate about what she is wearing?”
“You call yourself educated? You can’t even say what’s wrong with that?”
***
“Why does she sleep so much?”
“She is on her semester break. What do you expect her to do?”
“She should be in the kitchen. Helping you. Marriage is only a few years away.”
“She does not need to be in kitchen. I can have her sipping tea on the couch and reading a book the whole day.”
“With a mother like you she will never keep her in laws happy. Already we have a problem with her. And now you add on to it.”
“What problem?”
“She has been raped. Don’t you see the problem?”
“No. I don’t.”
***
“I want a divorce.”
“Really?”
“Uma has given me all the print outs of your emails and chats. She has your password.”
“What? Try and divorce me. I’ll make your life hell. This is my house.”
“No it’s mine. I bought it. Paid for it and I’ll keep it.”
***
“Your mother is throwing me out of the house. Don’t you want to do something?”
“I don’t stand up for adultery Baba.”
“This stupid education has gone into your head”
III.
“Oh God! This PhD application, Ma! Why on earth do I have to fill up all of this?”
“Why do you keep biting that pen?”
“Why do they ask for father’s name?”
“Why? You don’t know your father’s name?”
“I’ll talk to the registrar tomorrow. I’ll put in your name.”
“Must you fight with everyone?”
“Must you stop me from chopping off my hair all the time?”
***
“Ma. I got the lectureship in that college. I’ll get to stay at home! La-dee-dah.”
“Stop la-dee-dahing. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“What? No. I don’t.”
“When are you coming?”
“I have to join next week.”
“Come before Saturday then. You should meet some people.”
“What? Who?”
“You will see.”
IV.
“I am twenty six, yes. And no I am not married. And no, I have never had a boyfriend. Why do you ask?”
“I was wondering if you are a virgin. You know you have stayed outside and all.”
“I am twenty seven. I teach in a college. Can I ask you something?”
“Please do. Its so nice to talk to you face to face.”
“What do you feel about rape victims?”
“Poor girls. All that lack of education and awareness.”
“I am a survivor of rape. I was raped by a Police officer. What does education have to do with this?”
***
“Uma, will you please stop scaring these people off?”
“Who is scaring who?”
“You. All these boys. Do you know how upset Niyogi aunty is?”
“Why do you think I am scaring them?”
“Why do you ask so many questions?”
“If I answer that can I chop off my hair?”
V.
Uma walks into the living room in her orange skirt. The last rays of the sun have made patterns on the wall. The room is filled with a strange silence as soon as she makes an appearance. She crosses the entire length of the room and chooses the big couch against the wall to settle herself in.
“Hi. How have you been aunty?.”
“Hello. I have been good only. So hot here! How are you?”
“Good, aunty. How about you? Why haven’t you eaten anything as yet?”
“its just too hot to have anything. We were just talking about the weather here. Such a difference from last year. Impossible to step out of the house.”
“Uma, you know Abhi. You guys have been in touch.”
Uma smiles and looks out of the corner of her eyes at the crisp white shirt and the blue jeans. The shirt is open at the collar. Is he clean shaven? She looks at his face and sees him staring at her. She frowns, his mouth breaks into a quiet smile.
“Uma.”
“Yes, Ma.”
“Why don’t you guys go to the terrace?”
“What in this heat?”
“Can we go for a drive”, suggests an unknown voice. Uma looks at the white shirt, blue jeans clad clean shaven man. He struggles very hard to hide a laughter.
“Yes.” Uma looks at her mother. “A drive would be nice, Ma.”
***
Uma sits in the car with her legs crossed on the front seat. She rummages through his CD collection and picks out one and plays it.
“Do you smoke?”asks Uma.
“When I feel like it.”
“I feel like one now.”
“We can stop at the corner and pick up some.”
“You don’t mind?”
“No. Only the windows have to be rolled down. It gets very stuffy otherwise.”
“Why do you want to marry me?” Uma asks, taking a long drag from the cigarette and releasing her hair from the two hair pins that were holding it in place.
“I like you.”
“I have been raped. My parents are divorced. My father lives with his girlfriend. I smoke. And I don’t believe women are meant to marry and have babies only. Oh! I am over thirty! And that is criminal, you know.”
“So?”
“You know all of this?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Niyogi aunty.” They break into squeaks of laughter. Uma taps her ash out of the car window.
“Why do you want to marry me Abhi? Tell me.”
“Because you have survived rape. Because you have survived your parents’ divorce. Because you stand up for what is right.”
Uma forgets to take a drag out of her cigarette. She looks away from him and out of the window.
“Because your hair is beautiful. Because you are beautiful.”
She blinks away the tears that sting her eyes.
“Because I am in love with you.”
She wonders if the knot in her throat can disappear.
“Will you marry me, Uma? I’ll never find another you.”
“I think I will.” She tries in vain to blow smoke rings and not think about that knot in her throat. “I thought I’ll never find a you.”
VI.
Uma sits on the couch and munches on the left overs. “Where are the chocolate biscuits, Ma?”
“I don’t know, Uma. How did you decide?”
Uma picks up her book from beside her and takes out the book mark.
“He said I could chop off my hair if I felt like it, Ma.”
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Here’s how ours turned out
