Truth be told, I miss you...

She didn’t reply to my ‘good night, sweet dreams’. She didn’t say ‘ditto’. Just switched off the lights and covered her face with the blanket. Perhaps this time she was not going to forgive and forget. She hadn’t talked with me for the whole day. Didn’t ask me for water, didn’t send me to fetch the newspaper, and didn’t even ask me to answer the door. I didn’t like her not commanding me. I missed her.

Next day too was the same. We were getting ready for a party. She didn’t ask me to move aside when I was brushing my hair, or applying kohl. No competition this time. She didn’t show her distaste to my wacky nail polish designs, while she painted her nail baby pink. She wore a pink and purple salwar suit inspite of my suggestions to wear the white one. She looked beautiful, as usual. ‘This dress looks awesome on you,’ I tried to start a conversation for the tenth time. Again, no reply. She didn’t even ask me if her hair looked good. She asked Mom. Should I just say sorry? No, why should I have to say it. Doesn’t she already know that I’m repenting?

While walking to the car I was a few steps ahead of her. I slowed my pace for her to catch up. But she didn’t. She didn’t walk with me. She, who was always the one to tell me to wait for her, today didn’t like to walk with me. Hurtful tears welled up in my eyes, but I tried to blink them back.

I took the front seat with Dad. I knew she wouldn’t want to sit with me, or wouldn’t acknowledge my presence. Halfway through the journey I looked at her through the rear view mirror. She had faced towards the window, admiring the Gulmohar trees. Did she like it- not talking to me? Would she enjoy my absence? Was she ashamed of me? Again my sight blurred, and again I tried to stop the unyielding tears.

In the party too, she chose to stay away from me. She would chat and laugh with one relative, but when I joined the conversation she would move to the next person. I couldn’t bear it any longer. I broke down, in front of her, then and there. ‘I'm sorry, really sorry,’ I mumbled somehow, amidst the shortness of breath and messy crying. She looked shocked at first, but recovered and took me to the washroom. I saw she was in tears too. ‘It’s ok, now, don’t cry anymore,’ she said while wiping the kohl under my eyes.

At least she didn’t like being angry with me either. Must have missed me too. The rest of the party we enjoyed together.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlodAdda.

This time we were required to include 'nail polish', 'awesome', and 'rear view mirror' in our posts.


Queeristan by Parmesh Sahani

  Queeristan (Amazon Link) Thanks to Audible Free Trial I listened to this amazing non-fiction on LGBTQ inclusion in Indian workplaces. Author Parmesh Sahani identifies as gay Indian, working closely with Godrej higher management and employees for years to create an inclusive workplace, both legally and in spirit. This book is a result of those years of experience, research, collaboration with individuals from difference spectrum of the society and organizations who has successfully transitioned into a queer friendly one.   Indian history is inclusive. From the Khajuraho temple architectures, to Konark to the Rig Veda, there is existing proofs even 2000 years ago of Indian inclusiveness of queer. It’s the draconian British law that criminalised it, which was scraped in 2009, came into effect once again following a sad judgement in 2013 and eventually was scraped off for good in 2018. I am in awe of the lawyers who fought this legal battle- colleagues and partners – Arundhati Katju

Popular posts from this blog

The One To Leave First

Empress Ki : A story of an epic scale

E[x]ploring Odia Literature Through 'Punyatoya'

White Blood by Nanak Singh


A Gathering Of Friends By Ruskin Bond

Burst That Ego If You Want Genuine Connections In Life