By Sumitra Singam
Every month, as if an act of penitence, Shunya hunches over the kitchen counter, but subtly, so her mother-in-law doesn’t notice. Her crotch never feels fully clean for those four days—always sticky. Sister-in-law comes, leading with her belly, swollen with purpose. Mother-in-law fusses, demands jilebi, garam pani. “For my only grandchild,” she says, waspish. Shunya sucks her teeth, tucks her uncoiling need into her trim, flat, waistband. She rolls out rotis, slapping them hard on the smoking tava. The heat sears brown scars onto the desiccated dough. The women devour them, giving her the empty vessel to scrub clean.
I could feel the frustration and resentment very clearly in these few words! I thought this piece was excellent.
Very powerful. Your theme is clear in the title, and it builds throughout. The protagonist’s resentment is palpable.
Poor Shunya. I have a feeling you could write a book on her. And I would read it.
Really beautiful. A lovely extended metaphor of scalding pain and emptiness!
That’s a great story from either sides point of view,
Love this line…Shunya sucks her teeth, tucks her uncoiling need into her trim, flat, waistband.
Subtle and overt pressure, poignantly captured – thanks for gathering us up within Shunya’s disempowered journey!