Two Lines | ✓

twenty three

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"Who are you?"

Her skin was parched, lean body covered with a thin layer of saree made her look weak. But her voice was strong. And he knew that her mother could only have this arrogance in her voice.

"Mr. Parthasarthy said that the food made by you is best. Being their family cook and maid, weren't you the one who raised him?"

Bhaskar had decided that he won't leave this chance, he won't let it slip like the feather, like the only girl whom he had met who hadn't been like feather.

The woman in front of him was old but he could imagine how beautiful she would have been in her best days of life. And in his mind he pictured how beautiful she would be. And how heartless she would be.

Antagonistic thoughts prevailed in those minds who loved someone to the extent of losing their own identity. For them, someone would be their sun and moon, star and planets and every fucking thing of the universe. Negative and positive, both. No dimensions could be able to measure or bound their love, for it would be limitless and selfless.

Bhaskar never knew what it was between him and her. He wasn't interested to know but he wished to know. Every emotions were perfectly opposite yet he felt both. He felt like slapping the maid but he also wanted to cry like a baby, curl into small ball and place his head on her lap. He wanted the love of a mother but he also hated to have a mother. He wanted her, he needed her.

"Oh! You are here for baba? He will be back anytime soon. Please come in."

She felt necessary to welcome guest, after her daughter she was left with little Parth. And she did everything to make him happy. He filled her empty sky with numerous stars yet sometimes she missed the brightest of all.

"Yes."

She directed Bhaskar to hall and brought him a glass of water.

"What do you want to eat? Wait, I'll bring in something."

"No, I am fine. Only you and Mr. Parthasarthy live here?"

"Yes. Baba's parents are always out for some business. And now Baba has also grown up like them."

"Cool. By the way, I heard that Mr. Parthasarthy had a sister."

She stood transfixed. Someone mentioning about past made her nervous.

Never.

Only one word resounded in her mind and she calmed down.

"Yes. She was adopted."

"Oh! I see."

"I'll make Matar Kachori---"

"Mr. Parthasarthy said she ran away during her school days. These duffer girls!"

He could feel the firing glare of Mrs. Ghosh. A mother wouldn't tolerate her child's insult. He was playing a game, playing with fire and emotions.

"Yes."

"The more we try to comfort them the more arrogant they become. Stupid little girl."

"I... I'll make..."

"I am sure that now she would be a beggar or some slut whorin---"

"How dare you say that she is begging or doing something cheap? She is living a life she deserves!"

"How do you know and why you even care?"

Words were out. Both were breathing heavily. Adrenaline pumped through every region of their body. And she collapsed.

I know no one will bother about it but there's someone who might reach you, who anyhow will find you out and ask about me.

She cried silent cries.

"Who really are you?"