Srirangam
She watched her in the shower, the young chennait naked like a newborn. Water from the off-blue plastic tap drummed into the plastic red bucket. Her hair was tied up in a bun to keep it out of water. Tendrils of hair which escaped from the bun stuck to her neck like leeches.It was Ammavasai today, she wasn't allowed to bath her hair. Only people who lost their parents were allowed to bath their hair. Almost every adult in their family washed their hair. Her smooth body had just began puberty. Her curves were growing gradually like hills. Her once pre-pubescent chubby figure developed into the girl, the almost-woman she is. Water slid through her oiled skin as she poured it with the ever-silver mug. Her hands laid on her breasts and drifted through the shallow dip of her waist and a sudden dip on her hips.
Chitti was jealous of her, so much. She yearned the youth and yearned the beauty. When she looked in the mirror the other day, all that greeted her was her stretched and dangling skin on her fat, dimpled dark elbows and knees, a ribbon of discoloured skin surrounding her waist and stomach from years of wearing drawstring skirts. And her breasts, oh her lovely breasts! One she was proud bearer of the rich fruit that she kept hidden. A woman's secret, she giggled with her lady friends in her room. But as she aged, the fruit mellowed and mellowed until it rot. She scrutinized her sagging breasts, dropping down with the weight of itself. She drifted a hand towards her nipples which were wrinkled and dark like raisins. The shadow of pubic hair between her legs were like unkempt weeds in an unkempt garden.
Chitti wanted to rip the girl's breasts and stick it over her own. She wanted to suckle on the girl's blood like ancient queens do to to their young maids to be young forever. The girl washed her pink soles and between her toes, unaware of Chitti watching her. But, like a thread of thought suddenly cut, the thoughts stopped. She came here to get the dish-washing soap. Without knocking, Chitti stepped inside the long washroom. The chennait turned her back towards her as soon as she entered and covered herself. Soap studs still dripped down her shoulders.
Chitti got the crumbling bar of green soap and left the bathroom, shutting the wooden door behind her.
YOU ARE READING
lentil rice
Poetryyouth grows on branches of mango trees. pluck them early green and bury them in rice baskets to ripen them quick. love grows on branches of guava trees. pluck them early green and they are solid teeth-breakers. pluck them late white, love melts in...
