Metamorphosis on Dashami

“ Tomorrow you will be me.”

These words rang again and again in her ears. It had been a perfect Navami evening. She had worn a red sari with golden border. He had whispered in her ears (lines from a song). Love is silly but she had been a happy woman last night.

But today she had mutated into a eunuch.

Priyam and Sudipto were returning after an evening of pandal hopping on a crowded local train. They were invited by Sudipto’s parents i.e. Priyam’s in-laws for Dashami rituals at his ancestral home in the suburbs. It was the last local and a few eunuchs had got on the train. They edged their way through the crowd extorting money.

They came towards Sudipto demanded money. Sudipto ignored. They pulled the sleeves and the collar of his kurta. Priyam shouted at them, “ Get out of here”.

“Why should we whore, does the train belong to your father or to your pimp?”

Priyam fumed. “ You pests. Goddamn hijras. Get going quick!”

Soon Priyam had a crowd of supporters. There was a scuffle and when the next stop came the eunuchs were thrown off the train. Just as the train was moving, one of the eunuchs grabbed Priyam’s hand from the window, and said in a cold tone, “Tomorrow you will be me.”

According to popular belief, a eunuch’s curse comes true.

The next morning, Priyam woke up and saw that she was in a filthy room. There were unknown sleeping bodies on her right and her left. She gave a silent scream. The eunuch’s voice echoed in her head, “You are me today.”She apologized to the voice in her head. She said that her husband would worry if he woke up to find his wife missing. The voice just laughed.

A hand was shaking her. “Get up pig.” She saw an odd face staring at her. “Guru is calling you. Quick put some water in your hair . The municipal water seems to have gone to the immersions too.” Priyam felt her head spinning, was it her life or a whirlwind? Guru? Municipal water? Where was she?

She prayed to the Goddess but it was the face of the dreadful eunuch which came to her mind. She put some water in her hair and combed it. As she entered the Guru’s room, she felt like she was in a sadistic-fantasy novel. A portly eunuch, was sitting on a sofa wearing a nightdress.

“How did business go?”

Priyam: “ummm….good.” (“What else to say”, she thought.)

"How much did you pay the police-man?"

Priyam: “…don’t know. Someone else did. (She suppressed a guffaw, “Seriously,I should be smearing sindur on others at this time")

The Guru’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “I was thinking…. I will send you and Chameli to the women.”

Priyam: “Which women?”

“Oooof! I mean Tumpa Di’s girls. She wants someone from our community. Nowadays men, want more than a woman. Hope you understand; changing times...At least you will be paid for your services, and not get slammed for free by  drunken policemen. Moreover the area gets proper water supply. You will be happy. They will come for you soon Durga.”

“Durga, so that’s what they call this body. Paradoxical” she thought. Her situation was tragic with elements of comedy and fantasy , or may be something which her literature professor would describe as- Magic Realism.

A voice called out, “Durga we have been invited to Narendra Babu’s Pujo, he is fielding Guru as a candidate for the municipality elections from his party. Come get ready.”

Drums were beating all around at Narendra Babu's house. Priyam was wildly dancing. She got on the truck which was carrying the Goddess, along with other eunuchs. Soon they reached the river. They slowly lowered the Goddess, into the water. Far away, she saw the setting sun on the horizon. It looked beautiful,so beautiful…

“You look so beautiful in white and red. Come on, father’s friends have arrived and they want to meet you.”

Priyam whirled around. She almost collapsed. Her life had been given back to her suddenly. She thanked the eunuch who had been speaking to her, in her head all this time, but she got no reply. She didn’t know how it happened, but she was too happy and postponed all her questions.

Sudipto’s father was chatting with his friends. One of them said “Do you know what my crazy brother Narendra has done? He has announced a hijra as a candidate, from his party in the municipality elections .The eunuch is called Durga Devi. Hahahahaaa…”

Breath of the African violet

I looked at the African violet on my window sill, slowly withering in the rays of the morning sun. I hadn’t watered them for five days. But where was the tap, I thought as I lay motionless and disabled on my stinking bed. I tried hard to remember again, “Where is the tap?”, I failed. I smiled wryly as I felt my the  strands of my tattered memory seeping out of my body, the body which nobody cared for and which nobody wished to see.

I didn’t know what had happened in the last few days, I didn’t remember. Nobody called because I faintly remember cutting the wires of my telephone and I had dismissed the maid from her services because I didn’t like the way she looked at my film posters. My friends? I couldn’t   recall their names as they had slipped quietly from my withering mind in the last five days.

 I looked at the pot of African violet, the sun rays were growing stronger, I knew that by today they would die out as I couldn’t remember where the tap was. I tried to move my limbs but I only managed to move my shoulder blades. I tried again and this time I felt one of the pus-filled bed sores on my back burst open. As the pus oozed out I imagined what they would write in the newspapers, ‘Ageing sex siren rots to death’ or they would be kind, ‘Ageing film star starves to death’. I smiled ,it was odd that I couldn’t remember the colour of my eyes or the shape of my nose,I couldn’t remember how I looked. I think I looked like those decaying African violets. I don’t know why they are called African violets because I remember the ones on my window sill were white five days back. “Violet even if they were white, just because people like to call them so.”

Suddenly I remembered where the tap was. I decided to get up and give the violet its last drink. I brought back a mug of water and poured it on the pot. They looked the same, only a bit wet. “What is my name?”

 I lay down on the stained bed and stared at the window sill. After some time I tried to answer the question I had asked myself before, I was worried   because I didn’t know what the answer could be. But surely I know my name, I wasn’t that wasted because I could remember where the tap was. I looked at the afternoon sun rays caressing the leaves of the plant. I smiled, may be it would live. I couldn’t keep my eyes open and I threw one last look at the African violet on my window sill; I remembered my name. And I remembered how death feels.

To the Big Sister,with...

Dear Madam,

A certain prominent Indian had once said,"What Bengal thinks today,India thinks tomorrow." This was almost a century back,hope you know this,keeping in mind your fantastic notion of history.
. Seeing what you are doing in this state and the things that you are thinking of doing,today this prominent Indian must be turning in his grave and wishing that he could take his words back. 
The previous government has its share of blunders but unlike you they did not make the people of this state feel ashamed to have them in power within such a short period of time. It is no use telling you to step down because you are a festering wound,which will fall off when the time comes.
PS: You are advising the opposition parties to sleep right.Believe me I would wish to go into a 100 year slumber(Sleeping Beauty style),rather than bear you for 4 years more.

                                                                                              Regards,
                                                                                     The little sarcastic girl