peered into and rubbed? He continued to finger the area, angering her. She got up and bolted out of the room, pulling up her underwear even as he yelled at her to stop.
A week later, he had grabbed her in ammamma’s presence. He squeezed her playfully into an embrace and kissed her on the neck, rubbing his stubbly cheeks against her skin. She screamed to get away from his grip. Ammamma watched them and laughed, misinterpreting it for playfulness. Revolted by the violation and the toddy stink on her face, Anjali had to struggle to break free of his savage grip and join her cousins in the courtyard. She hated the way he crushed her against him. She kept spitting for a long time that evening, having bitten his wrist to break free.
There was something wrong when a man touched a woman, she had learned with that episode. It was not right, ever.
How her views had changed since Siddharth’s visit! Now she knew a woman could feel comfortable with at least one man in her lifetime. Siddharth was her man, whether the world liked it or not. She dozed off, thinking about him.
.
11
CHAPTER
Crossroads
T wo weeks had passed uneventfully.
But today was different. Anjali was feeling a huge low.
She approached the bureau chief’s cabin after filing her beat stories.
Health was a fertile beat. She never ran out of stories. It was also an exhausting one, for the hospital visits made her sick. She felt ill whenever she did the rounds in the general wards of the government hospitals. They were forever littered and overcrowded, with patients waiting in long queues for treatment.
The chief was busy, as he usually was during the late evenings. He was reading something on his computer screen and smiling endlessly, probably some dirty joke.
Older men were more lecherous, Anjali had learned from experience.
She had felt humiliated, strangely, not scared, when a man propositioned her the first time on the local train. An impeccably dressed middle aged man had sat next to her. He scribbled something on the newspaper and pushed it towards her. The compartment was not crowded, as it was a Saturday. She had glanced at the paper out of curiosity and was shocked to see a sex fee scribbled on it. When she tried to embarrass him with a piercing look, he smiled shamelessly. She had sprung up, spat out, “Idiot!” and stomped out to sit beside an older woman at the other end of the compartment.
Then there were the pimps who roamed the stations and the streets. They would deliberately walk past a woman and quote a rate. If she were a call girl, she would not have earned much. Her average fee would be about twenty dollars per client. An hour each? How many customers did a prostitute handle a day? Five? Not a profitable venture, considering the filth and risk involved. What a depressing line of thought.
She felt restless. Why was the boss not acknowledging her presence? Was she invisible? Look up, look up, look up. She cleared her throat for attention. And it worked.
“Yes?” He looked up, moving away his bald head from her view.
Anjali stopped tapping on the desk and steadied herself on the chair. She cleared her throat again, this time for effect. “I’m not well. The doctor has advised rest. I’d like to take my twenty days of annual leave now. Can I?” She said it all in one breath.
“No problem. Fill in the leave form and submit it to the admin. Come back in full form, OK?”
That was easy! She smiled, amazed at her luck, and nodded.
To keep herself occupied, Anjali did some spring cleaning during the first week. Parvati pitched in to sort out the newspapers and magazines that had piled up over the months.
Anjali spent her afternoons reflecting on her past and dreaming of her future with Siddharth. She had thought men were sick until Siddharth had entered her life. Sugadan uncle, the watchman, Madhav, and Rasheed; all of them had done a disservice to menfolk.
Rasheed was the most dependable media executive in the Alpha
A week later, he had grabbed her in ammamma’s presence. He squeezed her playfully into an embrace and kissed her on the neck, rubbing his stubbly cheeks against her skin. She screamed to get away from his grip. Ammamma watched them and laughed, misinterpreting it for playfulness. Revolted by the violation and the toddy stink on her face, Anjali had to struggle to break free of his savage grip and join her cousins in the courtyard. She hated the way he crushed her against him. She kept spitting for a long time that evening, having bitten his wrist to break free.
There was something wrong when a man touched a woman, she had learned with that episode. It was not right, ever.
How her views had changed since Siddharth’s visit! Now she knew a woman could feel comfortable with at least one man in her lifetime. Siddharth was her man, whether the world liked it or not. She dozed off, thinking about him.
.
11
CHAPTER
Crossroads
T wo weeks had passed uneventfully.
But today was different. Anjali was feeling a huge low.
She approached the bureau chief’s cabin after filing her beat stories.
Health was a fertile beat. She never ran out of stories. It was also an exhausting one, for the hospital visits made her sick. She felt ill whenever she did the rounds in the general wards of the government hospitals. They were forever littered and overcrowded, with patients waiting in long queues for treatment.
The chief was busy, as he usually was during the late evenings. He was reading something on his computer screen and smiling endlessly, probably some dirty joke.
Older men were more lecherous, Anjali had learned from experience.
She had felt humiliated, strangely, not scared, when a man propositioned her the first time on the local train. An impeccably dressed middle aged man had sat next to her. He scribbled something on the newspaper and pushed it towards her. The compartment was not crowded, as it was a Saturday. She had glanced at the paper out of curiosity and was shocked to see a sex fee scribbled on it. When she tried to embarrass him with a piercing look, he smiled shamelessly. She had sprung up, spat out, “Idiot!” and stomped out to sit beside an older woman at the other end of the compartment.
Then there were the pimps who roamed the stations and the streets. They would deliberately walk past a woman and quote a rate. If she were a call girl, she would not have earned much. Her average fee would be about twenty dollars per client. An hour each? How many customers did a prostitute handle a day? Five? Not a profitable venture, considering the filth and risk involved. What a depressing line of thought.
She felt restless. Why was the boss not acknowledging her presence? Was she invisible? Look up, look up, look up. She cleared her throat for attention. And it worked.
“Yes?” He looked up, moving away his bald head from her view.
Anjali stopped tapping on the desk and steadied herself on the chair. She cleared her throat again, this time for effect. “I’m not well. The doctor has advised rest. I’d like to take my twenty days of annual leave now. Can I?” She said it all in one breath.
“No problem. Fill in the leave form and submit it to the admin. Come back in full form, OK?”
That was easy! She smiled, amazed at her luck, and nodded.
To keep herself occupied, Anjali did some spring cleaning during the first week. Parvati pitched in to sort out the newspapers and magazines that had piled up over the months.
Anjali spent her afternoons reflecting on her past and dreaming of her future with Siddharth. She had thought men were sick until Siddharth had entered her life. Sugadan uncle, the watchman, Madhav, and Rasheed; all of them had done a disservice to menfolk.
Rasheed was the most dependable media executive in the Alpha
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