“I am depressed. He has been abusing me for the last 3 days”,she said wiping her rheumy eyes with the edge of her maroon cotton saree spreading the kohl. “Were you at fault anyway?”burst out the impatient,young and so-called educated lady which left the woman startled. Transfixing her vision on the red-bricked flooring she started-off incoherently but soon articulate enough to be understood.“It was a wrong number repeatedly calling me. How can I be at fault for this?“,she gave a sharp look at the lady journalist as she brought-up the fact,leaving the lady dumbstruck at her malarkey. Equally well-known to her profession she popped-up a new issue “How did your husband come to know about the man you’ve been talking to?”. The woman soon accustomed to the lady’s professional intentions paused a moment, closed her eyes tight not allowing the tear roll-off. The calendar hung on the bricked wall made a sound with its edge as it moved under the fan breaking the sour-silence. The woman turned-up to the lady, this time more confidently and gave a blow without moves,”It was not me talking with any man. I was a victim suffering both the sides. My husband whom you worship for those green papers vehemently molested me for this. My expectations of support are harsh indeed. It’s made me think what my real fault was, succumbing near him all these years or standing against him now.I was only meant to entertain him in his frustration. It took me 25 years mouthing off but here I find myself standing amidst challenges to find my own freedom.”
The unexpected confidence on the woman’s countenance had the lady give-up her attempts. Suddenly the green leaves in her bag which pleased her a moment before bent her out of their weight. The mic. she held loosened through her fingers with her eyes fading into the initial days of her career. The promises she made then and the deeds she did now, realising there was no way-out.
The woman had already drifted to her old days but without delay she said,”You can leave now.” The lady put her hand in her bag, taking out the green bundle attempted to speak but failed. She quietly kept it on the wooden-table ahead and without staring for a moment scuffed out of the room.



Add yours

  1. I thought the green papers was money. What a wonderful story and unfortunately a very true one. I wonder when men will have respect for women and not harm them so much. Thank you for following my blog.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I know nothing first hand about Indian culture,only what is portrayed in movies and documentaries but I like your style of writing. I love Indian women as a race you are so beautiful and colourful and a fabulous culture. You add so much to the world.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Inasmuch as we hate injustice and violence among women and children, so is our comfort knowing outspoken writer like you expressing their voices.. You truly is brave, enduring criticisms and negative feedbacks. I’m with you on this. Those violent men should realize they have mother! #respect. I’m grateful I was raised to love and respect women. Thank you for this post..

    Liked by 1 person

  4. This is very well-written and engaging. You have indeed portrayed two very different sides of Indian women, and it is sad how such molestation is the norm in reality. I especially liked how you brought out the ‘so-called’ educated pedant, to say, who is unable to comprehend the real issue at hand. I still am quite confused about this story and the significance of the ‘green papers’, but this is a great post!

    Liked by 2 people

    1. The green papers here signified money, which I stressed on because ‘Corruption’ is an inevitable harsh truth of our society. The woman expected help but what she faced was intriguing plots against her by her husband who bribed the journalist to not let her voice the truth of her innocence and hardships.
      This story is definitely not specified to that particular woman and the lady journalist. It was as a reminder as there are issues like molestation,corruption,independence, women-strength, and many other we yet have to deal with.
      Thank you for going through. πŸ™‚

      Liked by 3 people

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