She

The lonely train chugs into Victoria Terminus railway station, the wailing siren, almost a signal, forewarning of what is to come. The Mumbai air hangs heavy, thick with soot like a demon god clutching in its hold, everyday lives and reducing life to ‘existence’. She picks up the folds of her cotton sari and with a silent prayer on her lips, sets her left foot down. A tide of commuters embarks the same train, the 6.00pm evening train to Jabalpur, where she had gone for her mothers funeral. In the death of her mother she had lost a part of herself. In the haste, the shoving and pushing through the mob, she realizes that she has left one chappal behind. In order to live from one day to the next, one must give a part of oneself; losing and living through the loss is the way of life. The weave of life is near thread bare but the human spirit does not give up easily. And the soul wills survival.

The stench of stale urine fills her nostrils; she scrunches her nose, grimacing, while waiting for her husband to receive her. She plays with the string of withered jasmine in her wispy hair, yearning for a fresh garland to adorn herself. After an hour long wait in futility, she decides to make her way to the bus stand, past the lustful stares of auto rickshaw drivers who with glazed eyes and betel stained teeth, motion her to enter into their vehicles. She ignores them and they shout out filthy dialogues from cheap pornographic films.

A deathly cold settles into the pit of her stomach as she waits at the 155 bus stop, unwelcome thoughts, realities that were buried deep inside her now clash through every nerve to slowly seep into her consciousness. The journey home is the longest ever she has had to make. She returns to find her husband lying, like a slovenly dog in the midst of shards of glass, broken bottles of cheap liquor. Her children hold on to each other in a dark corner of the chawl. Their faces are unforgiving and in their eyes, she sees death. Her daughter’s wormy legs are slashed; there is no longer the innocent fear in her eyes. She is physically betrayed, emotionally broken. Here, there is a crime that goes beyond denunciation.