not eaten already so I quickly sat down at the dining table, and as I took my first bite, Bobby stood in front of me patiently, waiting for my reaction.
This is so tasty, I said, and I actually was not lying.
You are just saying that to make me happy, he said.
Not at all, I said. It is the best poori-aloo I have ever eaten.
Better than Dadima’s? he said.
Better than Dadima’s, I said.
Then I am going to cook for you daily, he said.
I did not say anything. He looked so happy that I actually did not want to spoil his mood. And so he brought me one hot poori after another and refused to eat himself until I was finished.
I spent the rest of today as I normally spend every Saturday, changing bed sheets, grinding masalas, going to the market, and what not, but I did not feel as I normally do. Even Bobby, being such a sensitive boy, felt that something was wrong with his mother and kept asking me if I was fine. I told him that I had eaten too many pooris and so my stomach was feeling a little bit bloated. Obviously I was lying. But what could I have said to my son? Could I have told him that it was not overeating that troubled me but actually the opposite of that, some type of hunger?
As soon as Bobby went to sleep I sent an sms to my husband to call me up. I needed to hear the sound of my husband, my ears needed to hear the sound of those soft, low tones that, depending on my mood, can soothe me like songs of love or God, or excite me.
When he called me up we talked about various things. We talked about his boss and my boss, we talked about Bobby,and I also told him about how I have been trying to call up the mechanic to come to fix the washing machine. And then I said, Do you miss my body?
For two or three seconds he was quiet, then he said, You have become a very bold woman since I left, no?
Never mind all that, I said. Tell me now, do you still want my body?
Obviously I do, you fool, he said.
And I knew that he was not lying. His voice could not hide his hunger for me. My husband has always wanted my body. Then I asked him how he lived without sex and he said that it was very difficult and that the other men he lives with, all four of them, go to this one nurse, an Anglo-Indian Christian, who works at the hospital in the radiology department.
I don’t care about those men, I said. What about you?
You have become a very bold woman, no? he said again. And then he finally told me how he masturbates while thinking about me, and that sometimes it is so bad, sometimes he misses my body such a lot, that he has to masturbate in the hospital bathroom during working hours.
My husband did not ask me if I also miss his body, if I miss two warm, heavy hands moving over my body. Did he feel too shy to ask? Or does he think that women don’t suffer those types of hunger? Whatever it is, my husband will come to know the answers soon. In two months’ time, exactly fifty-nine days from today on 31 August 2011, he will be here in Delhi, and when his son is in a deep sleep at night-time and the washing machine has started, my husband will come to know the answers.
13
Sunday, 3 July 2011
There are days when the smallest, simplest things that you normally do every day without even knowing that you are doing them suddenly seem so difficult, days when a small, little thing like boiling milk seems more difficult than climbing a mountain. This morning my bones felt heavy like stone. And also my mind. And what was the crime for such a punishment? I asked Bobby to try on a suit. That is all. A suit. Bobby, see, I bought you such a smart suit! I said. And what did he do?
Ma! he said, almost shouting. What are you doing to me?
What am I doing to you? I said. I am asking you to try on a suit. A suit, that is all.
I don’t want to wear a suit! he said.
I told him how it was not just any suit, that it was bought from the mall. Still, did he listen?
What are you trying to make me into? he said. I don’t want to wear a suit! I
This is so tasty, I said, and I actually was not lying.
You are just saying that to make me happy, he said.
Not at all, I said. It is the best poori-aloo I have ever eaten.
Better than Dadima’s? he said.
Better than Dadima’s, I said.
Then I am going to cook for you daily, he said.
I did not say anything. He looked so happy that I actually did not want to spoil his mood. And so he brought me one hot poori after another and refused to eat himself until I was finished.
I spent the rest of today as I normally spend every Saturday, changing bed sheets, grinding masalas, going to the market, and what not, but I did not feel as I normally do. Even Bobby, being such a sensitive boy, felt that something was wrong with his mother and kept asking me if I was fine. I told him that I had eaten too many pooris and so my stomach was feeling a little bit bloated. Obviously I was lying. But what could I have said to my son? Could I have told him that it was not overeating that troubled me but actually the opposite of that, some type of hunger?
As soon as Bobby went to sleep I sent an sms to my husband to call me up. I needed to hear the sound of my husband, my ears needed to hear the sound of those soft, low tones that, depending on my mood, can soothe me like songs of love or God, or excite me.
When he called me up we talked about various things. We talked about his boss and my boss, we talked about Bobby,and I also told him about how I have been trying to call up the mechanic to come to fix the washing machine. And then I said, Do you miss my body?
For two or three seconds he was quiet, then he said, You have become a very bold woman since I left, no?
Never mind all that, I said. Tell me now, do you still want my body?
Obviously I do, you fool, he said.
And I knew that he was not lying. His voice could not hide his hunger for me. My husband has always wanted my body. Then I asked him how he lived without sex and he said that it was very difficult and that the other men he lives with, all four of them, go to this one nurse, an Anglo-Indian Christian, who works at the hospital in the radiology department.
I don’t care about those men, I said. What about you?
You have become a very bold woman, no? he said again. And then he finally told me how he masturbates while thinking about me, and that sometimes it is so bad, sometimes he misses my body such a lot, that he has to masturbate in the hospital bathroom during working hours.
My husband did not ask me if I also miss his body, if I miss two warm, heavy hands moving over my body. Did he feel too shy to ask? Or does he think that women don’t suffer those types of hunger? Whatever it is, my husband will come to know the answers soon. In two months’ time, exactly fifty-nine days from today on 31 August 2011, he will be here in Delhi, and when his son is in a deep sleep at night-time and the washing machine has started, my husband will come to know the answers.
13
Sunday, 3 July 2011
There are days when the smallest, simplest things that you normally do every day without even knowing that you are doing them suddenly seem so difficult, days when a small, little thing like boiling milk seems more difficult than climbing a mountain. This morning my bones felt heavy like stone. And also my mind. And what was the crime for such a punishment? I asked Bobby to try on a suit. That is all. A suit. Bobby, see, I bought you such a smart suit! I said. And what did he do?
Ma! he said, almost shouting. What are you doing to me?
What am I doing to you? I said. I am asking you to try on a suit. A suit, that is all.
I don’t want to wear a suit! he said.
I told him how it was not just any suit, that it was bought from the mall. Still, did he listen?
What are you trying to make me into? he said. I don’t want to wear a suit! I
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