Insatiable Appetite

(story set in India, unknown city, 1977)

A lady, a wife, a mom no more than 30 sat and wept in her quiet little corner in her kitchen, and as a little ray peeked from an unshielded part of her window, she saw in the reflection of the mirror a face glistened with tears, of angst, and despair. She had been given an invitation to attend the ball of the decade with her partner, and one would be surprised at her reaction.

"Patnii, I'm back"

She flung the invitation across the table to him. He read it, and widened his eyes in gleeful joyful, for he had not expected that he, a lowly merchant, more of a peddler, or maybe closer to a peasant as he descended from the Shuduras caste system, would be extended such an honor to wine, dance and make merry with the "top crust of the caste", as he had often referred them by. She cast him a disgusted look and turned her face away from his intoxicated happiness. She was from the Brahmin class, long accustomed to all the fancy balls, the first and upper class above all, but everything changed when she decided to pursue love, love with him 6 years ago, and in marriage they toiled to make ends meet with him peddling on the streets and her learning how to sew, her idealistic dream that if they worked hard and long enough, they will break away from the chains of poverty.

"What's wrong, love? Don't you want to go too?"

"How could I, when I have been cooped up in this chicken house for years, with not a dress on my back?" she spat.

"Well... (he looked somewhat unsure now), how about that which you wore to the wedding of my cousin 2, erm, no, 3, oh, maybe 4 years ago?" he stammered.

A child of 5 was crying in the background, but neither could hear, or perhaps they chose not to.

"Patnii, I will get you that saree. The saree I've seen you looking with longing when we passed by the mall. Yes I will." he resolved, more to himself than to assure her.

And he did. He returned with it the very next day, with what means only he knew, and she gave him a glance of approval, a little smile forming on the curves of her lips. That smile on the very instant turned into a frown, a frown that spelt dismay. 

"What's wrong, love, didn't you always wanted this?" he queried in puzzlement.

"I have a dress now, but nothing to match them like a jewel on my neck and no shoes other than those almost worn till death," she whimpered.

He wasn't sure now of himself, if he could really afford what she needed. After all, he was only a struggling peddlarman, not even that of the lowest merchant in his class. He lowered his shoulders and voice, and hesitantly gave his acquiesce.

Back with a bagful of accessories, he returned.

In exchange for them, he had begged a lactating mother across the street for some milk, the only sustenance the son had ever tasted, since money was scarce and times were lamentable. All he had in his head then was to please his partner. He felt his future depended on this one ball, and believed he could use the opportunity to take a ladder step up the caste system, a chance to "prove his balls were tougher than iron", he had often joked.

____

They stepped into the lavishly furnished ballroom, complete with high chandeliers. She in the said saree with a western twist, feeling like her old self, and him very uncomfortable in his sherwani which was in full gold embroidery, borrowed from her elder brother.

The limelight was on her. And none on him. He felt neglected. He did not even know how to hold the stem of the western champagne flute, much less carry a decent conversation with the merchants and their partners. He retreated and disappeared into a groove near the balcony, far away from the main ballroom. And drowned himself in the sorrow on the champagne, which tasted more like sparkling water to him, who was used to stronger rice beer, freshly brewed from his mother's village.

Something changed that night. She changed. He did, too.

And things were never quite the same again. She made more demands which he could no longer fulfill. And he was borrowing from neighbors and friends faster than he could repay them. 

In the end, she left. On that cold night, a day before Dewali, she packed, and left her only child with his father.

He was bitterly disappointed. And wallowed in self-pity, and after a year of anguish and dejection, with debts piling up and funds depleted, he took his life. 

___ 

His son witnessed the suicide. A boy of 7 and not even a teen. He...

(to be continued)

NB: Not such a short story after all as I had wanted it to be... :)

-IamChrisIBlog