DIFFERENT LIVES - #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER
The lady’s high heels clacked on the walkway that ran along
Marine Drive, Kochi. She was out on her walk, even though in unsuitable footwear.
Her diamonds sparkled as she ran a quick hand over her coiffured hair so
perfectly set. The diamond set was a gift from her millionaire husband who had
just returned from a lucrative trip where he had made a pretty penny.
Her eyes fell on a lady peddler who had her sari pallu
over her head in typical Rajasthani style. There were two little ones sitting
by her, biting into two halves of an apple. The woman’s eyes were weary, and
her wares lay, untouched and unsold, even as walkers bustled by, not even deigning
to look at her.
The stylish lady, whose name was Roopa, sniffed in disdain
as she gazed at the trio, her eyebrows rising as she made her disapproval
known. “Look at those two brats sitting on the ground, their hands grubby. How can
a mother allow her children to remain so dirty?” The other woman looked back at
her, her shoulders drooping even more. It was evening and she was ready to
drop.
Roopa took a few tottering steps along the walkway and
then decided to get back home. Walking was hard work, and she had had enough!
Likewise, the lady peddler was ready to call it a day and
she collected her wares, packing them in a voluminous plastic bag carefully.
She then hoisted it on her shoulder, and grabbed the thin arms of her two
girls, saying in Hindi, “Let’s go, children. Your father will be getting home
soon.” Their faces lit up and they rose happily, eager to get home and be with
their father.
Back home, she lit a fire in her sparse kitchen and
started to make a simple dal which she would serve with rotis and an onion.
Maybe a green chilli as a treat for her husband! She knew how much he savoured
her dal and she tried to make it as delicious as she could with the few
ingredients she had in her tiny larder.
Roopa stretched out on her plush sofa. She was about to
go and change into her night clothes when the phone rang, startling her. It was
Dinesh, her husband.
“Hello, darling. I am sorry, but I have a whole load of
work to finish tonight. Please do not wait up for me. You need your beauty
sleep.”
“But Shanti Amma has made your favourite chicken curry
and parathas. Shall I ask her to keep it warm in casseroles?” She was
disappointed, but there was nothing she could do. Her husband often made
excuses at night, and she was aware that much of his work was done in the
discreet home of a woman colleague of his. However, Roopa was too comfortable with
the luxurious life she led to rock the boat. Sulkily, she made her way to her
opulent bedroom where she lay awake half the night before sleep finally
overtook her.
“Ragini, your dal was delicious. What did you put in it this
time?” Gopal smiled at his wife as he slurped down the dal in his special steel
katori. Ragini smiled back at her doting husband. The two little ones had gone
to sleep, and it was just the two of them, sitting outside their little hut,
where a balmy breeze blew. The travails of the day when she had hardly been
able to sell any of her wares had been forgotten in the joy she felt when she
saw Gopal play with his daughters at the end of what was a tiring day for him
as well.
The same stars shone over the two houses – one, a palatial
mansion where a wife lay, sleepless half the night, and the other a tiny hut
where a couple slept in perfect abandon, content in their own little lives.
654 words
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