inspired from "By The River Piedra I Sat Down And Wept" - LOVE

Nancy got up with a sad feeling deep in her heart. How she regretted having to live through this day every year. Every year she would go down the memory lane and visit the same old shack by the sea where she had gone off all on her own for a vacation a few years ago and had met a man who, Nancy was sure since the moment she set her eyes on him, was going to be very important to her and was going to change her life forever. If only she had not spotted that figure on the beach. If only she had not offered the man a glass of wine. If only he had not accepted. If only they had not fallen in love.

But she had spotted that lonely figure on the beach.

She had offered the cold man a glass of wine.

He had accepted.

And they had fallen in love.

It was not something she regretted. Once in your life comes along the kind of love that we are all made to grow up believing in, but that we all learn in our own ways exists only in fairy-tales and dreams and good romantic books and cheesy romantic movies.

But she did regret not asking him to stay when she knew she could have and when she knew he would not have refused.

She regretted having heeded to the higher calling. She had put that man and his life and his path towards a better self, top-most on her list of priorities; and herself and her feelings and her happiness below it – just like she had been brought up to be; just like she had lived all her life.

Her children before her.

Her husband before her.

Her marriage before her.

Her parents, her job, the people around – the world before herself.

And that made her the good mother, the good wife, the good daughter, employee and person that everybody talked about and that everybody wanted everybody else to be – but also that that she did not like, forty years of life, fifteen years of marriage and two children later.

What good is life when you spend it living for others? Every waking moment, every breath, every thought spent on others. Every good deed always done for the betterment of others. Every sacrifice always made for the happiness of others.

And it was a weekend spent not with her husband but with a stranger in a shack many many miles away from her house that had made her think – what had she done in life for herself?

When was the last time she lived, laughed, loved for herself?

That one weekend with the man in the shack by the sea had given Nancy a taste of what life could have been – a man who loved every inch of her body, a man who loved her heart and soul and who wasn’t afraid to show it; a life with a companion who was very different from her, but who complemented her and understood her nonetheless.

And yes, he was a married man, much older to her, with a son only fifteen years younger to Nancy. He was a man with faults, much like her husband; and yet he was so different from her husband.

Nancy regretted not having asked the man to stay when it was time for him to leave. She knew she had had the power to make him wait; she knew he had longed for her to ask him to wait. He had left the decision in Nancy’s hand. And Nancy had again chosen to be the good mother and wife and had let him go, only to come back to an unfaithful husband and a broken marriage that she thought was her responsibility to try and save.

But no relationship works with the efforts of only one individual. It is a give and take.

However, that one weekend spent with that man in the shack by the sea many many miles away from her house had changed Nancy. She had returned to an unfaithful husband and a broken marriage, but without guilt or a false sense of morality. She had returned a changed woman, and she had taken charge of things and had changed her life – which included moving out of the house and life of her husband but along with her son and daughter, shifting base to a new city, making new friends and finding a new job and doing what she had always dreamt of doing; starting a plant nursery. Her daughter understood her; but Nancy would not have minded even if she hadn’t – she would when she grew up a little more. Her son still loved his mother, though he missed his father.

But Nancy was still haunted by the memories of the man she met on this day few years ago.

She was glad he had saved her.

She was glad he had shown her what her life could be, what it ought to be.

She was glad he had happened to her.

But she still regretted not having asked him to wait when she could have.

But she now understood the lines she had read many many years ago…

Love is always new. Regardless of whether we love once, twice or a dozen times in our life, we always face a brand new situation. Love can consign us to hell or to paradise, but it always takes us somewhere. We simply have to accept it because it is what nourishes our existence. If we reject it, we die of hunger, because we lack the courage to stretch out a hand and pluck the fruit from the branches of the tree of life. We have to take love where we find, even if that means hours, days, weeks of disappointment and sadness.

The moment we begin to seek love, love begins to seek us.

And to save us.

inspired from "By The River Piedra I Sat Down And Wept" - THE OLD LADY

Some people always have to be doing battle with someone, sometimes with themselves, battling with their own lives. So they begin to create a kind of play in their head, and they write the script based on their frustration.

Tilo heard the old lady say these lines and realised how much they were true – every word of it was painfully true and relevant to her life. Right from the moment she had been born, all she had been doing was fighting; first as her Mother tried to kill her while she was still in her womb, and then as the people around tried to kill her soul. All she had been doing was fighting – battling to guard her existence; battling to guard her virginity, battling to guard her innocence, battling to exist in a world that was crueller than could be imagined. Every moment a struggle. Every moment a war waged against her one self that wanted to believe in the good in people and her other self that had nothing but eyes that could see the world around her with all its bad and bad.

But when night fell and her Mother had cursed and cursed her and gone off to sleep, Tilo would dare to dream – of a caring Mother, of a clean house, of school; of a normal life and a better world. And it is these few moments every night and the hope they brought that helped Tilo pull through every day.

Until the day she heard the old lady speak – the old lady that she was scared of, but that she loved to hear when she began to speak. The old lady who Tilo saw always in the same clothes and who never smiled. There was something mysterious about the lady. She was not a beggar, and yet people passing her seemed to drop money for her and touch her feet. The lady never touched the money, and never seemed hungry or thirsty. She looked almost ethereal. At some point in the day the lady would start talking – and the stresaaset would go silent; but not because everyone would be listening, but because everyone would just clear the street. They would all disappear, take their children in and go inside their little huts and shut the doors and stay in till dusk. One evening Tilo had wandered off ad returned after the street had cleared and had heard the old lady speak. She had been scared at first and had tried to make her Mother open the door so she could come into the house.

‘Pay for your little excursion! Thousand times I tell you not to wander too far away, but you just don’t listen. The Devil, that’s what you are!’

Tilo had been very scared and had cried and cried till her throat went dry and her eyes and head started to ache. Finally when exhaustion took over and she couldn’t care less if she died or lived, she walked towards the lady and went and sat down in front of her.

The old lady’s eyes were closed, and she appeared as if to be chanting something. She broke out into prose once in a while, and went back to the chanting soon again. But her eyes always remained closed, like she was reciting something from memory. Her slow steady voice almost managed to put Tilo off to sleep when the lady opened her eyes and looked at Tilo. Tilo’s fears returned, but she sat rooted to the pace, stupefied. The old lady kept on looking at her – a constant unblinking stare, and Tilo couldn’t help but stare back into those eyes. How long they sat like that, no one knows. But after quite some time had passed, Tilo felt a hand lift her to her feet rather roughly.

‘Do you want to invoke the wrath of the Devil on the entire village?’

Tilo looked at her Mother, and turned back to look at the old lady. But she was gone.

– x – x –

‘You must take her to him! He is the only one who can save your daughter!’

‘Yes! No one who has ever seen that lady or spoken to her has ever lived to tell about it. But she has. There is something that’s definitely wrong.’

‘Take her to him. He knows just what to do.’

‘He will cure her.’

‘He will save her.’

– x – x –

Several days passed. People continued to drop money at the place where Tilo had seen the old lady sitting, and continued to touch the ground even. But Tilo was confused.

‘Mother, who do they offer the money to, if the old lady is not there anymore?’

But this innocent little question only brought upon another thrashing on Tilo, and she learnt never to ask her Mother about it again.

Several days passed by again. And then several weeks. One day Tilo met the old lady while she had wandered a little too far and away from her house. This time Tilo was not scared of the lady. But the lady, instead of maintaining her distance as always, addressed Tilo directly by her secret name –

‘Janhavi!’

Tilo was so astonished that the old lady knew her secret name that she forgot all her fear and the promise she had made to herself – to treat the old lady as indifferently as she treated her – and curiosity took over and Tilo ended up talking to her. She spent the whole evening talking to the old lady, and the night and it was almost dawn by the time she realised that an entire night had passed by. Tilo felt excited. This was her first night away from her home, and she was still safe and sound.

She had witnessed the good side of the world.

Tilo started meeting the old lady regularly. Her Mother kept on beating her up when she returned home just before sunrise every day.

‘Who is she sending you to?’

‘Who is sending me anywhere Mother?’

Slap.

‘Come on you little witch! Speak up! Where are you hiding all the money?’

‘What money Mother, I don’t understand.’

‘Oh you scoundrel! Just you wait till I get my hands on the money. How long are you going to hide it from me anyway.’

Tilo discussed this with the old lady one evening.

‘Mother keeps asking me funny questions. She keeps demanding money from me. I don’t understand.’

But the old lady just smiled.

One evening Mother caught hold of Tilo just as she was about to slip off to meet the old lady.

‘Not so easy darling. Today you shall go to who I tell you to go to.’

Mother gave Tilo a clean set of clothes to wear. She combed her hair and braided them. Tilo got confused, but was still happy. Her Mother today seemed like the one from the story they told at the school that Tilo liked to listen to secretly. Before mother and daughter stepped out of the house, Tilo hugged her Mother.

‘I love you Mother!’

Little did she know what lay in front of her, what her Mother had planned for her. But in spite of all that she had to go through each day, Tilo’s heart was pure, and it knew only to love.

They reached in front of a big house after some walking. Mother picked Tilo up in her arms and knocked on the front door. A big man answered the door.

‘At last.’

Mother gave Tilo into the arms of the man. The man reached inside his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of money and handed it to Tilo’s mother.

Tilo looked upon the transaction and turned to her mother –

‘So he had the money! But who is this man? Is it Father?’

Mother looked for a moment at Tilo’s face. She realised she was going to burst out crying. She quickly turned on her heel and began to walk away as fast as she could.

Tilo called out to her Mother to wait. Tilo felt really sad – how unfortunate that on the very day that she had seen a side of Mother she didn’t knew existed, Mother had also abandoned her and left her to the mercy of a strange big and scary man. Tilo looked at the man.

‘I am hungry Father.’

The man slapped Tilo across her face. Tilo’s eyes instantly sprouted tears. The man’s hands stung worse than her mother’s ever had.

Tilo kicked and punched and pushed and tried to break free from the man’s hand as he dragged her towards a room in the inside of the house…

– x – x –

‘Mother!’

Tilo called out to her Mother who was sitting by the pot of water that was kept in one corner of their house. Mother turned to look at her daughter.

‘That man was not at all nice Mother. Who was he? Why did you leave me with him Mother?’

Tilo’s mother kept staring at Tilo. Suddenly she came up to her and fell at Tilo’s feet. Tilo got confused.

‘Mother! Why are you touching my feet!’

But just as Tilo touched her mother’s arms in order to lift her up, her mother’s body broke out into a crackling fire. Tilo quickly stepped aside from her Mother, shocked at what she had witnessed. Tilo quickly went to the water-pot and tried to lift it. But she lost balance and the water spilled onto the floor.

The fire died out as mysteriously as it had erupted. Tilo looked around the house, but there was nothing there. No ashes, no sign that only moments ago there had been another individual in the room, as alive and breathing as Tilo. Tilo felt the old lady’s presence and turned around to look at her.

‘What happened? Why didn’t you save Mother like you saved me!’

But the old lady just smiled.

‘I wanted to tell her how you saved me from that man! I wanted to tell her you are not a bad woman!’

‘She wouldn’t believe you Janhavi.’

‘But she would! She was my Mother!’

‘Would you have believed her, if she told you the same?’

Tilo stood still.

‘Everyone has to find me and come to me on their own. No one can be pushed in my direction to seek me. When their hearts seek me out, I shall heed. Till then, I shall wait.’

Tilo did not completely understand what the old lady had said, but she felt a lot calmer anyway.

‘Come.’

Tilo looked at the old lady’s hand, and wondered if she should take it. But somewhere she knew even before she took the hand that the choice had already been made.

Her life had already been changed.

Her path and her destiny were never going to be the same again.

And she was tied to this woman for eternity.

Tilo took the old lady’s hand and they walked out of the house.

REFLECTION - PART II

‘Hey! Relax dude! Slow down.’

I immediately eased my grip on the accelerator. Suddenly my senses were alert; my muscles tense. I tried to tell myself to calm down but couldn’t. You can’t just say ‘relax’ and relax with a gun in your face.

‘Ok ok; I’ll put it back,’ she said and leaned a little towards me. She stretched her hand and reached out for her bag kept on the back seat. I shrank back and away from her.

‘Why are you acting so scared? Look, I have put it away, ok? Now I’m about as harmless as you are.’

I still didn’t look at her. She continued.

‘Potentially you’re about twice as big as I am,’ she said, looking at my six-feet-three-inch frame, ‘and twice as strong as well.’

‘I’m not carrying a gun!’ I blurted.

She started laughing again. Suddenly her voice wasn’t sweet anymore.

‘Just about anyone can have a gun ok? And I have a proper licensed gun, ok? I bought it about a month ago.’

‘What for? To kill your husband?’ I asked, shuddering at her coolness.

‘Precisely.’ She looked at me. ‘I bought it to kill Karan,’ she said to confirm.

I didn’t say anything.

‘You know, I had planned it all out. I had even decided to surrender to the police…’

I still didn’t say anything.

‘Please stop on the side of the road. I need some fresh air.’

I pulled onto the side. As soon as I turned the ignition off she asked me for the keys.

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘I don’t want you to leave me here and run away.’

‘And what guarantee you won’t run away with my car?’ I counter-questioned.

‘Ummm… Ok. Let’s just leave the keys in the car then and lets both get out together.’

I agreed and we both stepped out. She closed the door, went to the rear of the car and stood there, resting against it. The moon was right on top of us now. I saw her full-self in the moonlight, and for the first time I noticed; she was badly scratched and injured. Her entire left arm was bruised and so was a little of her waist. Her foot was bleeding and the blood had already caked at places. Her sari was soiled too. I didn’t know how much of her wounds were concealed under her sari, but the sight of blood on such a perfect and flawless skin alarmed me.

‘Jesus Christ! You’re hurt!’ I exclaimed.

‘Yes. But it’s not much.’

‘Shut up and sit down on that rock.’

I opened the rear-door and removed the first-aid box. I shut the door and came and sat down on my knees next to her. I first took a look at her arm. She adjusted her sari over her shoulder to help me get a better view. I started by cleaning up her wounds.

‘Aren’t you scared now?’ she asked. I didn’t answer. ‘Really, it’s nothing; trust me.’

‘How did you get hurt?’ I asked, ignoring her comment.

‘While jumping out of the car.’

‘What! How? Why?’

She sat quiet for a while. I waited for her to go on.

‘Good for nothing… that is what Karan called me. Lately he couldn’t help but find faults in me… My habits, my dressing style, my cooking… I guess I wasn’t good enough in bed either. That’s probably what made him lay Charu.’

She paused and took a deep breath.

‘I was a very different girl back then___ totally crazy, fashion-freak, and a smoker. I can’t remember the first time I tried it; but by the time I was in the final year of B.A. I loved nothing more than bunking lectures and sitting on the terrace of our college with my gang, listening to Linkin Park and smoking Marlboro. I wouldn’t have dared to do it back home, but then… I was a hostelite…

One day we were on our way to the terrace. We were all running up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I was holding a cigarette in one hand, clutching my bag with the other. Just as we reached the last flight of stairs, two guys brushed past me.

“Ouch!” one of them exclaimed. I had burnt him with my cigarette I guess. “Saale teri toh___” he started and caught my hand. He turned around and looked at me and immediately shut up.

“Sorry,” I muttered and tried to break free from his iron-grip.

“Subhan-allah!” he said. I looked at him. He was staring at me.

“Let go of me,” I said.

“And what if I don’t?” he asked, smiling. I looked at him for a moment, and then stabbed my cigarette onto his hand again. He instantly released me hand and squealed in pain again. I bounded up the stairs. Mid-way, I stopped and turned around to look at him.

‘Don’t make me do it again,’ I said; ‘please. I hate wasting my cigarettes.’

That was how we met. It seems like another lifetime altogether. Karan had changed so much post-marriage, I would have laughed back then, if someone had told me he was going to turn into a womanizing monster. We loved each other so much! I quit smoking and turned into a typical good Indian girl. I didn’t want to, but Karan’s parents belonged to the old times and wouldn’t have approved of my way of living. I switched from jeans and skirts to saris___ and in the process I ended up switching names to become Mrs. Isha Karan Arora.’

She paused. I had finished cleaning the wounds on her arm. She looked at the bandages and smiled at me. I smiled back awkwardly. She then lifted her sari up to her knees. Her leg was badly bruised too. I shook my head and muttered a soft ‘Oh God’. All that blood on such perfect skin looked like a curse. I opened the bottle of Dettol again and soaked yet another cotton-ball in it. I dabbed it on the wound and she clutched at my shoulder. I removed the cotton and waited for her grip to ease a bit. I applied the cotton again, she clutched again, little less strong this time. Her body eased slowly as she got used to the burning sensation.

‘I thought… Heck. I couldn’t think straight actually. I couldn’t figure out what had happened; why he had started having affairs. Then I thought maybe that’s the true him. I accepted it. Funny it didn’t affect me or my parents severely… almost as if we were prepared for it; although how come, I don’t know. The gravity of the whole thing began weighing on me a few days after I first came to know about him and Charu. I filed for a divorce. “It’s not the end of the world,” I kept telling myself. “Marriages happen and marriages break… so many… everyday…” I kept saying. But the real trouble started when Karan refused to give me divorce and started physically abusing me.’

This time I clutched my fist.

‘It went on and on for a couple of weeks. I fled to my parent’s house. He brought me back; and the situation went from bad to worse. Finally one night, I snapped. He tried to hit me, and I hit him back with a pair of tongs. I fled to my room before he had time to recover and closed the door from inside.’

For the first time since we met about an hour ago, I saw her shiver and look scared… alarmed rather.

‘That night, I decided something had to be done about the whole situation. I had only just recovered from his recent beating. Something happened that night… I don’t know what. But as the day dawned I had made up my mind to kill him.’

I looked at her. There was mad determination in her eyes.

‘I didn’t come out of my room till he had left for his office in the morning. I contacted a friend of mine and with her help I acquired this pistol the very next day. Today I decided to kill him after he got back from work. I served him dinner. He went to the bar right after dinner. I encouraged him to just an extra drink and then suggested we go for a drive. He agreed and took the keys. I took my pistol.

We reached the dhaba off the highway. We went a little further. The car swerved from left to right as the drinks took over Karan. At one point we nearly missed running head on into a truck. And that’s where I saw my opportunity. I could get rid off him without his blood on my hands. And that’s what I decided to do. I slipped my bag onto my shoulder and sat ready waiting for the next curb. I saw it coming and distracted him by kissing him hard on his lips. He pushed me away and looked taken aback. My eyes welled up. And just as he was about to drive off the road I said “Bye Karan” and jumped out of the car.’

In the silence that followed her monologue, I tried to absorb what she had told me. Things like these happened in novels, in movies… in pathetic and third-rate daily soaps; not in real life. But this was real life. She resumed talking.

‘When I got up, the car was nowhere in sight. I don’t know what had happened to it, or to Karan; but both had disappeared into thin air somehow. I got up and tried to gather my things. Most importantly I tried to locate the pistol and found it was right there, safe in my bag.

I started walking. i walked and walked… half there, half not there. Strangely, I wasn’t feeling a wee bit sad. In fact, I was feeling relieved… and happy. Actually happy. By the time I reached the highway, I was as happy as I could be. And then you drove along.’

She stopped. I looked at her. She looked back at me.

‘You can drive me to the police station if you want to. I don’t really care,’ she said. I closed my eyes for a moment. I opened them and started putting the bandage, the Dettol bottle and other stuff back into the first-aid kit. I helped her get up and get into the car. I went and sat in the driver’s seat. Soon we were driving back home.







We reached the post office at twelve-thirty. I helped her get out of the car again.

‘Thanks,’ she said, and held out a card. I took it. ‘Isha’s Creations’ it said. ‘Drop in sometime if you want to buy a dress for your girl-friend,’ she said, smiling.

‘What will you do now?’

‘Go up and sleep,’ she replied simply, like nothing had happened. I figured she didn’t want to talk about it… at least not then. I picked up the hint and didn’t press the topic. I got back in the car as she turned around and started crossing the street. I turned the ignition on and looked in the mirror.

She was gone.

I put my head out of the window. I couldn’t see her. I turned the engine off and got out of the car.

She was nowhere to be seen.

‘What the hell!’

I ran across the street and reached the apartment. She couldn’t have possibly crossed the street so quickly… with her leg sprained and with so many wounds all over her. I ran up the stairs of the building and reached her flat. The flat was locked.

Cold sweat broke on my forehead a second time in that night. I started walking down the stairs… How could this be? One second she was there, the other she was gone! I started imagining crazy things… Ghost? Spirit? Poltergeist? What?

Suddenly I remembered her card. I ran back to my car and picked the card up from the dashboard. It felt real enough. I removed my cell from my pocket, and stood just like that. Something was holding me back. I just couldn’t bring myself to dial the number on the card, fearing what I might find out

I finally mustered up all my courage, and dialed the number on the card. The hair on my body stood on their ends as I heard a pre-recorded message;

“This number does not exist…”

REFLECTION - PART I (my first attempt at writing a thriller)

I stepped onto the brakes. The car came to a stop. I looked at whoever it was asking for a lift at ten-thirty in such a God-forsaken place on such a pitch-black night. It was a girl. A beautiful girl.

‘Yes?’ I said.

‘Can you please drop me off at the post office on Shami Street?’ her voice sounded like a piece of soft music.

‘At this hour? It must be closed ma’am,’ I said, glancing at my Omega.

‘Actually I live in the building opposite to it. Gulmohar Apartments.’

The name rang a bell. I was lost in my thoughts for a few moments.

‘Excuse me?’

‘What? Oh yes; ya sure. I’ll drop you off,’ I said, opening the door for her. She opened the rear door. “Attitude!” I thought to myself. Then she dumped her bag on the rear seat and shut the door. She came and sat next to me. I looked at the steering wheel sheepishly. I started the car and pulled onto the road again.

We were both quiet for a long time; during which, I tried hard not to stare at her. Clad in a black Chiffon sari with a halter neck blouse and absolutely no jewellery, spare a silver watch on her left wrist and her black beady eyes, she looked simple yet stunning. She had a fair complexion that was so soft and delicate and spotless, you’d think she bathed in milk everyday. Finally I asked her;

‘What are you doing all alone in this part of the city at this hour of the night, if I may ask so?’

Now you may think that was a stupid question to ask; but when you see a girl so beautiful and all alone at ten-thirty, about five minutes away from the highway… it doesn’t seem to be an odd question, right?

‘Funny you should ask me that,’ she said, playing with a lock of her long black curly hair.

‘Yeah; maybe… But then I’m a guy… and not much in danger. But you are a really beautiful lady___’

She suddenly burst out laughing. She then took a full look at me, her eyes lingering on my biceps, then my abs.

‘How many hours do you work out?’ she asked me.

‘Two.’

‘And you think you are strong?’

I kept quiet.

‘How strong would you be if I had a gun with me right now?’ she asked. My hair stood out on their ends.

‘Do you?’ I asked. And she laughed again.

We were quiet again for a while. Shit! Could I have run out of conversation with such a beauty so soon? Had I really put her off by my silly remark? But then the whole situation, simple as it was, was seemingly unusual.

I switched the radio in the car on. Asha Bhosale’s voice came floating out of it;

‘Aankhon Se Jo Utari Hai Dil Mein…’

‘Aaah!’ I exclaimed, then apologized immediately.

‘What for?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know… Maybe I was too loud?’

This time she simply ignored me and looked out of the window.

Again silence.

WHY WAS I ACTING SO CHIVALROUS? Come on… I mean, this wasn’t like the first time I was driving with a gorgeous female sitting next to me. I mean, it was routine for me. Oh, didn’t I tell you? I am a photographer.

‘So you are a photographer?’

I looked at her as she tried to tuck in a curl that was carelessly bouncing on her forehead, and said, ‘How did you know?’

She pointed to the rear-seat. I glanced back, and for the first time I was glad for all the mess at the back of my car; thermocol sheets, black cloth, tripod stand, and safely put in one corner among all this clutter, my precious precious camera.

‘Ya,’ I said, happy she had initiated the talk this time after my two miserable, failed attempts.

‘Cool! So you work for a magazine or something?’ she further inquired.

‘Yeah; I work for GLAM.’

Wow! We were finally talking. I could have become her chauffer for the rest of my life if only to get to see that breath-taking face in the rear-view mirror and hear that sweet voice again and again… man! I was thinking crazy things!

She pushed the back-rest further behind and leaned against it.

‘My brother was a photographer too,’ she said, her eyes closed, her body relaxed.

‘Really?’ I said.

‘But a wild-life photographer.’

‘Oh.’

I again found myself studying her in the silence that ensued. God! I tell you she was beautiful. But there was something about her beauty that was queer… something really odd. Her skin was so fair… or was it the moon playing tricks on my slightly over-worked mind? I tried hard to resist myself from reaching out for her arm.

‘Girlfriend?’ she asked suddenly, pointing at a small picture on the dashboard. I quickly picked it up and threw it on the back seat. She looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

‘Ex.’ I said, focusing on the road.

‘Name?’

‘Akanksha.’

Why was I not being able to answer her unselfconsciously? And why was I at all giving this strange, but beautiful girl a fill-up on my personal life at now almost eleven, when I didn’t even know her name?

‘I’m Isha,’ she said; ‘Whats your name?’

‘Can you read people’s minds or something?’ I blurted out.

‘Sorry?’ she asked, confused.

‘Nothing,’ I said and continued driving. A moment or two later I reached out for the glove box. My hand brushed her leg slightly, but she didn’t seem to notice it. I on the other hand, with adrenaline pumping in every inch of my body, felt it. My hand lingered a while, fidgeting with the handle. I shook my head and gathered myself. I opened the box and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. I noticed she was staring out of the window. I pulled a cigarette out of the pack and lit it. The smoke made her turn around and look at me.

‘Marlboro?’ she asked.

‘How did you know?’

‘Oh I can recognized that smell in a thousand other, have an extra one?’

‘You smoke?’

‘Used to.’

I handed the pack over to her. She removed a cigarette and held it between her lips. I lit it for her. She shut her eyes and sighed. She withdrew the cigarette and blew out a ring.

‘Wow,’ she exclaimed. ‘This feels so great… so liberating.’

‘How did you quit?’

‘Karan didn’t like it.’

I closed my eyes… squeezed them shut. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

‘He said he didn’t want my pink lips to turn black.’

‘No boy-friend would want that if you were the girl involved,’ I said.

She laughed. I immediately felt like an idiot.

‘He was my husband.’

I clutched inwardly. ‘What does he do?’ I asked, trying to conceal the disappointment in my voice.

‘Nothing much. He is dead.’

I did a double-take. ‘What?’ I said.

‘I killed him.’

I stamped onto the breaks. The car came to a screeching halt right in the middle of the road.

I just kept staring ahead of me for a minute or so; blinking rapidly; trying to make sense of what was happening. I turned around to look at her.

‘Keep driving.’

She was holding a pistol in my face. Cold sweat broke on my forehead. I started the car and began speeding down the road.

(TO BE CONTINUED)