J for Jagged

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He paused in front of the mirror in his bedroom and addressed his reflection in the mirror.  “Are you in love with her?”  The word love tickled through his veins, kindling a tenderness in him. 

Arjun felt a heaviness dragging him down, a lethargic effect pricking hard.  He shouldn’t have gone to Malaviaka’s in the name of reclaiming a shameful memory for him.  He should have let the book part with him—was it anything dear to him.  She said she planned to reach him one day to return the book to him.  Now, he seems to be on the wrong side--irritated her for a bad reason.  More than that, something else pinned him down. 

Malavika, aka Meenu, is a person that Silpa was not.  How come he never met her even though she visited his home.  Every day, Silpa mentioned her.  It was rude that he didn’t inquire about her.  Why was that? 

Silpa would have introduced her to him if she had visited his home in his presence. 

“Meet my cousin Meenu,” Silpa.

“Hi,” he

After the initial chit-chat, he would have let Silpa and her cousin indulge in their business.  There wouldn’t have taken place a meaningful conversation between them.  And that is the essence of her hint: “In this society, I feared.  A woman cannot approach a man to have a genuine conversation.” That gender inhibition.

She lingered in his thoughts for a long time after he reached his home for many reasons—for her openness and clarity in expressing her mind to convince him he was wrong.   He developed an attraction to that part of her.  He assumed it was just a passing thought, but days and weeks passed he never got over that. 

He wanted to see her again.  He drove along the road by her flat she lives a few times.  A prominent political leader in that neighbourhood passed away.  He oversaw ordaining him a state funeral.  It was customary for people in the community to gather in the deceased’s house as mourners.  Why was he keeping an expectation she would be one among them?

That evening he cross-examined himself.  Was he developing an infatuation with Malavika?  That wasn’t an infatuation.  He needed her presence.    A person with whom he could communicate easily and reciprocate features in his mind is remarkable.  The acute incompatibility in thoughts between him and his ex-wife hindered their relationship.  Connecting two people through an easy-two-way link is inevitable in flourishing any relationship.   

The issue he presented in front of her wasn’t pleasant and done rudely --however, he left the place learning something from her.  It was because of her right attitude in communication.

He paused in front of the mirror in his bedroom and addressed his reflection in the mirror.  “Are you in love with her?”  The word love tickled through his veins, kindling a tenderness in him. 

He remembered he and Silpa in the bedroom-her presence never evoked such a sentiment in him.  He felt destined to be with a woman he had hardly known the first night- a moving bundle of rituals embellished with traditional garbs.   Her entering the room was a copy-pasting—holding milk in a glass prodded by women tickling her with tradition.  He felt like flopping onto the bed and falling asleep.  The smell of the jasmine layers and the sandal on her body felt like stale food. 

“Oh boy!  You don’t know if she is married or not.” 

“Can’t I love her still?”

“You can, but what is there in one-sided love?”

“You have a point,” he went in deep thought. 

“I can find out.”


“I have an idea.”

“Tell me.”

“Charge her with something silly, say a traffic offense, and show her your mind under the protection of questioning her.”

“You moron, I am not a traffic police.”

“Ouch, sorry.”

“Malavika Aravind, she is married.”

“How do you know?”

“I guess I’m good at that.”

“Shut up.”

He moved away from the mirror. 

This post is part of the #BlogchatterA2Z challenge hosted by Blog Chatter