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Prologue
The sky was a husky shade of pink with patches of violet announcing the world about the setting of the twilight of the day. The roof of the Sharma House was alight with activities. The youngsters were spread around the expanse of the terrace. Some chains of flowers to hang from the balustrade and the more responsible ones were dealing with the fairy lights - blue and white. Who would gather from their size that together those little tubes filled with helium were capable of lighting up diwali more brightly, beautifully and safely then the firecrackers.
'Bhai, can I help with the fairies please.?' she looked up at her brother with a hopeful expression. 'No.' Her brother snapped at her. 'But Riya is also helping,' She tried to debate albeit a little discouragingly. 'Uff! You know aren't capable of handling responsibilities. Go and switch on the lights from downstairs. Run along now.' She ran downstairs with a film of tears blurring her vision.
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When she was seventeen,
Olive is an upscale restaurant in town. Table number five was a little messy. And one cannot expect any more than that from teenage girls out on a birthday bash. They were talking loudly and they were whispering harshly. They were giggling at themselves and they were mocking others. She too was a part of the crowd, she too was smiling but there was a dark light in her eyes which conveyed the half-pretense and the half-euphoria. She picked up her fork and knife to cut into the piece of tofu when she saw the girl across from her, whispering in her neighbours ears - hollow whispers of contempt and pretence.
'Such an intimidating and condescending bitch.'
Yet again she was subdued by a choke in her throat and betrayal. She couldn't dance and she wasn't social. How was she a bitch?
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When she is twenty-two,
The granite of the wash room feels cold. Why was it difficult to accept a fact even when one has come to understand it? She wanted to do nothing but go to sleep, right there on the floor. She wanted to fall in a deep, wrath infused slumber until the hatred consumed her dreams and became a reality. She wanted to lie down on the cloudy-blurred-patterned floor and allow the iciness to engulf her in its embrace. Ironically, though her cotton pyjamas were drenched in sweat. She could feel the beads in hollow between breasts. The tears seeped down her cheeks, allowing a feeling more than chagrin and self-loathing to take over herself. She could not devise if it was her envy or the never ending non social attitude.
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