Her Garden

Exotic. Erotic. Orgasmic. The garden she had nurtured right after marriage was her comfort and escape from despair. Gowri’s secret recourse gave her the space and freedom to be creative, to breathe, to love and find love. She had discovered the cosy nook on her wedding night, her ‘first night’. “So you think you are beautiful?’’, Srinath glared at her. His stale, putridly liquor-flavoured breathe paralysed Gowri. The 18-year-old fresh with dreams. Beautiful with her passion, hidden by her garb of shyness. Srinath, ten years her senior, had merely pumped in his manliness, tearing away her innocence.

The tall, fair, handsome Nair boy failed to be enchanted by her long, thick, black hair. Her fragrant, lissom, luscious body meant a mere thing to be seen, felt and entered into every night, every single night. He never once responded to Gowri’s gleaming, expectant eyes. Never once let her feel the thrill of oneness. Never once let her experience the joy of being a woman. Only sharp taunts raced through her heart.

And then, some day, Gowri had turned herself into a tough poker-faced rock. Not to strike but to stay put. She had her garden. When Srinath stumbled into the house after work downing long rounds of brandy and whisky, Gowri lost herself in the enchanting smell of her jasmine shrubs and the rich feel of her red hibiscus. “I know you flirted with that Shankar this evening”, Srinath casually teased her with a sneer. The soothing kuckoo song from her carefully tended trees rang in her ears. Masculine prowess. Ugly stubble-face with nauseating spittle at the corner of his raging lips. The tender early-monsoon breeze tantalised her. Gowri insulated herself from all emotional onslaughts in her never-ending married life. Twenty six years already seemed long enough for her strong will. “He is a heartless retard”, she had confided in a rare candid moment to her sister.

Every night she had let ‘her man’ into her beautiful haven. After the limp show in her bedroom. These passionate encounters saved her from the unthinkable. Still chaste and still unblamable. But Gowri had her share of fulfilment as a coy lover, loving daughter and a respected lady of the community. Long hours spent with adoring friends, caring aunts, uncles and cousins, witty chats with friendly neighbours, grand celebrations, expensive shopping sprees, happy vacations, loving hugs and passionate kisses. Her garden gave her absolute privacy from Srinath’s prying eyes.

And then, some day, she conceived. A newfound purpose strengthened her and gifted her a road to hope and life. Priya’s first cry. Priya’s frist poopy. Priya’s first smile. Her first tooth. Her first steps. Her first words. Priya’s fussings. Priya’s prittle-prattle. Her little world was a blessed heaven of softness, unsullied love and laughter, where Gowri lived a gratifying life of a doting mother. But Srinath only hollered like a stricken soul, “She will always be a liability”. Angry glares, insults, endless doubts, worthless conversations, disgusting lust, damning restrictions and lame excuses. And liquor. Srinath continued living in his empty world.

 However children are no permanent solutions to one’s heartache. Some day, Priya found love. Twenty five years into the world, she was captivated by the power of a man’s love. The buxom, brilliant and haughty girl had always argued that love and romance were simply strong crutches for the Indian film industry. But Ray’s magic worked. “Ma, he is a Christian Catholic”, she had informed Gowri, teary-eyed and heavy-hearted. “Why do this to me?” Gowri had protested.

  

Hurt. Pain. She started feeling these again. Emotions she had once learnt to deflect by being blind, deaf and mute. The day Priya was christened Princy Ray, Gowri’s house was filled with the overwhelming smell of liquor and the salty flavour of tears.

Thank the Gods, they had blessed Gowri with a heart that no one could trespass upon. She continued to cook, clean, wash, iron, eat and sleep in her empty house. But Gowri lived happily in her garden. Her Garden of thoughts and dreams. Today she is writing a story of a happy couple. Tomorrow she plans to go to Coorg with her man. She might invite Priya too...A weak smile dances on her lips, as she sleeps next to her snoring boozed husband.