My Lawfully Wedded Husband and other stories by Madhulika Liddle

Title: My Lawfully Wedded Husband and Other Stories
Author:  Madhulika Liddle
Genre : Fiction
Price: Rs. 250
Pages: 225
Publisher:  Westland Limited (2012)

I have a limited attention span and that might be one of the reasons that I absolutely dote on a collection of short stories. The cover was a captivating one with the red and black in sync to the  darkly humorous stories written onto its pages.
The titles intrigued my mind as well, some like St.George and the Dragon and the Howling Waves of Tranquebar and even Sum Total itch your curiosity and might serve as the perfect Bollywood scripts for alternative cinema I am so in love with . Others like the Silent Fear and Night Train weren't monologues of mystery and were predictable and I guess even dragged, although since these were very very short, I was hooked on till the end. Without giving up on my patience.

Sum Total was a story of delusions and fears, crammed inside the head of a woman who wanted to seek revenge against the people, trying to get even with her. Ofttimes because of the fallacies of other humans hate and anger mushrooms inside us. When selfishness pulls the wool over others eyes and they try to make us a scapegoat for their covetous calling, does deceit disguise into fallacy. Veera's day dreams were a product of that kind of a parsimony.
Geeti, a not so smart girl had a lot to lose in the end, when she decided to trust the most reliable girl in school. And the poor soul couldn't have imagined that the girl she looked upto for succor was the main protagonist of the cliff hanger staged in front of her.
Feet of Clay read more like a fairy tale straight from a castle of dreams. It takes a closer look at one of the most cowardly crimes existing in the Indian society which is usually brushed under the carpet for the fear of social stigmatization.

Grandma

She skewed seven stretch marks

bearing eight oysters

who dole out her dowry

in the white of her milk. 

Prayers, her morning manners

the book her gift

for gall and worms, 

red seas never fretted

on her form

where not even a crease

could be carved by

the crown of thorns. 

Laying Down the Laws for Rape

After the barbaric gang rape and death of the 23 year old paramedical student Jyoti, which triggered a mass protest and awakened the ignorant insensitivity of our society that is still indifferent towards its women, the big debate has taken the centre stage again. What should be the punishment for rapists? The feminist fury wrote down their anger on placards in big bold letters favouring castration and less furious ones went for hanging, I tried to read through what the rape laws of our constitution say, and thought of seeking an answer.

Six

Six years

I counted them as six minutes

or six lives

sixth was the day

sixth the month

when I stabbed you

to six deaths.

Outside my house

mountains rose out of molehills

wrecked wheels transformed

into cars and coaches

markets became malls

towering the streets

while women wailed

against crimes of lust and loathe

even with a lady of husbandry.

One Billion Falling

Another International Women's day is around the corner. And my inbox is clogged with e-mails, of discount vouchers and free gifts and Women's day contests aspiring to make a difference. This history has repeated itself over the years. Every year the celebration gets bigger and better. There are more discount sales and free giveaways to take home. So also, if you have written a book on women there is no better day for its launch than this. In the midst of these celebrations, many of which I give a miss, have I often wondered as to what is this elation about? And why one day marked in the calendar is important to remind us of womanhood.

The Child Bride

The vermilion on her forehead

is the colour of

crayon that coloured rising ridges

of the canvas in the art class,

her puny fingers are

blotted blood red

in alta, soiled in the dirt of

henna, both inane in ignorance.

8th January

I did not hit the sack the night before that auspicious January afternoon when I was about to meet him. I counted a thousand sheep separating the black ones from the white and making them stand in separate lines, like it goes in school assembly, with a feeble hope of retiring to bed. I was worried about what I should wear and if it would be cheerlessly cold in Delhi when we meet. Those thoughts had hijacked my mind to rob me of sleep. The only hope was to spend the night staring at the yellow street lamp that always had an eye for my bedroom.

8th January was the date marked in my calendar for our rendezvous. A fortnight before, he informed without the subtle signs of euphoria that he would spend only half an hour with me, and then head to Gurgaon for his official meeting. I had to pick the broken pieces of my heart and nod in approval. I wanted him to stay longer   for us to converse. A four year old conversation was waiting to break free. Reconciling to his dictatorial declarations, I waited for the dawn to break.

While fiddling with the phone in the morning, I saw a message waiting for me in the message box of facebook!
It said that if I would reach by 2.30 pm I would get to sit with him for thirty minutes. I wonder if those words deserved to be replayed like an old noisy record. Arrrgh! I didn't know if this platonic complication should ever be called love in a future I had not seen.

I reached the International airport by 2.00 pm. The cab driver had a million questions for me, and his queries were fed with lies. I couldn't have narrated to him, my non-existent love story. After paying his fare, I hurriedly boarded the escalator. Since I couldn't show the security authorities my photo identity card, my entry into the visitor's lounge got barred. Until I rigged into my bag and saw my folder of certificates, which saved my face in that moment of disaster.  I went to the washroom to check myself out in the mirror for the faintest of fine lines and waves in my tresses had to be fixed. Later, I walked up to lounge and seated myself on one of the white seats fixed to the floor. Those butterflies in my stomach were multiplying from tens to thousands, while I kept dillydallying around the lounge. I still kept checking myself out on the masonry laid under my feet, and alternatively went to read the destination board. Then I paced to the large door out of which passengers could be seen going in and out, trying to make sure that he had not arrived yet. Meanwhile to do away with my fragile fears, I was reading prayers from my phone's folder.

While awaiting his arrival, I saw a lot of tormented souls harrying to see a glimpse of the people they had come to receive, some even exposing placards with names written on them. Meanwhile, a man came out dressed in a brown sweater and cap and shoes that were as old as him. Oh no! It couldn't have been him! Such a dumb looking fellow, even though he looked a lot like him, and if not for the guy going away in the other direction which proved to be a blessing, I would have surely gone up to him to greet him with a colgate smile. The other night I had used an abundant amount of toothpaste and mouthwash to get sparkling white teeth. A smile was the only jewel I was wearing for this date. Yellow gold will be hated to its last bit of existence and junk jewellery wouldn't have complimented the black cardigan I was donning.

He arrived a little later, looking sagged and sleepy and complaining about a fellow passenger who didn't let him slip into his afternoon siesta. He was as tall as me and my heart bled, for I liked tall guys and  I had expected him to stand taller than me. I shied like a newly wedded bride and he wasn't looking at me either, nullified by nervousness. How would two skeptical souls stammering in speech ever write a love story? I wondered!