Friday, September 3, 2010

A Lovers Lost Paradise.

There is blood running down my hands. The blood that's getting washed off my hands in this heavy rain. The blood stoked rain water that kisses the asphalt road and goes into the sewer taking with it my tears that are anonymous with the rainwater around. The thunders that deafen my screams. Of anger, rage & madness. But this isn't my blood. Its that of a child.  Of everything that I could have done, today I have taken the life of my child.
Yet I'm howling helplessly. I have crossed the limits of madness, of sanity. I'm beating my palms against the coarse asphalt, sometimes rubbing vigorously, still screaming, crying & begging to be killed too. Mercilessly.
Every inch of me shivers, of the shock and cold.
Murder isn't comforting. Nor is it conclusive.
My girl is only a few months old. A month and a half to be precise. Now she doesn't move. Eyes shut, skin turning pale I see the blood gently oozing out of her tiny head. Even in death I cant help to notice how perfect my little girl is. Strands of hair that I imagined would grown into forever dark locks that ran in my side of the family are as lifeless as she is. Clad in a white soft linen dress that is now entirely red I can feel her turn cold. Somewhere, I've given up hope. I know she is gone. Yet every second I'm pleading and me undo all this...

It had been two days R hadn't picked up the phone. We had barely spoken in the last few months. He came back from a meeting in Vietnam, said there were sales targets to be met at work and so he'd be home sparse. Well, this was the rudimentary explanation to be given to a spouse. Truth was, the girl he was cheating on me with was getting hitched and R was doing what ever infidel does in these circumstances. Trying to keep both, the wife and the mistress.
The pregnancy had been stressful. I had found out about the infidelity in my second trimester, right after my monthly ultrasound. R said he wanted the child and me and apologized like every God-forsaken-son-of-a-bitch does on getting caught! He also promised he would end the 'affair', a promise I knew was as hollow as every infidel is.
I had thrown his laptop off our 7th floor apartment, broken the LCD of the 40 inch BRAVIA and flushed his mobile phone in front of him. All this on the night of confrontation.
Every waking minute after that was a struggle. To find reasons to go ahead with the pregnancy. To secure the future of my unborn. Slowly but steadily as my hormones raged, in the passing weeks R and I stopped interacting at home. At the same time I'd be lying if I said  I dint hope and pray. For my baby and my marital home. Every night I'd wonder as to how the man who would fly across countries to be with me even for a meal while we were dating could do this to me. I cursed myself for having ever trusted him.
Yet ironically I'd wonder what features would my baby take after him. Would it have his nearly porcelain white skin as his family came from the foothills of the Himalayas or would it be dusky like me with east Indian features. These thoughts helped me be sane and let me have a few hours of necessary sleep that I needed.
There was an old domestic help and she became our messenger. R and I would talk through her. I knew we were doomed when one night I had been secretly weeping on my side of the bed and R came to me. Not to comfort me but to have me. I had slapped him hard across his face and thrown him out of the bedroom. This was in the seventh month. I did not try to save this sinking ship 'cuse I had found out more evidence he was still cheating on me. Hotel bookings in ones name for single nights in the city itself where u have a house is ample proof. There were nights when I thought I'd probably finish all this by stabbing him with a kitchen knife. But the thought that this man was the father of my unborn child kept me away from acting on my thoughts.
We put up a good facade the day Agni was born. Smiling and looking every bit the happily married couple that a lot of not-so-happy couples always do. But the moment we were back home, it was the same silence again. I hoped for the miracle of him coming back to me and his daughter entirely.
A fortnight back from the hospital, on a rainy night I knew he was talking to someone on the phone in the washroom. I knew it was 'her'.
This time I knew it was time to act. I got the old desktop working cuse I knew I could then access his personal mails through the POP server. Something we had done a month into our marriage but something I knew he had forgotten. Every time I had to open a new mail from his whore, my hands would tremble and my heart raced in anxiety. I wondered what did I lack or where and when did I go wrong??
Was it because she was prettier? Was I that bad??
Then I opened the mail that made my head spin and gave a pain of shock so bad I felt like I was going to die. R had written in no uncertain terms he was going to divorce me if 'she' decided to call off her family arranged wedding. He had already spoken to a lawyer.
I was aghast, devastated and felt worse than dead.
I took Agni, and drove to his work place. Somewhere between accepting congratulations for our baby and being asked to take a seat, the silly perks of being the wife of a Vice President of an MNC, I barged into his cabin where I found both of them having lunch. I flung the printout of the mail at him, slapped him a dozen times more when he asked me to calm down, banged his new laptop again hoping I'd rendered it useless tore both their shirts and told "her' she was worth eight thousand bucks a night! Since that is what he paid the hotel towards hooking with her. This I told in front of his department staff.
I think by this time I had lost it completely. I wanted to kill one of them or myself.
I took my little girl again in my arms and got into the car he had gifted me last year as an "appreciation anniversary gift". To appreciate the fact that I had quit my job as an ad woman so that I could spend more time with him and family. He had asked me to take this step.
Then I began to drive and honestly I dint know where I was heading, in what direction at what speed, nothing. The next thing I know there is an SUV from the opposite direction that bangs me head on. Agni who wasn't tucked into a baby seat gets flung out of the car. I had obviously not locked the doors.
In the next 10 minutes on the Delhi Gurgaon expressway I struggle towards Agni who is motionless, not even a wail of pain or discomfort. I limp towards her in the rain.
I kneel down at her still hoping, still bargaining with the seconds that pass by.
I pick her up onto my lap.
Clad in a white soft linen dress that is now entirely red I can feel her turn cold. Somewhere, I've given up hope. I know she is gone. Yet every second I'm pleading and me undo all this...Of everything that I did or could have done not this... not this..
I hold her close and begin to scream.


  1. Guilt has its own way of catching up with its prey.

    PS: Do you read Joyce often?

  2. @ Anonymity: Was trying at writing a overly dramatic short story.
    Nopes never read Joyce.

  3. I am a sucker for happy endings, and that is how I would have loved this one to end, but this is some really sharp writing. Great imagery, extremely tight narration. I like.

  4. @ M: Thanks a lot. Compact writing is a skill I need to work very hard on. Its not my forte at all.

  5. Excellent writing Bhui! Respect.


  6. @ Pandeyji : Thank you babes!!! :) Means a lot that u always take the effort to come to the blog and read.

  7. Generally I am too lazy to comment, but your post made me come out of my reverie..well, love your style of writing. enjoyed reading your thoughtful musings. Keep up the good work :)

  8. In the lap of the himalayasSeptember 3, 2010 at 9:43 PM

    Firstly, could you please stick to your good old style of churning out wonderful stories poetry?? Almost god bored with all the reviews and all, we have enough such blogs websites.
    Secondly, is this your real story?? Excellent narrative though. I asked cuse its written in First person.

  9. @ The one whose sitting on the Himalayan lap: Sometime I need a break and so write on the lighter and finer things in life.
    AND I'm not married yet. The characters are influenced by ppl around me, but the story is made up.

  10. A nicely depicted story of a grim situation.

    Nice post.

    As someone mentioned above an extremely tight plot that shakes you up the moment u start reading. What starts off as murder goes on to reveal a tragic accident. I can imagine a mother wailing and going hysterical in the exact same way on a road. Banging and rubbing her hands.. its a distressing post Archana, very distressing but how many blog posts does one come across that can tug your emotions in 3 paragraphs and 5 minutes flat!!!! Hats off to u.

  12. Archana Bhui: "Was trying at writing a overly dramatic short story."

    No offense but the story seemed perfectly apt to me: you failed at the overly dramatic part, at least as far as I go.

  13. @ Anonymous: Thank you.

    @Anonymity: Sorry for the late reply, flying across and lack of connectivity.
    Appreciate ur honest remark. Will keep trying!

  14. very well narated... difficult task wen u hav only a few paragraphs to write....

  15. Its amazing how your writing emerges through the lines between reality and fiction, smudging them in the process and yet staying true to the character of the story that your inner voice wants to throw out at the world.

    Great work... I'm really impressed!

  16. @ AM: I prefer the comment u sent in my inbox. That seemed honest. This one seems flattery :( But I'll try writing a feel good thingie.. Again not my forte but will try. Thanks for commenting here too. Means a lot. ME VERY HAPPY.

  17. this bitch has to start weaving some crap and stupid idle idiots will have to read it.
    dont waste more time.

  18. oh this bitch is the one who underwent psychiatric treatment for insanity.
    now writing to suppress her mental stress.
    banker is sure a BONKER SUCKER

  19. In the lap of the himalayasOctober 13, 2010 at 7:57 PM

    To the guy/girl above: LOL then why are you?? whose forcing you?? More than anyone else seems like you sure as hell checked in for psychiatric treatment for insanity. But too bad it dint work!!! There a madman on the loose in the blogging world. Who goes about commenting anonymous.

  20. @ Anonymous: Whoever it is, I will let this pass and at the same time not delete the comment. If I can face your comments, Im sure you have the balls to come forth with an identity or name. For behind the cloak of anonymity many cats try to roar like lions. And more than passing judgments on readers and writers, I think ure more disturbed and full of free time, to return thrice and continually comment on a level below civic dignity.
    Nonetheless ure still Welcome. Everytime.
    Happy 'commenting' :)

    @ In the lap of the himalayas: Thank you. And I mean more than just two words. Secondly please dont bother replying to 'ananoymous' lunatics. What can I say, I get readers of all genre, age, and regions. Theres no harm in variety. That only makes me feel good.
    If things do get offensive, matters arent 'unmanagebale'