Skip to main content

RADHA


Reema felt the intense heat. The  room was closed from all sides, the windows were tight shut  and the whirring sound of the fan  made her  feel   giddy.  Moreover  the  afternoons  always spawned  perennial  gloom.  She  felt like a caged bird ,mentally and emotionally atrophied. 

 Her 24/7 maid Radha  was  a big diversion in the family.  She regaled  with the  tales of her village life. The hardships she had faced  were beyond the  imagination in  an urban life style. But here  it was very surprising to see how easily she took  to the ease and comforts of the city life. Her entire free time ,which she had in plenty, was spent in reel making. She very quickly learnt the art of  content creation and to record the stuff.  And sometimes she would  force  Reema  to join  her  in recording the video, which she avoided , but she no doubt marvelled at her maid's  smart moves. Radha belonged to a township   in Calcutta . She was married  and had two grown up sons who too were married.  she ' didn't reveal these details  when she joined,  but gradually they came to know about it.   She  somehow  looked  quite  young .Her  dusky complexion was flawless. Her shapely eyes with dark eyelashes  added to her charm. It was difficult to believe that she was a mother of two married sons.   She was quite talkative which  was taken  as her habit  initially,  but later Reema found  that it  was her ploy to charm the opposite sex. She had the tactics of a very manipulative mind. It was only a discerning eye which could detect the deviousness of her charms. She had lured many a  men in the course of her living. surprisingly she had  maintained  the rawness  of a supple body.  Reema too was taken in  by her charms .  She spread  a sort of carefree gaiety which dispelled the looming gloom  of an ageing  house.  Reema quite imperceptibly and vicariously   indulged her colourful exuberance.

.   Her  maid lived each moment of the passing hour to the fullest,  devoid of the burdens of tomorrow  and the guilt of yesterdays. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

THE CARDINAL SIN

 She looked  wistfully at the white blankness of her lap top . She remembered  the days when from a very young age she had ventured  into writing secretly in  her torn notebook which she would take  out  from her school bag.  Moreover,  She hardly remembered having  filled  it with  school work. Rather she had faint memories of  ever being a regular student. And those were the  days  when the parents, in the joint families, had other cares than  to worry about  the school affairs of their children. Moreover it was the responsibility of the family elders to see that the grand children were  tutored well. The schools were far away  from  home and the children had to walk down to reach them. In the way there were many distractions ,mainly they would linger on  on the  narrow  bridge which  they had  to cross  to reach their school. They often  stood there l...
Post a Comment
Read more

THE PICTURE FRAME

Meeta  is  in her seventies.  She is  full of  zest  for life and seeks every opportunity to be in the company of her friends. Her salt and pepper short hair goes well with her plump fat body. Her style of dressing accentuates  her care- free demeanour . Her age doesn't hamper her in anyway. She  often cracks  jokes which generally veer to obscenity, to make her friends laugh , which for a moment unsettles them ,but then they go with the flow. The instinct to deride  looks  meaningless  at such  an age.  Meeta   had lost her husband lately  and her only son  lived  in the U.S . She cultivated a large number of friends and revived the distant family  relations. She was awash with money and threw lavish parties. Generally all her friends are  retired  house wives  facing the same empty nest syndrome. They had  now ample time  to indulge their fancies  which the...
Post a Comment
Read more
                                              Opaque Sight The teeming moments between this moment and the ones which have slid past seem bursting at the seams entailing the vast repertoire of stormy material which have grown pricks tattooing my heart with a graffiti  lurking eternally to gobble me up rendering me a mute spectator of the world going around It  was a huge hiatus  a big blank between this moment and the buried  past. The other day I was walking over the corridors of Daryaganj  in Delhi. Stretched  out before me were the wide swathes  of books gone soggy and soiled in the dusty paths.People were walking past them and unwittingly treading  upon them which of-course could have been avoided if there was some thought for those beings of imm...
Post a Comment
Read more