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Authors: Amulya Malladi
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slept around, partied hard, and had a lousy career. There was no pressure on Devi to be anyone but herself. She didn't have to fit intoany mold of perfection. Even Girish liked her, and that tormented Shobha some more.
“She fucks everything that moves, Girish, is that something that appeals to you?” Shobha asked him after a not-so-joyous family dinner at her parents’ house. Girish and she were fighting again, about what neither could remember, but the discussion somehow ended with Girish defending Devi and Shobha baring her claws.
“At least she's passionate enough to do that, unlike you,” Girish retorted in a low voice. He never yelled at Shobha, never lost his control. He would say hateful, hurtful things quietly and slowly so that you couldn't even blame his hot temper for what he was saying. It was cold and calculated and he hit his mark every time.
“Maybe you'd like to sleep with my little sister?” Shobha asked, blind with anger.
“Don't be disgusting,” Girish said dismissively and ended the discussion/fight by walking out of the house and not coming back until the next evening.
They'd been married five years and Shobha couldn't remember a single time when they were truly happy. Usually, with bad marriages, there was something holding it together, maybe just memories of good times. With them there was nothing. A child, she always thought as her heart broke again, a child would've made them closer, brought them love.
The longest night in her life was after the day she found out that there would be no child, that there simply couldn't be. Surgery would leave no ovaries or fallopian tubes, which were eaten away by endometriosis.
That night Shobha wanted to die. She'd sat under a beating shower for over an hour, even past the point when the hot water ran out. There were no tears as she contemplated a future where she'd never know what it would be like to be a mother.
Every day she would know that she would never feel her belly swell, never complain about morning sickness or compare notes on how long the labor was and how difficult. There would be no children coming for the holidays, for dinner, no grandchildren to spoil. The finality of it was akin to death. What was the point if there couldbe no life beyond hers? And that night she'd wondered how easy it all would be if she were dead. How easy it would be to end her life and not go through the next day and the next day knowing what she knew.
Girish and she had never managed to get close, but after her surgery they drifted farther apart and even stopped pretending that there was anything left to salvage.
Vasu once told Shobha when she complained about her lifeless marriage, “There is nothing deader than a dead relationship. Cut your losses, you have only one life.”
“G'ma? You're not saying I should divorce Girish, are you?” Shobha was stupefied.
“Why make his and your life miserable. Get out and find someone who can make you happy,” Vasu advised.
Shobha never complained to Vasu again.
She could in some way understand why Devi tried to end her life. Sometimes Shobha could feel the pressure from within to finish it, to get away and not deal with deadlines, Girish, her ditzy mother, life. But she didn't have the raw guts. Even in this, Shobha admitted, she was envious that Devi could do something about her useless life, while Shobha could only pretend that hers was perfect, which made her life worse because it was dishonest.
There Is Absolutely No Place Like Home
Once, a long time ago, when Devi was eleven years old, she ran away from home. No one noticed and no one found out. And since no one knew, it shouldn't have mattered, but to Devi it did, because she knew, both that she ran away and that no one noticed.
It was a few days after she kissed a boy for the first time.
Dylan (and now she couldn't even remember his last name) lived in the neighborhood and they played football together in the park across the street from their house
“She fucks everything that moves, Girish, is that something that appeals to you?” Shobha asked him after a not-so-joyous family dinner at her parents’ house. Girish and she were fighting again, about what neither could remember, but the discussion somehow ended with Girish defending Devi and Shobha baring her claws.
“At least she's passionate enough to do that, unlike you,” Girish retorted in a low voice. He never yelled at Shobha, never lost his control. He would say hateful, hurtful things quietly and slowly so that you couldn't even blame his hot temper for what he was saying. It was cold and calculated and he hit his mark every time.
“Maybe you'd like to sleep with my little sister?” Shobha asked, blind with anger.
“Don't be disgusting,” Girish said dismissively and ended the discussion/fight by walking out of the house and not coming back until the next evening.
They'd been married five years and Shobha couldn't remember a single time when they were truly happy. Usually, with bad marriages, there was something holding it together, maybe just memories of good times. With them there was nothing. A child, she always thought as her heart broke again, a child would've made them closer, brought them love.
The longest night in her life was after the day she found out that there would be no child, that there simply couldn't be. Surgery would leave no ovaries or fallopian tubes, which were eaten away by endometriosis.
That night Shobha wanted to die. She'd sat under a beating shower for over an hour, even past the point when the hot water ran out. There were no tears as she contemplated a future where she'd never know what it would be like to be a mother.
Every day she would know that she would never feel her belly swell, never complain about morning sickness or compare notes on how long the labor was and how difficult. There would be no children coming for the holidays, for dinner, no grandchildren to spoil. The finality of it was akin to death. What was the point if there couldbe no life beyond hers? And that night she'd wondered how easy it all would be if she were dead. How easy it would be to end her life and not go through the next day and the next day knowing what she knew.
Girish and she had never managed to get close, but after her surgery they drifted farther apart and even stopped pretending that there was anything left to salvage.
Vasu once told Shobha when she complained about her lifeless marriage, “There is nothing deader than a dead relationship. Cut your losses, you have only one life.”
“G'ma? You're not saying I should divorce Girish, are you?” Shobha was stupefied.
“Why make his and your life miserable. Get out and find someone who can make you happy,” Vasu advised.
Shobha never complained to Vasu again.
She could in some way understand why Devi tried to end her life. Sometimes Shobha could feel the pressure from within to finish it, to get away and not deal with deadlines, Girish, her ditzy mother, life. But she didn't have the raw guts. Even in this, Shobha admitted, she was envious that Devi could do something about her useless life, while Shobha could only pretend that hers was perfect, which made her life worse because it was dishonest.
There Is Absolutely No Place Like Home
Once, a long time ago, when Devi was eleven years old, she ran away from home. No one noticed and no one found out. And since no one knew, it shouldn't have mattered, but to Devi it did, because she knew, both that she ran away and that no one noticed.
It was a few days after she kissed a boy for the first time.
Dylan (and now she couldn't even remember his last name) lived in the neighborhood and they played football together in the park across the street from their house
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