Saturday, December 17, 2011

Chapter 1:The clumsiness 

Few Years back..
The day, long awaited by Kavya, dawned. She got up and kept looking into the alrm clock. She waited for the alarm to ring. Kavya’s room was very small and so was her bed. The stench from her bed spread and blanket, would make any visiter clip his/her nose forever. But this did not bother her much, she was used to it. The room had a wadrobe which had broken brown doors to the right and an open shelf full of books, clumsily dumped, to the left of the bed. The bed was placed hitting the wall at its back, leaving a space at its front just as much required for her to walk to the bathroom and the bedroom door. The bathroom was close to the wadrobe.

(Mr.Love: I think I will fall in love with her very soon. She is as clumsy as I am. I guess we are made for each other.
Mrs. Love: Wasn’t that the same thing you told me when you proposed to me? “Made for each other.”
 Mr.Love: Oops. I didn’t know you were here. GB, you moron. You promised me that this will be my wife-free zone.
Author: I love helping my fellow women in understanding their husbands better.)

It was 4 am in the morning. The alarm finally rang.

She rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door behind. She later realized that she had forgotten to iron her dress, she did not even select one from the clumsy wadrobe. She spent few minuted inside dreaming about the day with the shower on. She closed her eyes and it felt like rain. Few minutes later she opened her wadrobe knowing well the tension that even the sight of it would create. She pulled down all the clothes she had. She picked a pant but its corresponding churidar top was missing. She picked a top but its corresponding pant was missing. If both of these were found, the dupatta was missing. This wasn’t the exact happening she had dreamed of, for her first day to work.

She had been a topper throughout her life. She spent all her life reading books, either academic or intelectual. She was from a village and was new to city. She stepped her foot somewhere outside her village and nearby town,  for the first time ever in her life. She reached Chennai 6 months ago when she had completed her graduation from an engineering college, very close to her village. She spent 6 months in learning the city well. She worked in a small company, shopped the kind of clothes that the city people call their dress code, groomed herself to disown her village looks. She tried her best to match the expectation of the city guys but she failed in it. She wasn’t able to stop oiling her hair; applying too much turmeric powder that yellowed her face; applying a tin of powder all over herself, specially in her face and back neck; all these were inseperables for her.

(Mrs.Love: Are you trying to brand girls from villages as zero-fashioned?
Author: That was not my opinion. Kavya wanted to disown the image she thought was too much village like. Anything written as a part of the story is not my view but the content that the story requires.
Mr.Love: What about the ‘love’ that floods all your books?
Author: Don’t act too smart. This isn’t a safe, dad-free zone.I’m not talking anything inside brackets about LOVE
Mr.Love: Now do you understand what it felt like when you suddenly brought my wife to this wife-free zone?
Author: Ok, I will send her out. But please dont ask any personal questions here.
Mrs.Love: I’m not going anywhere.
Author:huh? My characters are highly co-operative.

She ended up getting lost inside the hill of clothes. Finally, she found out an all matching chudidar. She wore it and took bath again, this time with Gokul Sandal (Powder). She poured a hand full of the powder and tapped it in her under arms, over her dress. She picked a book from the shelf leading to the fall of all the other books. She did not bother to place the books, that had fallen, back in the shelf. She dumped the book into her bag. She closed her room and paced to the kitchen. She picked 2 tiffen boxes, washed then and dried them with a towel. She picked a loaf of bread and a bottle of jam. Within no minutes the tiffen boxes were ready for breakfast. She forcefully injected one box into her bag. With one more inclusion into it, the bag would vomit it all from the bottom. She placed the other box on the table. There was a hundred rupees note along with a small note kept under a paper weight, in the center of the table. She picked it up and placed it safely inside a purse that had a jewellery’s name printed on it.

(Mr.Love: What is the other tiffen box for?
Miss.Love: Who has kept the money for her?
Mr.Love: Of all that written above, what bothers you is the money? This is what I hate about women.
Miss.Love: Men, you guys can never be changed. Losers. A woman will say something contextual and immediately a men will add a philosophy to the imaginarily never-ending book titled “Understanding women”. Talk about me when you talk to me, dont generalize as women.)

6 Scribbles:

  1. Good Start :)
    I hope this story will b something different :)

  2. hmm....nice descriptn of her place...n herslf....but i didnt lyk d bracket part this tym...i cuts d flow of reading...

  3. I agree with Jyoti here.Anyway...I left a comment thru FB already....:-)Happy writing

  4. @jayashree and jyoti-thanks for commenting :)
    @jayashree-I too hope for the same :)
    @jyoti- I did not like it either. But i need the bracket stuffs to add disclaimers in later parts :)


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