deviousways

There's this neighbourhood hosiery shop I go too. Or rather, used to go to. The owner is from a business family of brothers, all with their own hosiery shops standing in a row, actually. Anyway, very respectful chap, he is. But I am a little embarrassed to go there, to be honest. Because each time I walk in to buy some innerwear essentials, he gives me a quick scan and reels off my size. And he is always right! A rather unnerving experience. Anyway, because I feel shy about going through that every time, I decided, why not look up lingerie online. There, it sounds so much glamorous, already! No more innerwear for me, only lingerie and negliges, and teddies and whatnots. So I do buy stuff online because it's cheaper this way and because I can do it impersonally--without helpful storeowners looking over my purchases or respectfully telling me my actual bust size. Naturally, I get weekly mailers from an online e-tailer and often, the marketing content (not the products) totall...

He is staring at me. I can sense it. I look up but his eyes are vacant. There is no life, no light. He is just a hollow shell of a man.  My father was not always like this. As a little girl, I trembled if he glanced my way. What if it was me, I'd worry, what if I was the chosen one, and what if it was not... my mother? But she usually was. Nothing she did was ever good enough. Either the tea was lukewarm or too hot. Or too sweet. Undrinkable, either way. If the rotis were warm, the bhaji was salty or spicy or something. Always something. Anything. "What is this s*%*t you've made today. How can anyone drink/eat such filth?", he'd shout. Then he'd remove his belt. Take off his shirt too. All the better to teach us a lesson.  Why did my mother, a school teacher, stay with him? I do not know. She had a job, she was Teacher Madam for all the children in the neighbourhood. But the other women, they knew. I am sure their husbands did too. They must have see...