Print Length: 124 pages
Shaurya
Oberoi hates me the moment he sets his eye on me. I start hating him even
before that.
He is the estranged
husband of my client, Arya, and I am here to fight her case. I challenge him
bluntly that he needs to accept the terms demanded by Arya or rot in jail.
Then one morning I wake up
with broken arms and limbs in his hospital bed, and apart from being my
client’s husband, he is also my doctor now. I hate how easily he reads what
lies beneath my relentless anger… but then sometimes I love it. I hate how his
charismatic presence makes me feel, and how his absence affects me. I am in
danger of falling for a man whose marriage I am supposed to save.
But there
is more to risk than my heart and my sanity. There’s my case. And I am forced
to question, is it destiny or a well-planned conspiracy?
“Women don’t cheat, men do.” I looked at him, “You know what? All men are
bastards.” My voice was edgier than intended and I am sure my face was fuming.
He stood still for a while as if I
had thrown boiling water on him. Then he began shaking his head. “You are good
to nurses and bitches to male attendants. Yesterday they were arguing about it.
The nurses couldn’t stop praising you and the male attendants couldn’t stop
cursing you. At that time, I couldn’t understand it, but now I do.”
“What?” What did it have to do with
what we were talking about?
“It seems like your war is not
against crime; your war is against men.”
His sentence punched me straight in
the gut. But before I could respond he walked closer, bent down a little and
stared at me with…disgust?
“What?” my brows merged, and my nose
crinkled.
“It seems like you didn’t get to
vent out your anger at the right place.”
“What do you mean?” I stiffened.
He bent a little more until his eye
level matched mine, his voice measured, “What did he do to you to create so
much hatred?”
A moment of blankness reigned before
the full force of his words acted like acid on my soul. When his gaze shifted
to my hand, I realised the bedsheet was crumpled in my tight fist, I
immediately left it. My body had gone strangely stiff. I tried to relax, but it
came out as a release of breath.
Shit.
“So much hatred can only be the
outcome of so much love,” his pitch toned down, “I know that. I have been
there.” his voice softened.
I wanted to shout at him and wanted
to tell him to shut up, but my words dried on my throat. My frustration shot to
a new level and I just wanted to walk away, like every time I did when I had to
avoid confrontation. I tried to pull out the IV tube, but he held my hand in
time.
His grip was tight, and his tone restrained
when he spoke, “It shouldn’t be removed like that. But once you are out of
here, go and vent out your hatred in the right place, that will help you. I was
also hurt by someone I loved, someone I trusted, though I didn’t get the
privilege to keep it private. You are the best witness, not only a witness, but
a partner in crime of the ones who hurt me. But do you know why I don’t loathe
the whole female species? Because I have vented out my anger at the right
place.”
“That got you to court?” I hissed,
jerking away his hand.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t carry as
much hatred in myself.” He straightened to his monstrous height.
“What about the world that hates
you?”
He pushed his hands in his pocket
and his voice was calm, but determined, “I damn care. I can look in the mirror
and recognize the man in there.”
His statement unfurled something
inside me. A small conversation I have every day with the woman on the other
side of the mirror.
The woman I don’t recognize anymore. The woman whom I fail to connect with anymore.
Her readers define her writing as intense, though she dreams of writing a breezy read someday. She has searched more baby name websites to find names of her characters than she did to select the names of her kids. Sometimes she talks to her characters more than she talks to real people. But believe me she isn't crazy; she is just a writer.
Thanks so much Sundari, for posting this on your blog :)
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