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Monday, July 03, 2006
The Honeyseller
Short Story by RANJIT SINHA ROY
Gopal got off the dirt road and went down the grassy slope to the sandy riverbank. His recently painted blue green boat, chained and locked to a large leafy tree by the river, was quietly swaying in gentle waves.
Gopal was a honey seller. Once a week he would sail to the mangrove forest at the mouth of the river, purchase honey from the collectors and sell to regular buyers in town. In season, he would sell mango fruits from his garden and medicinal herbs gathered from the forest. But selling honey was his main business. Last year he made a good profit and added one nine feet by five feet wooden cabin to the boat. It had a front and rear door and two small windows on two sides. His was the only boat in the village with a cabin and he was proud of it.
The river had turned from gray blue in the afternoon to inky black now and the boat was almost invisible in the dark. There was no other boat nearby except few vacant fishing boats moored a little away. Gopal threw the empty wicker basket on the boat, washed his hands, face and feet and climbed up. The cool river breeze was pleasant.
Gopal felt hungry and took out a small packet of peanut from pocket. Removing the shirt he sat wearing only a white sleeveless vest and dhoti (male dress in rural India) pulled up to knees. He slowly munched peanuts and enjoyed the river breeze.
It was a busy day for him. He moved around the market carrying the basket loaded with jars of honey. Buyers knew his product was unadulterated and straight from the forest. By evening his stock was sold and he made a good profit. Gopal was happy but tired.
He was dark, with a strong muscular body. Round faced with a sharp nose and large eyes, he was a handsome young man. Sitting alone he thought of his mother in the village. At twenty-five Gopal had none else. Mother kept on insisting him to get married, but he did not agree. What was the point in marrying when most days he would be busy collecting and selling honey? Mother said that his wife could also go along in the boat. Gopal laughed.
There were few fishermen’s huts across the dirt road. He could hear a woman shouting at her drunken husband. A child continued to cry loud and a dog kept on barking. Two persons talked in the dark. An old woman continued to curse her daughter-in-law, when someone, probably her son, shouted at her and she stopped. Lantern in hand two persons went by the dirt road. One cyclist pedaled away in his creaking bike. The child stopped crying. The dog barked intermittently.
Putting the basket on the roof Gopal unlocked the cabin door and hung his shirt on to a hook. He lighted the lamp, checked the quantity of prepared rice and curry, left after lunch. He was satisfied that they did not get stale and the amount was sufficient for dinner. After taking peanuts he was not hungry now. He took a glass of water, dimmed the lamp, took the flute from shelf and sat outside leaning on the cabin wall.
By then the moon had risen behind the dark villages in the opposite bank. A silvery path from the moon was shivering on the river. A flock of birds flew along the river and disappeared in the stars. It was now silent except for the breeze murmuring in the leaves above. Gopal played flute.
He played the tune what boatmen sing while sailing alone on wide rivers. The sad and sweet melody spread over the trees, crossed the fields, floated on the waves and swam along the glimmering silver path to the moon.
Gopal played well. It came naturally to him. He was absorbed playing the flute and forgot all other things.
By then the moon had risen further up and leaves of the tree above were glistening and cast shadowy patterns on the boat. A bird on a branch cooed and flapped wings. After playing a long time Gopal put the flute down and watched the nature around soaked in silvery moonlight. Small sparkling waves slapped on the side of the lonely boat.
He got up and went inside the cabin. Keeping the flute on rack he opened the rear door and went out. Then he saw the large maroon bundle in a dark corner of the boat.
Afraid, Gopal thought it was a wild animal, crouching and ready to pounce on him. He took the oar and holding it high, shooed to drive away the animal. But instead a young girl in maroon saree (women’ wear) stood up, holding hands in front for protection. With the moon behind, her face was not clearly visible. He put the oar down, and suspicious of her, asked,
“What are you doing here? You are a thief, came here to steal. Isn’t so? Tell me the truth; otherwise I shall throw you in the river.”
“No, no, please believe me, I am not a thief. I hid here to protect myself. I thought the boat would be a safe place. Please do not drive me away.” She started sobbing.
“Protection from what?” Gopal was doubtful.
“From my maternal uncle.”
“What!”
“Yes, I am telling the truth.”
She narrated that her parents were no more. As there was no one else, she stayed with her maternal uncle. She did all the household work, slogged from early morning till night. In return she was given food, shelter and some cheap discarded clothes. Uncle’s wife was also very ill behaving and never allowed her to rest, except at night.
Her uncle was a farmer and spent evenings in the liquor shop. There one elderly drunkard proposed to marry her. That man offered a good amount and her uncle readily agreed. The marriage was fixed next week, but she would rather kill herself than to marry the old lecher. That evening when her uncle went to liquor shop, she quietly ran away, hid behind some bushes by the river and climbed up the boat when dark. They must be searching for her now.
Gopal keenly watched her tear soaked face and wanted to believe what she told. He said,
“Let us go inside and talk. We can be seen from the road.”
In the cabin they sat facing each other. Gopal raised the lamp wick and looked at her. The girl was about twenty. She looked pretty, despite disheveled hair, unwashed face and tear marks on her cheeks. No wonder the old drunkard wanted to marry her. With large eyes and trembling lips she was anxiously looking at him. Worry and uncertainty showing on her face.
Gopal watched her intently. He wanted to know the truth. After a minute she lowered her tear filled begging eyes. She looked so innocent and hapless. Gopal assumed that she was not lying.
“What is your name?” Gopal asked.
She raised her wet and dark eyelashes,
“Malati.”
“Listen Malati, it is too late now. Tomorrow early morning you leave the boat and go back to your uncle. It is risky for me to allow you here. Have you understood what I said?” He maintained his voice stern.
Malati looked at him for few seconds. Gopal felt uneasy. Then she said in a firm voice,
“In that case I shall have no alternative but to commit suicide. I shall never go back to my uncle."
Gopal watched her resolute face. She seemed to be determined of what she said. Gopal did not know what to do. He thought for a while, then said,
“Alright you remain here. Tomorrow before sunrise, we shall sail downstream to my village. With favorable wind and tide we may reach in about four hours. Let my mother decide then.”
For the first time Malati smiled.
“You are very kind.” She said.
Gopal enquired if she was hungry and she said that she was not, Gopal said,
“You spent the evening without food and now you say that you are not hungry. Do not create more trouble for me. Enough is enough.”
Malati feebly asked,
“What shall we take? Do you have sufficient for both?”
“You need not worry.” He showed her the pots, plates and the water jug. Malati washed her face, hands and feet in river water. Refreshed, she served food and took lesser quantity for herself. When Gopal asked her to take more, she did not protest.
After dinner, Gopal took a mat and spread it outside on the front platform. He took the clothes bag from the rack as also a thin bed-sheet. Then remembering that he kept all the money in shirt pocket, he took it out of the hook and folding, put inside the bag. He could not trust her.
Gopal asked her to unroll the bed with pillow and sleep inside the cabin. He opened the riverside window and gave her a light bed-sheet to cover. He always kept certain things extra for emergency. He bolted the rear door, dimmed the lamp and hung it onto a hook. Afraid to help or suggest anything, Malati watched him silently.
Before going out he said,
“You bolt the front door from inside. If you need, you may go to the rear of the boat, but do not open the front door. I shall be sleeping outside. Now you lie down and try to sleep. We are to start early.”
He then added,
“You are free to go away whenever you want. Only tell me before you leave. But remember one thing, if you go, you go for ever, and there will be no return.” He went out.
Malati swallowed once and nodded. ‘What a rude person!’ She thought ‘No softness.’
She lied down, covered herself and looking at the moon through the open window, did not know when she fell asleep.
Gopal put the cloth bag under his head and tried to sleep. Pretty face of Malati floated before his eyes. An attractive young girl was available so near. But Gopal felt only pity for her. Miserable poor girl.
He was tired. Breeze was cool and it was silent all around. Small white patches of clouds floated over the moon. Leaves murmured in the light breeze. In the distance a herd of jackals cried in chorus. An owl hooted in the branch. Bathed in the silvery moonlight, he fell asleep and woke when the eastern sky was getting pale.
Gopal got up. It was cold. He took out the shirt from the bag and after wearing knocked on the bolted cabin door. Malati responded and opened with sleepy eyes. In the semi darkness she looked more attractive. Staring at her for few seconds, he said,
“It is time to start.”
He erected the sail mast and Malati took the mat and other things in. She rolled her bed and arranged the things neatly. When she came out in the open, Gopal asked her to stay inside, till he called. He did not want her to be seen by anyone.
He unchained the boat and rowed it to mid-river. He adjusted and tied the sail ropes and the boat surged forward. Holding the radar he called Malati to come out. Smiling she sat on the edge, dangling legs on water and watching the passing shoreline. Afraid that she may fall, Gopal asked her to sit carefully.
The sun rose and there was the pink glow on her soft innocent face. She looked beautiful and unreal as if she did not belong to this earth. Enchanted, Gopal watched her ethereal face.
Now the sun had risen further and the night mists over the river were slowly disappearing. Few boats sailed by and stationary fishing boats swayed in the waves. Fishermen cast nets in deep water and the silvery catch jumped in the net when raised. Birds circled above hoping to get one or two of them. Dolphins played somersault. On the banks, people took bath, boys jumped and swam and women washed clothes. Wide-eyed Malati was absorbed in watching. She never had a chance to sail on the river. Nobody ever took her out on a boat.
Gopal felt hungry, but did not want to distract her. Sometime later, when Malati turned her face towards him, he asked her to get the small plastic bag of puffed rice and some jaggery (unrefined sugar lump) from inside the cabin. She served in two aluminum bowls and gave him one. She also brought a glass of water for him. After the simple breakfast he felt refreshed and smiled at her. That was the first time Malati saw him smiling. ‘He may not be that rude’ she thought.
Malati sat with arms around her folded knees, resting the chin on them and gazing at where the river met the horizon. She had a far away look and seemed not to belong to this world. Without her knowing, Gopal frequently glanced at her. She fascinated him.
She sighed and turning to him asked,
“Beside mother, who else is there in your house?”
“Komli and her child.”
“Who are they?” Malati frowned.
Eyes twinkling, he replied with a mischievous smile,
“Some, whom you will shortly meet.”
“Are they your wife and son?”
“Our cow and the calf. I am not married”
Both had a hearty laugh.
They reached the village a couple of hours before noon. Gopal closed the cabin window, bolted the rear door, locked the front and chained the boat. He took the bedroll under one arm and few other items in the basket. Bag in hand; Malati followed him across the rice field, through the mango garden and rows of coconut trees by a large water pond. There were white and red Lily blossoms and Dragonflies circled over the calm water looking at their own reflections.
Mother was in kitchen. She was surprised to see a girl with Gopal. With bowed head Malati stood behind him. Asking her to wait, he took mother a little away. He narrated all the happenings of last night and at the end said that he was not in favor of giving permanent shelter to the girl. Nothing was known of her family, her character and whether she was honest or a cheat. She could be with them for a couple of days, but not more.
Mother listened without comments. Occasionally she glanced at Malati, standing bowed head in front of the kitchen, uncertain of her future, when he finished, she went out, put a hand on her shoulder and asked not to worry. Everything would be all right. Embracing mother, Malati wept. Never before anyone had showed any sympathy to her.
Taking Gopal aside mother told,
“I shall now make tea for you two. After tea you go to the market and get two sarees with other clothing, one towel, one bathing soap, one toothbrush, one hair washing soap, one comb and a small bottle of hair oil. Meantime I shall prepare lunch.”
Gopal was grumbling at the unnecessary expenses, when mother said,
“Look Gopal, don’t grumble. She is our guest and we should take care of her.”
Gopal did not say anything further and went to market after tea.
When he returned both women were in the kitchen. Mother at the oven and Malati peeling and cutting vegetables. Mother was telling her something and she listened smiling. When Gopal came and stood in front of the kitchen door, mother asked.
“Have you brought the items?”
“Yes.” Gopal said looking at Malati, but she kept on cutting vegetables.
Mother wanted to see the sarees and Gopal handed her the packet.
One was light blue with deeper blue large floral prints and the other, yellow with broad maroon stripes. Mother showed them to Malati,
“How do you like?”
She glanced at Gopal, smiled and said,
“Very beautiful. I never had a new saree, nobody gave me one.”
Mother and Gopal were struck by her simplicity.
It was noon by then. Kitchen work over, Malati lifted water from the well and took bath in the enclosure in one corner of the courtyard. Shy in wet clothes, making short steps and leaving wet footprints on her path, she went to mother’s room and closed the door. She was afraid that Gopal would see her. But he was nowhere around. He had gone to the water pond for bathing.
After lunch they took rest. Malati spread a mat in mother’s room and lied down. Mother took a nap. Malati remained awake and wondered what was waiting for her in future. Gopal in adjacent room was checking and noting the transactions of previous day.
In the evening, mother sat on a mat in the veranda behind Malati wearing the light blue saree with floral prints. Mother neatly combed her long silky hair and knit a thick braid. She asked Malati to wipe her face with a wet towel and get the mirror. Mother got a red bindi from somewhere and stuck it on her forehead. She also lined her eyes with kohl. Malati held the mirror up and was shy looking at her own pretty face.
Gopal had gone to play cards with his friends, but came back earlier than usual. He then saw Malati and stood with open admiration in eyes. She blushed pink and hid behind mother.
Night she slept with mother and woke up early. She swept the yard, brought out Komli from the shed, tied it to a tree and milked. She cleaned the cowshed and gave feed. By then mother walked the ducks to the pond. Malati picked eggs from the pen and kept in a basket. She took used utensils to a corner of the yard and offered leftovers to the dog, so long curled up in a corner of veranda. She brought back cleaned utensils to kitchen, lighted the oven and started preparing breakfast.
Mother had come back by then. She sat in the veranda smiling and watched her working. She wanted a daughter-in-law like Malati. But with Gopal absolutely against her, that was not to be. She sighed deeply. By then Gopal woke up and coming to veranda was surprised to see her sitting idle.
“Ma, you are not in the kitchen yet! Are you alright?”
“I am alright. Malati has asked me to take rest. She is doing everything with my permission.” She smiled indulgently. Then said after a pause,
“Gopal, why not you marry her. You seldom come across a charming girl like Malati. I always wished to have a daughter-in-law like her.”
“No Ma I can not. We know nothing about her. She may be pretty, but that is not all.”
“See Gopal, I am observing her since yesterday. While talking to her I learnt many things about her family. She is a nice girl and I can guarantee that she is not a thief or cheat or of bad character.”
“I know nothing of her background. What about her father?” Gopal asked.
“Her father was a farmer like yours. She has no brother or sister. Both her parents died within a short time. Her maternal uncle then grabbed whatever property was there and in the pretense of giving shelter, she was turned into a labor in his house. I gathered all the information while casually talking to her. She did not tell anything by herself.” Mother eagerly looked at Gopal.
“What about her religion and caste?” Gopal probed.
“She happens to belong to our own religion and caste. But you tell me one thing, does it really matter? Is there no cheat or fraud or dishonest person in our religion and caste? Are all the people in our community honest and decent?” Mother was impatient.
Gopal stood silent and thoughtful. After few minutes he said,
“No Ma, I can not agree. She is to return. I shall take her back now itself. Call her here.”
Malati was busy preparing breakfast in the kitchen. They could see her fair face red in the heat of oven. Mother was disappointed and felt very sad for her. She said,
“Not now. Let her have breakfast first,” then added,
“Gopal, you are committing a great mistake. You will repent later.”
But Gopal was adament.
Malati brought breakfast to veranda and served. Mother tasted and said that it was nicely prepared. Malati was very happy. She looked at Gopal and wondered if he also liked it. But Gopal was sullen and silent.
After breakfast Gopal cleared his throat and said in a grave voice,
“Look Malati, You can not stay here forever. I shall take you back. Get ready. We shall start in a few minutes.” His voice broke and he looked other way.
Malati was perplexed at the sudden development. Puzzled, she looked from one to the other, and then burst into tear. Mother stood up. Malati clung to mother and putting head on her shoulder wept aloud,
“Ma, I do not want to go. I shall remain with you. Please tell him. Please.”
“Nothing doing. You will come with me now.” Gopal was firm.
“In that case I shall jump in the river and kill myself. Let me see how you take me back.” Malati was resolute through her sobs.
Gopal stood dumb for sometime, looking at her shaking back. Then with a broad smile and sparkling eyes, he told mother,
“Ma, you talk to the priest and fix a date for our marriage.”
Mother was happy at the unexpected turn of things. But when Malati cried more loudly, Gopal said,
“See Ma, she does not want to marry me.”
Malati lifted her tear soaked smiling face and told through tears,
“Ma, your son does not understand women.”
Gopal got off the dirt road and went down the grassy slope to the sandy riverbank. His recently painted blue green boat, chained and locked to a large leafy tree by the river, was quietly swaying in gentle waves.
Gopal was a honey seller. Once a week he would sail to the mangrove forest at the mouth of the river, purchase honey from the collectors and sell to regular buyers in town. In season, he would sell mango fruits from his garden and medicinal herbs gathered from the forest. But selling honey was his main business. Last year he made a good profit and added one nine feet by five feet wooden cabin to the boat. It had a front and rear door and two small windows on two sides. His was the only boat in the village with a cabin and he was proud of it.
The river had turned from gray blue in the afternoon to inky black now and the boat was almost invisible in the dark. There was no other boat nearby except few vacant fishing boats moored a little away. Gopal threw the empty wicker basket on the boat, washed his hands, face and feet and climbed up. The cool river breeze was pleasant.
Gopal felt hungry and took out a small packet of peanut from pocket. Removing the shirt he sat wearing only a white sleeveless vest and dhoti (male dress in rural India) pulled up to knees. He slowly munched peanuts and enjoyed the river breeze.
It was a busy day for him. He moved around the market carrying the basket loaded with jars of honey. Buyers knew his product was unadulterated and straight from the forest. By evening his stock was sold and he made a good profit. Gopal was happy but tired.
He was dark, with a strong muscular body. Round faced with a sharp nose and large eyes, he was a handsome young man. Sitting alone he thought of his mother in the village. At twenty-five Gopal had none else. Mother kept on insisting him to get married, but he did not agree. What was the point in marrying when most days he would be busy collecting and selling honey? Mother said that his wife could also go along in the boat. Gopal laughed.
There were few fishermen’s huts across the dirt road. He could hear a woman shouting at her drunken husband. A child continued to cry loud and a dog kept on barking. Two persons talked in the dark. An old woman continued to curse her daughter-in-law, when someone, probably her son, shouted at her and she stopped. Lantern in hand two persons went by the dirt road. One cyclist pedaled away in his creaking bike. The child stopped crying. The dog barked intermittently.
Putting the basket on the roof Gopal unlocked the cabin door and hung his shirt on to a hook. He lighted the lamp, checked the quantity of prepared rice and curry, left after lunch. He was satisfied that they did not get stale and the amount was sufficient for dinner. After taking peanuts he was not hungry now. He took a glass of water, dimmed the lamp, took the flute from shelf and sat outside leaning on the cabin wall.
By then the moon had risen behind the dark villages in the opposite bank. A silvery path from the moon was shivering on the river. A flock of birds flew along the river and disappeared in the stars. It was now silent except for the breeze murmuring in the leaves above. Gopal played flute.
He played the tune what boatmen sing while sailing alone on wide rivers. The sad and sweet melody spread over the trees, crossed the fields, floated on the waves and swam along the glimmering silver path to the moon.
Gopal played well. It came naturally to him. He was absorbed playing the flute and forgot all other things.
By then the moon had risen further up and leaves of the tree above were glistening and cast shadowy patterns on the boat. A bird on a branch cooed and flapped wings. After playing a long time Gopal put the flute down and watched the nature around soaked in silvery moonlight. Small sparkling waves slapped on the side of the lonely boat.
He got up and went inside the cabin. Keeping the flute on rack he opened the rear door and went out. Then he saw the large maroon bundle in a dark corner of the boat.
Afraid, Gopal thought it was a wild animal, crouching and ready to pounce on him. He took the oar and holding it high, shooed to drive away the animal. But instead a young girl in maroon saree (women’ wear) stood up, holding hands in front for protection. With the moon behind, her face was not clearly visible. He put the oar down, and suspicious of her, asked,
“What are you doing here? You are a thief, came here to steal. Isn’t so? Tell me the truth; otherwise I shall throw you in the river.”
“No, no, please believe me, I am not a thief. I hid here to protect myself. I thought the boat would be a safe place. Please do not drive me away.” She started sobbing.
“Protection from what?” Gopal was doubtful.
“From my maternal uncle.”
“What!”
“Yes, I am telling the truth.”
She narrated that her parents were no more. As there was no one else, she stayed with her maternal uncle. She did all the household work, slogged from early morning till night. In return she was given food, shelter and some cheap discarded clothes. Uncle’s wife was also very ill behaving and never allowed her to rest, except at night.
Her uncle was a farmer and spent evenings in the liquor shop. There one elderly drunkard proposed to marry her. That man offered a good amount and her uncle readily agreed. The marriage was fixed next week, but she would rather kill herself than to marry the old lecher. That evening when her uncle went to liquor shop, she quietly ran away, hid behind some bushes by the river and climbed up the boat when dark. They must be searching for her now.
Gopal keenly watched her tear soaked face and wanted to believe what she told. He said,
“Let us go inside and talk. We can be seen from the road.”
In the cabin they sat facing each other. Gopal raised the lamp wick and looked at her. The girl was about twenty. She looked pretty, despite disheveled hair, unwashed face and tear marks on her cheeks. No wonder the old drunkard wanted to marry her. With large eyes and trembling lips she was anxiously looking at him. Worry and uncertainty showing on her face.
Gopal watched her intently. He wanted to know the truth. After a minute she lowered her tear filled begging eyes. She looked so innocent and hapless. Gopal assumed that she was not lying.
“What is your name?” Gopal asked.
She raised her wet and dark eyelashes,
“Malati.”
“Listen Malati, it is too late now. Tomorrow early morning you leave the boat and go back to your uncle. It is risky for me to allow you here. Have you understood what I said?” He maintained his voice stern.
Malati looked at him for few seconds. Gopal felt uneasy. Then she said in a firm voice,
“In that case I shall have no alternative but to commit suicide. I shall never go back to my uncle."
Gopal watched her resolute face. She seemed to be determined of what she said. Gopal did not know what to do. He thought for a while, then said,
“Alright you remain here. Tomorrow before sunrise, we shall sail downstream to my village. With favorable wind and tide we may reach in about four hours. Let my mother decide then.”
For the first time Malati smiled.
“You are very kind.” She said.
Gopal enquired if she was hungry and she said that she was not, Gopal said,
“You spent the evening without food and now you say that you are not hungry. Do not create more trouble for me. Enough is enough.”
Malati feebly asked,
“What shall we take? Do you have sufficient for both?”
“You need not worry.” He showed her the pots, plates and the water jug. Malati washed her face, hands and feet in river water. Refreshed, she served food and took lesser quantity for herself. When Gopal asked her to take more, she did not protest.
After dinner, Gopal took a mat and spread it outside on the front platform. He took the clothes bag from the rack as also a thin bed-sheet. Then remembering that he kept all the money in shirt pocket, he took it out of the hook and folding, put inside the bag. He could not trust her.
Gopal asked her to unroll the bed with pillow and sleep inside the cabin. He opened the riverside window and gave her a light bed-sheet to cover. He always kept certain things extra for emergency. He bolted the rear door, dimmed the lamp and hung it onto a hook. Afraid to help or suggest anything, Malati watched him silently.
Before going out he said,
“You bolt the front door from inside. If you need, you may go to the rear of the boat, but do not open the front door. I shall be sleeping outside. Now you lie down and try to sleep. We are to start early.”
He then added,
“You are free to go away whenever you want. Only tell me before you leave. But remember one thing, if you go, you go for ever, and there will be no return.” He went out.
Malati swallowed once and nodded. ‘What a rude person!’ She thought ‘No softness.’
She lied down, covered herself and looking at the moon through the open window, did not know when she fell asleep.
Gopal put the cloth bag under his head and tried to sleep. Pretty face of Malati floated before his eyes. An attractive young girl was available so near. But Gopal felt only pity for her. Miserable poor girl.
He was tired. Breeze was cool and it was silent all around. Small white patches of clouds floated over the moon. Leaves murmured in the light breeze. In the distance a herd of jackals cried in chorus. An owl hooted in the branch. Bathed in the silvery moonlight, he fell asleep and woke when the eastern sky was getting pale.
Gopal got up. It was cold. He took out the shirt from the bag and after wearing knocked on the bolted cabin door. Malati responded and opened with sleepy eyes. In the semi darkness she looked more attractive. Staring at her for few seconds, he said,
“It is time to start.”
He erected the sail mast and Malati took the mat and other things in. She rolled her bed and arranged the things neatly. When she came out in the open, Gopal asked her to stay inside, till he called. He did not want her to be seen by anyone.
He unchained the boat and rowed it to mid-river. He adjusted and tied the sail ropes and the boat surged forward. Holding the radar he called Malati to come out. Smiling she sat on the edge, dangling legs on water and watching the passing shoreline. Afraid that she may fall, Gopal asked her to sit carefully.
The sun rose and there was the pink glow on her soft innocent face. She looked beautiful and unreal as if she did not belong to this earth. Enchanted, Gopal watched her ethereal face.
Now the sun had risen further and the night mists over the river were slowly disappearing. Few boats sailed by and stationary fishing boats swayed in the waves. Fishermen cast nets in deep water and the silvery catch jumped in the net when raised. Birds circled above hoping to get one or two of them. Dolphins played somersault. On the banks, people took bath, boys jumped and swam and women washed clothes. Wide-eyed Malati was absorbed in watching. She never had a chance to sail on the river. Nobody ever took her out on a boat.
Gopal felt hungry, but did not want to distract her. Sometime later, when Malati turned her face towards him, he asked her to get the small plastic bag of puffed rice and some jaggery (unrefined sugar lump) from inside the cabin. She served in two aluminum bowls and gave him one. She also brought a glass of water for him. After the simple breakfast he felt refreshed and smiled at her. That was the first time Malati saw him smiling. ‘He may not be that rude’ she thought.
Malati sat with arms around her folded knees, resting the chin on them and gazing at where the river met the horizon. She had a far away look and seemed not to belong to this world. Without her knowing, Gopal frequently glanced at her. She fascinated him.
She sighed and turning to him asked,
“Beside mother, who else is there in your house?”
“Komli and her child.”
“Who are they?” Malati frowned.
Eyes twinkling, he replied with a mischievous smile,
“Some, whom you will shortly meet.”
“Are they your wife and son?”
“Our cow and the calf. I am not married”
Both had a hearty laugh.
They reached the village a couple of hours before noon. Gopal closed the cabin window, bolted the rear door, locked the front and chained the boat. He took the bedroll under one arm and few other items in the basket. Bag in hand; Malati followed him across the rice field, through the mango garden and rows of coconut trees by a large water pond. There were white and red Lily blossoms and Dragonflies circled over the calm water looking at their own reflections.
Mother was in kitchen. She was surprised to see a girl with Gopal. With bowed head Malati stood behind him. Asking her to wait, he took mother a little away. He narrated all the happenings of last night and at the end said that he was not in favor of giving permanent shelter to the girl. Nothing was known of her family, her character and whether she was honest or a cheat. She could be with them for a couple of days, but not more.
Mother listened without comments. Occasionally she glanced at Malati, standing bowed head in front of the kitchen, uncertain of her future, when he finished, she went out, put a hand on her shoulder and asked not to worry. Everything would be all right. Embracing mother, Malati wept. Never before anyone had showed any sympathy to her.
Taking Gopal aside mother told,
“I shall now make tea for you two. After tea you go to the market and get two sarees with other clothing, one towel, one bathing soap, one toothbrush, one hair washing soap, one comb and a small bottle of hair oil. Meantime I shall prepare lunch.”
Gopal was grumbling at the unnecessary expenses, when mother said,
“Look Gopal, don’t grumble. She is our guest and we should take care of her.”
Gopal did not say anything further and went to market after tea.
When he returned both women were in the kitchen. Mother at the oven and Malati peeling and cutting vegetables. Mother was telling her something and she listened smiling. When Gopal came and stood in front of the kitchen door, mother asked.
“Have you brought the items?”
“Yes.” Gopal said looking at Malati, but she kept on cutting vegetables.
Mother wanted to see the sarees and Gopal handed her the packet.
One was light blue with deeper blue large floral prints and the other, yellow with broad maroon stripes. Mother showed them to Malati,
“How do you like?”
She glanced at Gopal, smiled and said,
“Very beautiful. I never had a new saree, nobody gave me one.”
Mother and Gopal were struck by her simplicity.
It was noon by then. Kitchen work over, Malati lifted water from the well and took bath in the enclosure in one corner of the courtyard. Shy in wet clothes, making short steps and leaving wet footprints on her path, she went to mother’s room and closed the door. She was afraid that Gopal would see her. But he was nowhere around. He had gone to the water pond for bathing.
After lunch they took rest. Malati spread a mat in mother’s room and lied down. Mother took a nap. Malati remained awake and wondered what was waiting for her in future. Gopal in adjacent room was checking and noting the transactions of previous day.
In the evening, mother sat on a mat in the veranda behind Malati wearing the light blue saree with floral prints. Mother neatly combed her long silky hair and knit a thick braid. She asked Malati to wipe her face with a wet towel and get the mirror. Mother got a red bindi from somewhere and stuck it on her forehead. She also lined her eyes with kohl. Malati held the mirror up and was shy looking at her own pretty face.
Gopal had gone to play cards with his friends, but came back earlier than usual. He then saw Malati and stood with open admiration in eyes. She blushed pink and hid behind mother.
Night she slept with mother and woke up early. She swept the yard, brought out Komli from the shed, tied it to a tree and milked. She cleaned the cowshed and gave feed. By then mother walked the ducks to the pond. Malati picked eggs from the pen and kept in a basket. She took used utensils to a corner of the yard and offered leftovers to the dog, so long curled up in a corner of veranda. She brought back cleaned utensils to kitchen, lighted the oven and started preparing breakfast.
Mother had come back by then. She sat in the veranda smiling and watched her working. She wanted a daughter-in-law like Malati. But with Gopal absolutely against her, that was not to be. She sighed deeply. By then Gopal woke up and coming to veranda was surprised to see her sitting idle.
“Ma, you are not in the kitchen yet! Are you alright?”
“I am alright. Malati has asked me to take rest. She is doing everything with my permission.” She smiled indulgently. Then said after a pause,
“Gopal, why not you marry her. You seldom come across a charming girl like Malati. I always wished to have a daughter-in-law like her.”
“No Ma I can not. We know nothing about her. She may be pretty, but that is not all.”
“See Gopal, I am observing her since yesterday. While talking to her I learnt many things about her family. She is a nice girl and I can guarantee that she is not a thief or cheat or of bad character.”
“I know nothing of her background. What about her father?” Gopal asked.
“Her father was a farmer like yours. She has no brother or sister. Both her parents died within a short time. Her maternal uncle then grabbed whatever property was there and in the pretense of giving shelter, she was turned into a labor in his house. I gathered all the information while casually talking to her. She did not tell anything by herself.” Mother eagerly looked at Gopal.
“What about her religion and caste?” Gopal probed.
“She happens to belong to our own religion and caste. But you tell me one thing, does it really matter? Is there no cheat or fraud or dishonest person in our religion and caste? Are all the people in our community honest and decent?” Mother was impatient.
Gopal stood silent and thoughtful. After few minutes he said,
“No Ma, I can not agree. She is to return. I shall take her back now itself. Call her here.”
Malati was busy preparing breakfast in the kitchen. They could see her fair face red in the heat of oven. Mother was disappointed and felt very sad for her. She said,
“Not now. Let her have breakfast first,” then added,
“Gopal, you are committing a great mistake. You will repent later.”
But Gopal was adament.
Malati brought breakfast to veranda and served. Mother tasted and said that it was nicely prepared. Malati was very happy. She looked at Gopal and wondered if he also liked it. But Gopal was sullen and silent.
After breakfast Gopal cleared his throat and said in a grave voice,
“Look Malati, You can not stay here forever. I shall take you back. Get ready. We shall start in a few minutes.” His voice broke and he looked other way.
Malati was perplexed at the sudden development. Puzzled, she looked from one to the other, and then burst into tear. Mother stood up. Malati clung to mother and putting head on her shoulder wept aloud,
“Ma, I do not want to go. I shall remain with you. Please tell him. Please.”
“Nothing doing. You will come with me now.” Gopal was firm.
“In that case I shall jump in the river and kill myself. Let me see how you take me back.” Malati was resolute through her sobs.
Gopal stood dumb for sometime, looking at her shaking back. Then with a broad smile and sparkling eyes, he told mother,
“Ma, you talk to the priest and fix a date for our marriage.”
Mother was happy at the unexpected turn of things. But when Malati cried more loudly, Gopal said,
“See Ma, she does not want to marry me.”
Malati lifted her tear soaked smiling face and told through tears,
“Ma, your son does not understand women.”
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Ummmmmmm...besides all the obvious male chauvinism throughout this tale, what exactly is the moral of the story?? I'm not getting it?? Someone have an idea?? Enlighten me please.
I thought Aesop Fables were usually taught as moral lessons?...or is that what you mean, if I'm looking for a moral lesson read Aesop? Regardless, a story should have some sort of plot...lead up to something..some sort of point, twist,...something...and I didn't see it. I did though see plenty of male-chauvinism, which really annoyed me. The ending didn't make any sense either: "Ma, your son doesn't understand women." What did she mean??
It is difficult to make some readers appreciate a simple story simply told.They expect the stories to be like a fairy tale with an ending of "and they lived happily ever after." It should be in black and white only. No colouring.
Who said anything about fairy-tale endings?? I didn't. And I don't care if it's black, white, pink, purple or green...I'm looking for a point to the story. I asked what the girl meant when she said "Ma, your son doesn't understand women"..and it appears that you're deliberately not offering an answer.
And why did this story even contain male-chavinism in the first place?? What's up with that?
And why did this story even contain male-chavinism in the first place?? What's up with that?
Yes, I was thinking the same thing about you. Hey wait...I thought you said the story had NO COLOUR,that it was "black and white"..so how did this 'rainbow' analogy come into the equation??
Still not able to give any explanations huh...avoiding the questions entirely. Well then you're simply full of crap. But I knew that as soon as I finshed reading the story.
If you're the author, I'd say: Keep your day job!
P.S- Wow, Malita really had a good time serving hand and foot to slimey Gopal huh? Pff! There really isn't any room for male-chauvinism and female-servitude towards men in modern literature. It's unacceptable. That sort of double-dealing nonsense should be locked up, key thrown away never to be read by anyone! Better yet it should never be written in the first place! Hope you consider that in the future...but somehow I doubt it.
Still not able to give any explanations huh...avoiding the questions entirely. Well then you're simply full of crap. But I knew that as soon as I finshed reading the story.
If you're the author, I'd say: Keep your day job!
P.S- Wow, Malita really had a good time serving hand and foot to slimey Gopal huh? Pff! There really isn't any room for male-chauvinism and female-servitude towards men in modern literature. It's unacceptable. That sort of double-dealing nonsense should be locked up, key thrown away never to be read by anyone! Better yet it should never be written in the first place! Hope you consider that in the future...but somehow I doubt it.
Now I can make out the depth of your literary sense.
Thanks for your advices to the author,visitors will be saved from reading such plotless,clueless,male
chauvinistic writings, without moral teachings and proper endings in future.He should henceforth desist from writing such nonsense.
Thanks for your advices to the author,visitors will be saved from reading such plotless,clueless,male
chauvinistic writings, without moral teachings and proper endings in future.He should henceforth desist from writing such nonsense.
I really liked this story. Let me tell you why.
First, the story has a classic, 3-act construction that has been the hallmark of story telling since the time of the Greeks.
Act 1, we meet an inconsequential character (Gopal) going about his mundane daily life, doing what he needs to do to survive given the location and culture he was born in. As in all good stories, something will happen that, depending on his actions, could change his life forever. In this case, he discovers Malati on his boat. And just like every story ever written, Gopal faces what's known in story telling as the "point of no return". If he sends Malati back, there is no story. But if he takes her with him, he walks through the point of no return; his life will never be the same again. And that decision he made. So now we have a story and we move to act 2.
In Act 2, we get to know more about the interaction between the characters, and we get introduced to the Mentor (Gopal's mother). The Mentor in every story is the character that guides the main character, for better or worse, and enlightens the audience with the way things are, or the way things could or should be. In the process, we learn how the the main character's life is being affected. Ultimately, it will lead to some sort of transformation of the lead character, which happens in Act 3.
In Act 3, Malati has gotten on the good side of Gopal's mother and his fate is sealed. He's lead to believe he's the one making the decision to marry Malati, but that decision really was made as a pack between the two women.
The moral of the story is that if you're a good person, one that cares for others even at your own risk, as Gopal did with Malati, karma will reward your good deed. In this case, Gopal wound up with a worthy wife, something he thought would never happen to him. And it did because his goodness, rough around the edges as it may appear, was strong enough to buck a tradition that he, at least in this case, thought was unfair.
I can't imagine how anyone can see this story as a male chauvinist story, when the strongest character, and the one really influencing everything is a female (Gopal's mom) and when Malati uses her wits to convince Gopal to marry her. Really, Gopal is a pawn of both women, although he wins by being so.
Further, this is a wonderful story that depicts a world quite foreign to most of us. In telling a story in that world, it must be told with the values appropriate to that culture, not be seen as a story that only makes sense if Brat Pitt and Angelina Jolie can star in it.
I think Ranjit stories have given me the best insights into aspects of India culture that are hard to imagine. He does it with great detail and great care about the characters in the story.
It's not the storyteller's role to paint a picture of political correctness, or acceptance by a culture that just doesn't like what they don't understand.
Oh and your question about the final remark... it just illustrate that men don't understand women. She was crying of happiness, he thought she was sad. Well, that's my take anyway. It may not even be what Ranjit meant, but good stories belong to the reader, not the author. And that's why good stories should not have too much exposition (that is, give too many details when they can or should be deduced by the reader).
So Tango... read the story again and transport youself from the world as you think it should be into the world as is.
First, the story has a classic, 3-act construction that has been the hallmark of story telling since the time of the Greeks.
Act 1, we meet an inconsequential character (Gopal) going about his mundane daily life, doing what he needs to do to survive given the location and culture he was born in. As in all good stories, something will happen that, depending on his actions, could change his life forever. In this case, he discovers Malati on his boat. And just like every story ever written, Gopal faces what's known in story telling as the "point of no return". If he sends Malati back, there is no story. But if he takes her with him, he walks through the point of no return; his life will never be the same again. And that decision he made. So now we have a story and we move to act 2.
In Act 2, we get to know more about the interaction between the characters, and we get introduced to the Mentor (Gopal's mother). The Mentor in every story is the character that guides the main character, for better or worse, and enlightens the audience with the way things are, or the way things could or should be. In the process, we learn how the the main character's life is being affected. Ultimately, it will lead to some sort of transformation of the lead character, which happens in Act 3.
In Act 3, Malati has gotten on the good side of Gopal's mother and his fate is sealed. He's lead to believe he's the one making the decision to marry Malati, but that decision really was made as a pack between the two women.
The moral of the story is that if you're a good person, one that cares for others even at your own risk, as Gopal did with Malati, karma will reward your good deed. In this case, Gopal wound up with a worthy wife, something he thought would never happen to him. And it did because his goodness, rough around the edges as it may appear, was strong enough to buck a tradition that he, at least in this case, thought was unfair.
I can't imagine how anyone can see this story as a male chauvinist story, when the strongest character, and the one really influencing everything is a female (Gopal's mom) and when Malati uses her wits to convince Gopal to marry her. Really, Gopal is a pawn of both women, although he wins by being so.
Further, this is a wonderful story that depicts a world quite foreign to most of us. In telling a story in that world, it must be told with the values appropriate to that culture, not be seen as a story that only makes sense if Brat Pitt and Angelina Jolie can star in it.
I think Ranjit stories have given me the best insights into aspects of India culture that are hard to imagine. He does it with great detail and great care about the characters in the story.
It's not the storyteller's role to paint a picture of political correctness, or acceptance by a culture that just doesn't like what they don't understand.
Oh and your question about the final remark... it just illustrate that men don't understand women. She was crying of happiness, he thought she was sad. Well, that's my take anyway. It may not even be what Ranjit meant, but good stories belong to the reader, not the author. And that's why good stories should not have too much exposition (that is, give too many details when they can or should be deduced by the reader).
So Tango... read the story again and transport youself from the world as you think it should be into the world as is.
I couldn't possibly force myself to read that story again. I've read it 3 times because I couldn't believe what I was reading. Now, allow me to explain why I disliked it.
Yes, Gopal was rough around the edges to say the very least. A girl who was traumatized came to his boat asking for help because of an abusive uncle who treated her like a slave. Throughout the story though that is percisely how he himself, Gopal, treated her.
Every other paragraph was, "Malita served, malita served, malita served." The only difference between how she was being treated by her uncle vrs Gopal was that she now had some clean cloths...which by the way he wasn't even going to bother supplying in the first place as it was the mother (the woman) who suggested it.
When she first arrived on the boat disheveled, brow-beaten and hungry he finaly gave in and allowed her something to eat(what a guy huh)...but SHE had to prepare it.. for both of them...and SERVE him! Then, when they woke up in the morning he instructed her to SERVE him again!
Throughout the story she served him approx. 5 times, spent most of her time working in the kitchen, doing dishes, sweeping the yard, milking the cow, cleaning the shed, feeding the cow, collecting eggs, lighting the oven, preparing the food etc.. and even his mother "sat back on the veranda and watched her work". Nice. Now, what has Gopal done besides standing there selling honey while his little woman was working her hiney off?? Eating peanuts and playing cards with his friends, that's what! Wow.
This has nothing to do with "values" or "culture". Values are what everyone values...not just what a man values. Culture is different types of food, dance, fashion, celebrations, ethnicity, language etc.. Male-chauvaism is male-chauvinism. Period. I don't care if it's practiced here, or in some other part of the world...you call a spade a spade. Treating women like a second class citizen is NOT ok, I don't care where someone is from and I don't see how you feel this sort of message should be appreciated and enjoyed in general let alone in modern writings.
You feel the strongest character is the mother. I personally don't see any strength from anybody in the whole story...aside from the brief moment where Malita showed the guts to escape her uncle. That's it. Gopal was used as a pawn by Malita because she had no choice! She didn't even love the guy let alone like him, but she needed to save her own ass in a country where obviously as a women she had no-one to turn to and as a result had to manipulate a slime ball into marrying her. If it wasn't for the arranged marriage to the drunk she just as well could have stayed with the uncle. Oh what a life!!
Does this not give you a description of what's happening to women around the world Victor?? There wasn't any beauty what-so-ever in this story! Take off your rose-coloured glasses and look away from the "pleasant cool river breeze" or the "silvery path from the moon"...and see and hear what is being conveyed!
And no, Malita is NOT happy...but I'm sure in the authors twisted sense of reality she SHOULD be happy right? Or at least that's what he wants the readers to believe.
I say she should just stay with the mother, find a paying job (if possible), save it up and get out of the country. Then she'll be happy...because then she'll be free.
P.S- You DID notice how much freedom the men had in this story right?? Good.
Signed, TANGO!
Yes, Gopal was rough around the edges to say the very least. A girl who was traumatized came to his boat asking for help because of an abusive uncle who treated her like a slave. Throughout the story though that is percisely how he himself, Gopal, treated her.
Every other paragraph was, "Malita served, malita served, malita served." The only difference between how she was being treated by her uncle vrs Gopal was that she now had some clean cloths...which by the way he wasn't even going to bother supplying in the first place as it was the mother (the woman) who suggested it.
When she first arrived on the boat disheveled, brow-beaten and hungry he finaly gave in and allowed her something to eat(what a guy huh)...but SHE had to prepare it.. for both of them...and SERVE him! Then, when they woke up in the morning he instructed her to SERVE him again!
Throughout the story she served him approx. 5 times, spent most of her time working in the kitchen, doing dishes, sweeping the yard, milking the cow, cleaning the shed, feeding the cow, collecting eggs, lighting the oven, preparing the food etc.. and even his mother "sat back on the veranda and watched her work". Nice. Now, what has Gopal done besides standing there selling honey while his little woman was working her hiney off?? Eating peanuts and playing cards with his friends, that's what! Wow.
This has nothing to do with "values" or "culture". Values are what everyone values...not just what a man values. Culture is different types of food, dance, fashion, celebrations, ethnicity, language etc.. Male-chauvaism is male-chauvinism. Period. I don't care if it's practiced here, or in some other part of the world...you call a spade a spade. Treating women like a second class citizen is NOT ok, I don't care where someone is from and I don't see how you feel this sort of message should be appreciated and enjoyed in general let alone in modern writings.
You feel the strongest character is the mother. I personally don't see any strength from anybody in the whole story...aside from the brief moment where Malita showed the guts to escape her uncle. That's it. Gopal was used as a pawn by Malita because she had no choice! She didn't even love the guy let alone like him, but she needed to save her own ass in a country where obviously as a women she had no-one to turn to and as a result had to manipulate a slime ball into marrying her. If it wasn't for the arranged marriage to the drunk she just as well could have stayed with the uncle. Oh what a life!!
Does this not give you a description of what's happening to women around the world Victor?? There wasn't any beauty what-so-ever in this story! Take off your rose-coloured glasses and look away from the "pleasant cool river breeze" or the "silvery path from the moon"...and see and hear what is being conveyed!
And no, Malita is NOT happy...but I'm sure in the authors twisted sense of reality she SHOULD be happy right? Or at least that's what he wants the readers to believe.
I say she should just stay with the mother, find a paying job (if possible), save it up and get out of the country. Then she'll be happy...because then she'll be free.
P.S- You DID notice how much freedom the men had in this story right?? Good.
Signed, TANGO!
P.S.S - "Transport yourself from the world as you think it should be into the world as it is."
WHAT!! I'll never accept the world as it is especially when I'm reminded thru a story on the "fun" section of the injustices that are happening in our world. I don't ignore things like this just because it's not in MY neck of the woods and I certainly won't 'adjust' my thinking in favour of keeping a blind eye to the truth because it makes someone else feel better. I'm surprised you even would suggest it. I think you need to read the story again with fresh eyes. Remember, take off the rose-coloured glasses.
WHAT!! I'll never accept the world as it is especially when I'm reminded thru a story on the "fun" section of the injustices that are happening in our world. I don't ignore things like this just because it's not in MY neck of the woods and I certainly won't 'adjust' my thinking in favour of keeping a blind eye to the truth because it makes someone else feel better. I'm surprised you even would suggest it. I think you need to read the story again with fresh eyes. Remember, take off the rose-coloured glasses.
Ah I see, you don't like the world the characters live in. Gotcha.
Message to the author: Next time you write a short story about life in an Indian village, will you please make sure that the women are super duper western feminists who dump the man's body in the river after removing his testicles and in the end wind up making more money than any male character and get promoted to company president? Because, as we just learned, writing about reality is a big no-no.
PS. Oh and make sure there's a joke or two cause after all, Short Stories is under the "Fun" heading.
Oh wait. If there are jokes the story would have to be posted in Jokes Joint. So scrap that. No jokes. Maybe just some light, witty comments. And please, please please, make it a happy ending. You know, fun = happy ending.
Message to the author: Next time you write a short story about life in an Indian village, will you please make sure that the women are super duper western feminists who dump the man's body in the river after removing his testicles and in the end wind up making more money than any male character and get promoted to company president? Because, as we just learned, writing about reality is a big no-no.
PS. Oh and make sure there's a joke or two cause after all, Short Stories is under the "Fun" heading.
Oh wait. If there are jokes the story would have to be posted in Jokes Joint. So scrap that. No jokes. Maybe just some light, witty comments. And please, please please, make it a happy ending. You know, fun = happy ending.
It's more than obvious you're DELIBERATELY misunderstanding what I'm saying as a way of avoiding the truth. Such a typical macho response.
Funny, a couple of my male friends read this and saw exactly what I did 2 minutes into the story...and they certainly didn't feel the need to get their back up with talks of feminism, testicle removal, killing men, or female company presidents? Hmmm. I wonder where you'd get all this from Vic...unless ofcourse these are your own personal fears and prejudices about women.
"Because as we learned writing about reality is a big no no."
What an interesting statement. I can only assume that the reality you read is in smut like this...a story where they actually glorify and sugar coat the hardships of women in other countries as oppossed to describing it in a REALISTIC way which highlights the atrocities against women and how they REALLY feel...instead of manipulating readers in to thinkng that these women are happy...because they're not Vic. It's good that Uniceff has launched some awareness programs to help. Hey, do you think they're all feminists because of it?
Harrassment, wife beating, rape, dowry deaths, denial of education, infanticide,acid violence, honor killings etc...all STEMMING from chauvinism and sexism. That's right Vic, that's where it all STEMS from...that's how it all starts. Why not read about the reality as it REALLY is. Why not read some literature written by men and women who once lived in countries where women are severley repressed/abused while the men are openly admired for inflicting it.
One woman wrote how she left but was devestated that she had to leave her sisters behind who hadn't the resources or education to escape the bride burnings, suicides and infanticides etc.. Isn't that wonderful! So again, read the REAL stuff..and when you're finished yacking up your lunch in the toilet, get back to me.
P.S - "Fun = happy ending". Thing is, I said nothing of insisting on a happy ending...you're inventing things because it's convenient for you. "Fun" to me = enjoyment..and I didn't enjoy that story for the obvious reason I've already described. But hey, go on now...you enjoy yourself at the expense of other people's devestation. As a matter-of-fact, why don't you just move there as you're making it sound like it's right up your alley anyways.
Bon-voyage!
Funny, a couple of my male friends read this and saw exactly what I did 2 minutes into the story...and they certainly didn't feel the need to get their back up with talks of feminism, testicle removal, killing men, or female company presidents? Hmmm. I wonder where you'd get all this from Vic...unless ofcourse these are your own personal fears and prejudices about women.
"Because as we learned writing about reality is a big no no."
What an interesting statement. I can only assume that the reality you read is in smut like this...a story where they actually glorify and sugar coat the hardships of women in other countries as oppossed to describing it in a REALISTIC way which highlights the atrocities against women and how they REALLY feel...instead of manipulating readers in to thinkng that these women are happy...because they're not Vic. It's good that Uniceff has launched some awareness programs to help. Hey, do you think they're all feminists because of it?
Harrassment, wife beating, rape, dowry deaths, denial of education, infanticide,acid violence, honor killings etc...all STEMMING from chauvinism and sexism. That's right Vic, that's where it all STEMS from...that's how it all starts. Why not read about the reality as it REALLY is. Why not read some literature written by men and women who once lived in countries where women are severley repressed/abused while the men are openly admired for inflicting it.
One woman wrote how she left but was devestated that she had to leave her sisters behind who hadn't the resources or education to escape the bride burnings, suicides and infanticides etc.. Isn't that wonderful! So again, read the REAL stuff..and when you're finished yacking up your lunch in the toilet, get back to me.
P.S - "Fun = happy ending". Thing is, I said nothing of insisting on a happy ending...you're inventing things because it's convenient for you. "Fun" to me = enjoyment..and I didn't enjoy that story for the obvious reason I've already described. But hey, go on now...you enjoy yourself at the expense of other people's devestation. As a matter-of-fact, why don't you just move there as you're making it sound like it's right up your alley anyways.
Bon-voyage!
Drivel, Tango, nothing but drivel.
Ranjit: You wrote a good story, not an editorial on the treatment of women. Let Tango's passionate but misguided comments reinforce the notion that you wrote an honest story, about real people, living in the real world, and that you depicted them so well that it provoked strong emotions from a well-meaning but hot headed woman. Truthfully, I wish I could write as well as you do.
Ranjit: You wrote a good story, not an editorial on the treatment of women. Let Tango's passionate but misguided comments reinforce the notion that you wrote an honest story, about real people, living in the real world, and that you depicted them so well that it provoked strong emotions from a well-meaning but hot headed woman. Truthfully, I wish I could write as well as you do.
That's right, he wrote a story...a story which clearly depicted the rotten ways in which women are treated while illustrating the ever prominent male-chauvinistic attitudes...so yes it was an honest story, glad you can finaly see that Vic.
And yes, my passionate and GUIDED comments reinforced the notion that Ranjit wrote an honest story about the indignities that are forced upon women in different parts of the world. Thank-you for your support Vic...glad you agree.
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And yes, my passionate and GUIDED comments reinforced the notion that Ranjit wrote an honest story about the indignities that are forced upon women in different parts of the world. Thank-you for your support Vic...glad you agree.
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