Note : This narrative is inspired by real life incident(s). All characters appearing in this work are real. Any resemblance to real person(s), living or dead is purely intentional. The author takes full responsibility for consequences (if any).
~ x ~
He turned around and hit her one more time. This time with more force. Right across her belly.You could see where, because it left a mark. Almost like a scratch. She looked down at the red splotch on the vinyl of the kitchen floor and wondered if it was her’s or from the empty ketchup jar that she had been holding. This was not the first time. It was almost two years now !! And somewhere within all this time, the every day blows and kicks did not seem to hurt anymore.She had made peace with herself. She thought about her life and related to that of Chand’s. Their lives were so alike and yet so different, in a humane sort of way. They were both in Videsh (foreign land) and yet Chand’s was a performed tale while her’s was playing out, right in front of her own eyes. Every day !!
There was no love !! And, not one moment of rest. From the day they had brought her home, she had been put to work, right away. No one had spoken to her or asked her how she felt. She had taught herself how to blend in, to a corner of the kitchen. No one seemed to care, which corner it was, so long as she was not in their way. It was winter, almost a year ago,when they moved to the new place. She liked it here. She liked how the kitchen was bigger and people were not bumping into her. And, she wished that some day they would treat her like a real person. Like one of their own. And she would no longer have to spend her nights alone !!
She was never allowed to be alone with him. The family was always there. Some days when he was in a lighter mood, he would rush into the kitchen. Almost like he was getting ready to say something. Maybe, to touch her. She looked forward to those moments, when he would be standing next to her.She liked how the little drops of sweat built up on his nose. He smelled good, almost all the time. And then like his shadow, the mother would be there, behind him. And he would quietly walk away.With a childlike smirk across his face !!
And like today, there were days, when he just lashed out at her.Without any mercy. Like he just did not care or know better. These were the days, when she yearned to cry out to the mother. Hoping she would pull him away. Some days she did. But it was always a few minutes too late. By then, he would have hit her, hard enough to make her puke out the little leftovers that get thrown at her, after every meal. As she lay there on the kitchen floor, the little bugs would feast on the sourness of her mouth.
And today, just like any other day, her aching reverie was sliced by the shrill warning – “Pattu, kuppaithotiyi thodathey !! ” (“Darling, stop playing with the trash can”) !! She looked up to see the mother kiss and carry him (the two year old) away from the kitchen. Her eyes found the father, copiously typing away on his computer. And she told herself – “I, refuse to be treated like trash !!”.
~ x ~
Foot note : This post is a mere attempt at humor and does not in any way condone the distress of domestic violence. My apologies, if as a reader, your sentiments have been hurt in any way.
This post is an entry to the “Emotional Atyachaar” contest hosted by IndiBlogger. If you know any one of the judges, 😉 please click here to vote…..for me !!
if you refuse to be treated like trash ….please 
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reclosion et al. 
