The Mark of a Woman

It’s pouring outside. A soggy smell lingered in the air as dampness crept into the badly lit room. The creamy colored walls further dimmed the yellow light. Shanti is lying north side of me reading a South American’s work. I am lying south side of Shanti reading a North American’s work. The rain, moist, yellow light and smell that encircled us sneaked into the pages. Shanti suddenly got up as if responding to an intuition. She kept a bookmark neatly in ‘Strange Pilgrims’. A second later I heard Shiva crying in the other room. Mothers’ intuition is matchless.

Men are earthy. Hence their intuitions are also earthy. I remembered that I wanted to pass urine an hour before but got engrossed in the book. While getting out of the bed I wanted to keep the bookmark in ‘The Sound and Fury’. Could not find one. I pulled out the bookmark that Shanti kept in her book.

While listening to the sound of one water meeting the other water I thought, why did I pull her book mark? It was a murky act. Wasn’t? “This was not the first time you are doing it Santosh.” I consoled myself. But my mind was in a mood of becoming a gracious husband. It started agitating. “What the hell you take her for granted, always.” “Peace.” I said. “I will keep it back.” And I kept that back.

After a while she came back. Turned the leaves of her book and asked me “why did you keep the mark in a wrong page?”