Oblivious

It's one of those nights when she's alone again. She does it by choice. It's when sadness doesn't even show anymore because it seeps in so deep. The depth of her, which she's forgotten to unfurl now. Sometimes, she wonders which part of her it is that all the sadness finds refuge in. Where does it all hide? She wants to undo herself layer by layer, bring it all out- put it in the sun, let it soak so much sun in that the moisture is gone. But she can't find the place she first hid it in and then it just seeped right in.

In the quiet of her apartment, she becomes a face without expressions. The sadness drains from her face into her insides and the crescent moon of lips is pulled into parallel lines. It's just the distant humming of an engine running on the Ring Road, the inverter ticking somewhere and the pariah dogs barking. Sometimes, they howl and she wonders if the puppy she left behind sometimes weeps too, for her. And there's a teardrop in her eye, pricking the lids. But even that is no expression- just a drop plopping on her thigh. Her face becomes blank on nights like these.

Dad says he fears the solitude of her apartment because she has no one to turn to in emergency. Not even to take her to hospital. Mom says she worries she would get stalked, assaulted. And she thinks how different cares are for men and women. For women, security is still sexuality. When a woman walks the streets alone, she first fears that a man will touch her body- later her purse. A man probably thinks of both at the same time. How come she never thought of asking a man the question before?

Her cup of Horlicks Light has gone chilled while she debates the question in the silence of her brain.