Skip to main content

The 'Nigellas' around us

The man had been spewing abuse for over 30 minutes. 
He ranted, he raved. She stood there, head bowed.
Who was he, I don't know. Who she was, I don't care. 
Let's be honest, they were simply a nuisance.
People walked, jogged past them
Carefully navigating around that angry, shouting man.
I understand Tamil but not what he shouted at her.
Words so crude, so cruel, they felt like stones.
My friend and I were at the park too.
We ignored the couple for as long as we could.
Why did she keep standing there, I asked myself.
Why didn't she just walk away?
Then he spat on her, and she let his spittle rain on her.

Finally, she took a few steps away, walking slowly, head bent
Eyes down, she avoided all the curious faces turning to her.
He stood there too looking after her.
He was angry, you see, that she was actually walking away.
So, he followed her on his bike.
He forced her to turn to him, shook her hard.
Still she said nothing, did nothing.
I saw the park 'regulars' watching, no one saying anything
No one doing anything.
Scared, heart beating fast I walked up to them, my friend beside me.
Why do you shout, abuse her like this, I asked?
Who are you, he screamed at me?
He abused me too in Tamil.
Thank God I don't know what he said.
But it sounded terrible, like someone stripping me of my dignity.
People gathered around, he shouted at them too.
"Go home," they told the couple, take this 'fight' home, they told him.
They didn't want to interfere, you see.
Why do you stay with him, is he your husband, I asked that woman.
She just looked at me.
When I tried to take a photo of his bike's number plate
She gently stopped me, tried to shoo me, get me to go.

Who was that man, I don't know.
Who was that woman, I don't know.
I was scared. In my heart, fear beat hard and strong.
What if he came back, targeted my friend and me?
So we walked away. She chose to stay.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Wasteland

Something happened over the past two days. Our next door neighbours, or rather one particular family (like all metrizens in this cramped city, we live within literally, touching distance of the others in our neighbourhood), have decided to demolish their home. Fine, so what, you ask. They see how valuable land now is. Who can blame them? But along with their home, they have also decided to kill off the two trees -- a mango tree and a coconut tree -- in their compound. I used to look at those trees from my kitchen window. The mango tree, in particular, was a welcome sight. Bunches of ripe green fruit used to hang heavily from it. Looking at it, I'd think of my home in Kerala -- of the time when I was a little girl in a white petticoat helping my father pluck mangoes as they slowly changed from parrot green to a golden reddish-yellow-orange shade. That was our annual summer ritual, you see. My father plucked mangoes using a long stick with a hook or a 'kokka' (in my collo...
Post a Comment
Read more

A confession

So you voted? Wow. Did you click a selfie with your inked finger prominent? Wonderful. Well, as for me, I have a secret that's been giving me heartburn. I didn't vote. I didn't get my voter ID on time, you see. So I have not been on Facebook with my voting selfie. And each time someone puts up a post saying "If you don't vote, you don't have the moral right to talk about corruption or lazy corporators or crib about how your city/state/the country is run", my heart sinks just a little more. Because truly, I don't think I am a bad person. I do not believe I no longer have any moral authority to call myself a 'citizen; of this country. At the most, I am guilty of being lazy--because I did not get my voter ID on time. On the contrary, I think I am an involved citizen. I religiously segregate my waste, separating dry from wet--and then I deliver the bags to the dry waste collection centre. When I see a creature in distress--street dog/animal/b...
Post a Comment
Read more

Belly Tales

I always had a belly. In the beginning, it was rather shapely. Curvy, but not outwordly so. Then lil man came along. Suddenly, my belly became The living, growing symbol Of another tiny, living, breathing being. My body became nurturer and nurse. My belly became both nest and nuzzling point. Baby grew out of me, literally. And my belly became an afterthought. You see, my body didn't snap back into shape. My belly stayed on. So terms like 'baby belly' were thrown at me. But guess what, a baby did grow in this belly. And yes, my belly will never Go back to what it used to be. It is wobbly, it's scarred. It has stretchmarks. It symbolises my strength.
Post a Comment
Read more