Betty's Umbrella

It was graduation ceremony and even though they got out on time it seemed like they were getting late for the gathering. All the girls from her hostel wore the most propitious clothes. Even the ugly ones wore nice clothes and added many different colors to their face. The short girl with yellow top looked sick while the larger ones were bright and presentable in a strange manner or so it seemed to Betty who also did her best to look good. Lip-stick was not favorable as she thought it accentuated her buck teeth which she always tried hard to conceal using a weird expression which gave her permanent stretch marks and a forlorn expression. It made her appear more lost and friendless than she actually was but it made her look prettier than she thought herself to be.

They met the boys near the large tree next to the bus park and instantly Betty was lost in the crowd. Her tall friend screamed with excitement as she met her fat friend.The loud talks and sighs of ecstasies with occasional expressions of " no da macha" seemed to put her behind a curtain. The curtain was woven out of her own intellect where she knew she was better than the others and from a terrible sense of inferiority derived from her thorough understanding of self. 

The big city was a retreat, an escape, a feeble attempt to rediscover herself as she wanted to. She did not belong there and she knew it. Betty considered herself to be well read and arrogant. She always thought of herself as the more radical one, the extremist and she chose to hang out with a loud and obnoxious crowd. This was in part due to her desire to stay visible and in doing so, the one whom she chose to like was all very wrong for everyone. She did not approve of his behavior either, but still she liked his rebellious streak. She even realized that underneath all that immature display of machismo he might be a meek idiot but the streak of rebellion was what turned her on. Sanity was never her companion.

Her college in the big city was bustling with life… the change of pace was visible in the daily traffic and even the weather which was hotter and sunnier like her home town down south. However, unlike in her townish village, it was cool to be hip and speak English in the big city.

Boys were better dressed. Even the ones from her place wore trendy clothes and some spotted a beard to cover those chubby cheeks. This made them feel new and acceptable as they tried to shed their image of being pretentious, sex starved, hypocrites which they still were.


There was someone from her village she used to like. He studied in the big city before her and spotted a beard when he came back for Christmas. This time they made out at his place, full of fondling and sweet awkwardness. He had since  moved on from ill fitting pants to T-shirt and jeans and on the next Christmas , he fondled her at an internet café at their townish village. On the following Christmas, he ditched her after they had sex. Since he thought it was not right and god would punish them and most of all, he “wanted to move on in life.” He wanted to settle down. ‘That kid was only 22’, thought Betty all of eighteen. This Christmas was his wedding and Betty was 22.

Betty had since hated the many men from her town though they were always revered by elders for how good they were. Why were they the nice ones when they slapped her when she was ten, abused her when she was fourteen, ridiculed her when she was sixteen and abandoned her when she was eighteen.

The celebrations were loud and boring and the crowd showed more excitement than they could muster. It was a sad day for all the messy couples and dear friends were upset about parting ways. Few tears were shed. The younger ones appreciated them elders who had an year back given them many sleepless nights and nightmares. The elders revered their teachers whom they ridiculed for being incompetent six months back and those teachers in turn praised all those students some of whom they had failed few days back and some of whom they hated with all their hearts. So after a whole evening was lost with everyone praising everyone else, they headed for the pub where they discussed about politics, counter culture, moral policing and call centers. All very relevant topics. A few tried to dance while few tried to persuade others to dance which made it uglier and as night grew late they all parted ways after more hugs, tears, bad singing of old songs to celebrate those old times and several sincere promises to stay in touch. 

Betty slipped out of the pub along with her friends. She did not cry but she did laugh harder than usual at all the fun bits. Few of them told Betty how much they would miss her. Betty smiled as usual. She would not miss any of them.

On the cab she thought hard about it and could not find anything that she would miss. She was not upset or emotional, she would not even miss her rebellious friend. She did not miss her folks while she was here, she did not miss anyone. She did not feel upset about not seeing her friends, the ones with her in the cab, anymore. She thought hard and thought she did not like anyone to start with. That cannot be true. She liked them all dearly but she was still not sad. She liked the big city and the college and all the life she had there. Now that was about to be over and she was still not upset about it which seemed weird. 

She reached the hostel and those thoughts were still with her while she took a shower. As she lay in her bed she hugged a stained orange pillow and without the slightest thought she began to cry. She did not think of anything or anyone as tears rolled down her cheek. The unpleasant smell from the pillow felt strangely comforting. It felt so comforting that this ugly orange pillow was more beloved to her then than anyone she had ever met. If someone were to take that pillow from her she would be devastated.

Still lying awake, Betty felt the weight of the ugly pillow against her head. It seemed to weigh hard on her... it weighed on her conscience. She felt young and innocent as she closed her eyes and and  through a thin veil of tears she thought she could see all the clarity and purpose of an adult.

The highway story

It was Aslam who suggested that they drink at his place and between them, they had finished a bottle of Honeybee. Marcos realized that it had rained only after he noticed large puddles outside the house. He did not know when it started to rain but he knew that it had rained for a long time. The rain had stopped for a while and Marcos scrambled to his car in a hurry.

It was raining again by the time he got into his car and the old Fiat had a reputation for letting him down whenever it was wet. Nevertheless, the small diesel splurged to life on the second attempt and Marcos was on his way home. The sudden realization of rain had taken off some of the pleasure from the brandy.

The drive home was slow and boring. He was familiar with this road and the mundane job of avoiding potholes  made him crave for a cigarette. It was only after he opened the case that he realized he was out of cigarettes and all the shops along the highway were closed by then. The only shop that stayed open at this time was the one next to the railway crossing. Marcos hoped that it would be open. He tried to speed up a bit, but the lashing rain made it difficult for him to see outside.

Almost six kilometers down the road, he saw this lady standing by the roadside. She was carrying what seems like a child. She was looking at Marcos and she seemed to walk towards the road... and towards the car. It was absurd and scary. As the car approached, she stretched her hands towards the car and Marcos saw her clearly, her face, that face... it was just a face, there were no prominent features, devoid of any expression and well lit in the dark rainy night.

The sight alone sent a shiver down his spine and his legs were numb. He did not stop the car. He did not even think about stopping the car. On passing them, he tried to glance at the rear view mirror and yet, he could not dare himself to do that. Every sense of exuberation was sucked out of him in that instant. Even the smell of brandy had disappeared from his mouth. He could use a cigarette now but he did not have any. Even if he had, he would not have lit it up. For the next four kilometers, Marcos held on to the wheels. He even tried to pray; oh God, oh God, he said and started with "our father in heaven..." he did not know the entire prayer and fell silent, Fear had crept into him. Again he tried to recite Hail Mary, which too, he could not complete. He tried to assure himself that he was hallucinating. May be it was the drinks, he thought to himself, but it was so clear and that face. It was as though there was no face, or there was no person. He saw a lady, with a child, but he could not figure out how they looked. Her eyes, her mouth… yes she had them but it was more like a shadow in his memory, like a mannequin.

Without even realizing, Marcos had slowed the car and downshifted to negotiate the sharp right turn towards the coastal road which led to his house. The approach road to the narrow bridge was broken and the car skidded around a bit as he crossed the bridge at a high speed. Two minutes later he saw the closed railway gate. He looked towards the tea shop. They had closed early. His eyes scanned at the tea shop expecting to see light inside. He had done that before. Once when he was completely drunk and needed a smoke, in desperation he knocked on their door at two in the morning and bought a packet of cigarette for twice the price. But now he did not want to get out from the car, for fear, and he did not want to buy cigarettes either. His just wished to see someone there.

As the car stopped in front of the level crossing, the rear door opened and the lady with the child walked out of the car. The sound of the door being unlocked had sent a shock over Marcos as his heart cringed. The distinct sight of the lady getting off from the car and shutting the door made him pale as his blood froze. Marcos kept looking ahead and out of a corner of his eye, saw her closing the door behind and walking towards the narrow road adjacent to the railway track.

There was no other noise except Marcos’ own as he kept whispering to himself; oh god, oh god help me, some one please help me. But there was no one else around and Marcos had to wait for the train. That was when he thought about the gang man. He could be somewhere near by, on his small building, just behind the tea shop near the track.

But Marcos was too frightened to get out. He kept quivering as he clenching his fist against the steering wheel which gave him some comfort. His throat felt heavy and the tiny noises he made failed to reach his mouth which felt dry and cold. He felt tears rush to his eyes as he sobbed and shook himself in tears. Fear had crippled his sense of sanity. Marcos kept pressing on the accelerator pedal in a rhythmic manner until he heard the train.

The siren from the train somewhat shook him, but it was a sign of relief. As the train approached, Marcos sobbed louder and louder, almost screaming to himself as the train passed the railway gate. The old gang man came out and opened the gate and Marcos drove the car across the bumpy railway track as fast as he could.

It took him another five minutes to reach home. It was usual for him to open the gate himself since he always got home late. But tonight he sounded the horn even before he reached the gate. But the lights were off and every one at home seemed to be asleep. He rushed out of the car in anger and frustration and pushed open the rusty old gate. After parking the car, he rushed towards the door fumbling with the keys before rushing back to close the gate. He did not lock the gate that night and ran back towards the door as though the devil was after him.

Once he was inside, he felt some peace. He could hear the noise of his wife snoring loudly which felt comforting. As he turned he saw the picture of Christ, behind the large candle stand and half burned agarbathy, garnished with several garlands and electric lamps in different colours. He promptly drew the cross and thanked the lord for getting him home safely.

Rushing into the bedroom, he saw his wife, snoring loudly and his little girl, Alice, cuddled up next to her. He tried to wake her up. He needed someone to talk to at the time. Renu did not wake up and Marcos tried to find himself some place beside her.

As he closed his eyes, those thoughts rushed back to him and he saw the featureless face of the lady again. He opened his eyes and realized that he needed water. His throat was sore and it started to hurt. He got up and walked to the kitchen. There was a foul stench all around. He opened the refrigerator and took a bottle of ice cold water. As he drank the water, he saw the fish tank. All the fish were dead and were floating on the water, which caused the stench. All of the sudden, fear gripped him once again and he tripped his way to the bedroom.

As he lay next to his wife, he realized that he was starting to sleep, tired from all the ordeals of that night. Yet the thought of the highway incident and the dead fish haunted him. He thought about the lady and that featureless face. All of the sudden, she gained a face and it became clear as he dosed of into a dream, the  lady resembled his wife, no... It was his wife. He realized that he was dreaming. It was the bad sought of dream where you know you were in a bad plot but you cannot snap out of it. The face, as it became his wife’s, crawled on to him and kissed him passionately on his forehead. Then it started to strangle him, with a pleasing face. Marcos tried to push her aside with all his strength. He could not.

The agonizing cruelty of the dream had just begun. What seemed like hours of trauma were made up of strange yet vivid visuals of his wife strangling him over and over again.  He tried to push her aside, but he could not lift his arms. After a while a little child crawled up to his bed. With sick eyes the little child started to bite on Marcos’ belly. As she bit harder and harder it began to hurt until it started to bleed. Marcos could see the blood. As the little girl bit deeper and deeper into his stomach, the gory sight and the numbing pain... all felt real.

Then there were shadows. Of trees, of the old slaughter-home down the road, the old municipal building and the lamp post near which he had seen the lady with the child. He was thirsty again, but he could not walk up to the refrigerator. He though he was going to die of thirst. Thirst became a prominent part of that cruel dream. Finally, he summoned all his strength and walked to the kitchen. The stench from the dead gold fish was even stronger and as he opened the refrigerator, he saw his little girl, inside the refrigerator. He woke up scared and sweating in a state of fret.

It was nine in the morning. His wife came into the room and asked him what time he came in last night. Said she had a sound sleep and told him about the dead fish. Marcos looked out of the window and saw little Ancy playing outside. He felt relieved and wanted to tell her about the strange incident and the ugly dream. But he thought it was better not to discuss the incident at all.