Mirror
She would sit in front of the glass window for hours on end. Her breath misting the double-glazed panels. What else was there to do but watch passers-by? The husband would go for work early and would be away all day leaving her alone in this quiet house in a cold country far away from home.
She loved looking at the women on the road. Strutting purposefully in their pointed high-heels. She admired their grace, their confidence and their impossibly beautiful nails. Long and painted to match their clothes.
“How do they peel onions? Or scrub the burnt pans? Or rub oil on their hair?”, she asked him one day. “Oh, they never cook. They just buy something from the supermarket, heat it and eat. And have you seen their hair? Dry and dirty, I’m sure. They’re not cultured like our Indian women, you know”, he replied. She nodded in silence.
9 comments:
Ammani,
These tales of yours are very powerful. Love 'em
Uma
Ammani,
Your tales are excellent and brings out the reality in life. You simplicity in words and apt expressions , add flavour to the tales and makes reading very interesting. Read a few of your recipes and wanting to try out the vengaya sambhar.
Ah! Uma said it..
I find ur quick tales powerful too..
powerful but subtle. deadly combo. :)
nice post, Ammani! keep 'em comin!
Really enjoyed reading through your post- current and old ones too. Did you ever finish the one on how you fell out of love with Chennai?
Ammani
:-)
Indi
First time here...read ur last 3 quick tales...fabulous..keep em coming :)
Pure gold. I think I have used enough superlatives in your blog that I have run out of my vocab. Keep it going.
That's a unique narrative style you have, so subtle and yet so effective.
powerful punch
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