Portion

I drew a line over my eyes with kohl. My cousin sister visited me today and does not approve of my lifestyle. She loves me, so I do not mind her chiding. She calls herself a feminist, has a job that pays. I believe you can only afford to set yourself apart once you have a paying job. I have a job. I clean my house every day. I cook delicious food for my husband from the cookery books and magazines. A decent helper in the city where I live charges about 3-5,000 a month just for cleaning. I, on the other hand do the laundry and grocery shopping too. So what if I am never paid, my husband and sister occasionally buy me clothes
which smell more of the naphthalene as we seldom go out.I believe I have a job; breathing and living can be considered a job. My sister says I’m beautiful. I am sure my husband thinks the same because every time I cover my eyes with thick black antimony, he looks at me and says that I look different. I have been married for five years and I still do not know his favourite colour or his favourite fruit or anything that he likes.However, I know his dislikes. He doesn’t like loud women; women who wear red lipsticks, tight jeans, and women with short hair. He is a vegetarian as he is a devotee of our good God’s. He prays two times a day. He doesn’t let me enter the worship room, and we now have an unspoken understanding. We play our part’s well. He doesn’t enter the kitchen and in return, I give consent to his relationship with the ideal God’s. He calls “kitchen” my kingdom and two tigers cannot rule the same jungle.He has made it clear in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t like my cousin sister. “She is not a vegetarian,” he says. Her sins are many, but her crime is this, she likes her food as she likes her men, well prepared flesh. I enjoy her company more than anything because beggars cannot be choosers. She usually comes during weekdays. Her work gives her good opportunities to travel and meet new people. And despite her busy schedule, she likes bringing gifts for me from her numerous travels. I can see it clearly how she pities and envies me at the same time. She has always been a feisty woman and gets bored easily. They said it was because she was born in the Year of the Tiger, whereas I was born in the Year of the Rat. We grew up together, and yet how different we were even as children. She was called a devil and I, an angel. My cousin got the most lashes from our folks. She’d cry the night out but she’d tell me she’d do it again just to punish the punisher. I was always scared for her as well as in awe. How audacious can a woman be in front of men who held the whip? She sailed over a different sea, and our folks understood this quite late; then they gave up on her. That meant I became the scapegoat and was married off to a complete stranger.My sister calls me pretty and I can never understand this concept of beauty. She says it’s because of my skin, but I seldom go out. I rarely speak to my neighbours. My hair was always thick and long, and since my husband disapproves of cutting the length, I feel my head is getting bald because of the weight of my hair that I keep tied up tightly in a bun.Lately though, I have this strange craving for meat thanks to my new neighbour. His kitchen is right adjacent to my balcony. Uncle Rustom, an old retired musician lived there before he passed away last winter. Of what I heard, he was a divorcee and had a son from his second marriage which was also a failure. He never tried again but I came to know he had quite a colourful life. I haven’t seen his son, but I can smell the delicious food out of his kitchen. The spices that he uses are not for vegetables. The smell of roasted flesh lingers in the air. I burn incense sticks to clear the smell before my husband accuses me of consuming meat. At first, I held my breath. For even breathing the smell was like blasphemy but as the days proceeded, I could feel myself become engulfed with this craving for the forbidden. Thank God, he cooks only in the afternoon. At night, I presume he drinks.

There is the occasional smell of smoke too. My husband commented upon this habit very harshly. I believe people who never commit themselves to such habits are entitled to project judgement that fits them. Like some non smokers commenting against smokers… while there is some self-righteousness in the act of not smoking but gossip, that I believe is another habit, veiled but a lot more dangerous than nicotine. Lately I have felt pity over people whom my husband dislikes, with or without reason. I cannot remember when we last spoke. He comes home rather tired, the misery all writ on his face. I found movie tickets inside his pocket one day, though he disapproves of the cinema. I do not ask him things that he likes to conceal. He slapped me once when I questioned him about his gambling habits. That was some three years ago. I packed my bags that very night and left for home. Little did I know my family had sold me to this new relation. My father retorted and told me to return. My husband then came home where I apologised for being slapped. My father nearly went down on his knees. I cried that day as I realised how some people can make you feel wretched without your consent. I felt completely helpless and miserable as tears betrayed me. Since then, my husband has not been cordial but cold to me. He likes to sleep naked in bed yet we never touch each other. Our bedroom is a kingdom portioned; partitioned between two tigers. My sister came to visit me with her new beau this afternoon. She likes younger men. She tells me older men are serious about relationships and they have certain expectations. The younger ones just want fun like she does. She tells me there are however different breeds of old men who feed on younger naive girls. Some relationships like theirs are symbiotic according to her. Well, who am I to judge! I just listen and nod in surprise. I knew she would ask me again as she does every time she visits, “Any good news?” I was so frustrated this time I didn’t even think twice about the visitor and blurted out in nervous laughter, “Can I download babies from the computer these days?”A brief silence ensued only to be broken by her young beau’s sniggering. She looked at me with sad eyes and motioned for the kitchen. “Tell me if your husband has been kind to your needs,” she whispered as we entered my kingdom. I never realised the lights were dim in the room. With the two of us inside my cosy kitchen wall, it felt congested. My silence gave my secret away. “When was the last time you…” I could feel the heat rising up my cheeks as I blushed, “I am happy with him, can’t you see?” I lied with a smile. “I have a home, a husband, and my kitchen. So what if I can’t bear children! He is a good man.”“I believe he is a good man. I didn’t mean to disagree with your statement; all I am asking is if you are happy. I could never tell even as kids how you could endure everything in silence. I pray you are living a happy life,” said she.No one had ever asked me before if I were happy. Everyone I’ve met has asked me if I am doing well which is quite different from being asked if I am happy.My parents only ask me if my husband is happy. I was lost and stood speechless and stumped at her question. She held my hand and pulled out a piece of clothing from her bag.“Here’s something to keep you happy.” She handed it to me with a smile.She keeps on bringing gifts for me and every time it’s so extravagant, I feel the weight of her charity. It was laced lingerie.My jaw dropped as she winked at me. “Something to keep you occupied.”We both giggled and I couldn’t help but feel like a teenager reading a Mills and Boons novel for the first time. My new neighbour started his daily afternoon routine.My cousin was impressed by his culinary skills. She had been an outcast in a Brahmin family long before she tried her adventures with red meat. She had the nerve to peek at the new neighbour whom I had been avoiding since early spring. The fair gentleman was cooking his afternoon meal stark naked. His protruding belly covering his crotch as he waved at us when he saw us staring. I fell back and hid while she waved back boldly. He had a beautiful smile despite what she said. He looked like he was in his mid forties. The hair at his side burn was ripe and white. There was something in his tan facial features and his confidence that was charismatic. He wasn’t ashamed of his nakedness.My sister laughed at him few seconds later and said that it was a very ugly sight. I felt sorry for him. I pitied him. At that moment I felt my sister and my husband belonged to the same species of human race with their judgements. Though people like them are free and opinionated, they seem somewhat bothered when others display their freedom. And I did what I do most of the time; I kept quiet and guarded my peace with silence.That evening I wore the lingerie and felt as if two hands were groping my breasts. It was wishful thinking for my husband to notice me. He came late that evening, took a bath and prayed for twenty minutes. Ate his dinner without complaining, flipped through different channels and sat quietly for an hour listening religiously to the news and retired to bed.I made an effort that night. I talked, “How was your day?” My hand was inches away from his head. He had his back towards me, and I could feel the hatred oozing from his body.“I have to wake up early tomorrow. Let me sleep.” He replied.I didn’t feel sad. I felt nothing. The new lingerie was now suffocating me. I freed myself of its misery. I kept the piece of cloth inside my trunk where I kept all the gifts my cousin brought. There were denim jeans, red lipsticks and eye shadows. I used to wear them in the afternoon in front of the mirror. The lingerie was a bit too extreme. Late that night, I dreamt of my new neighbour. His smile melting my heart, I woke up disturbed in perspiration. My husband asked me if I had a fever. He was genuinely concerned. I told him it was a nightmare. He blamed my sister’s visit. I reluctantly agreed. That afternoon after my daily chores, I undressed myself in front of the mirror and wore this new piece of forbidden possession. I never felt so pretty in minimum clothing. I wore the lipstick and the eye shadow. I let my hair open and stood there staring at my beautiful body. It was a powerful revelation. It rained that late afternoon.Summer in my city is usually wet. Something came down on me like I was possessed by some spirit. There was music in the way the rain rattled down upon my roof. I danced along its rhythm with eyes shut. I was aware of the minimum clothing I was wearing but I could care less, not knowing the window was open and my new neighbour could clearly see me. It was after half an hour when the wind turned unpleasantly cold and I drew my arms closer to my chest. I heard applause.My new neighbour was in his white linen with a cigarette between his lips. He had a calm smile on his face. He was clapping for me. I was mortified at this. I forgot to burn the incense that evening. Fortunately the rain had removed the stench. My husband’s routine followed. My mind had drifted, though the smell wasn’t in the air, I felt an uneasy craving for the roasted meat. The cinnamon and cardamom spices he usually prepared with meat had a lasting effect even after the rain. I had a sleepless night as I wondered how the dish would taste.The following morning, I couldn’t make myself step in front of the balcony. I waited for the aroma, the commotion in his kitchen and the beating of spatula on the cooker. The pressure cooker whistled numerous times that afternoon as if teasing me, my mouth watered as I got a strong whiff. I heard a noise at the balcony. I sneaked a peek and saw his kitchen window was shut. There was a steel plate at the railing with a note. I ran towards it.There were few words scribbled on it.“I cooked little extra today. I am not a good cook like you but here is your share, your portion.I hope you’ll like it.P.S. Your secret is safe with him.” My heart fluttered like never before. I felt as if I was floating in the air. I was too afraid to enter the kitchen but I did.The portion of meat on the plate called me from its thick gravy. I devoured every flesh down to the bone. It was the worst because it then ignited a fire as I was left wanting for more. That night my husband praised me at the dinner table.“Did you add anything today?” he asked. I told him it was a new masala in the market. He knew not that I had violated him with the food my neighbor had gifted me that very afternoon. He cleaned his plate not knowing the secret ingredient which was indeed the residual gravy. Though he never enters my kitchen, I have kept the mutton bones wrapped in paper. The steel plate too is carefully covered in paper amongst the fragile ceramic.The note is tucked between my breasts inside my brassiere; my husband will never know about this secret, that I am sure. Yet I cannot shake off this feeling. I am full today, yet I feel a yearning. For days I felt this hunger, for a Brahmin who never tasted meat, I got my portion and god forgive me I liked the taste of it. What’s worse than hiding this secret is my greed. I keep wanting it more than before. I had a strange dream. I am embarrassed now. I cannot disclose it. Hush!Kate Sarah
24.03. 2020