Mayuri stood there, in an orange printed saree and a green polka dot blouse that was tied between her breasts. Even through the small-white-flower print, the chiffon was transparent. She had worn her saree haphazardly, almost, as if in a hurry. Her face suffused with a strange warmth. She was pleasantly plump. Her hair, down to her waist, was open and she was standing at the window, smiling at someone in the distance. She and Arjun had made love for the first time last night. Arjun was 11 years younger than her. He was blind.
There was a knock on the door and four boys entered the room. “Where is Arjun?” they asked of Mayuri. She turned around sharply and upon seeing them, seemed pleased. “He just left for school…” she replied; and as she did, a very loud crash could be heard.
Everything went dark as screams of “Arjun has been hit!” “The truck ran him over!” “Someone take him to the hospital” “Call an ambulance” were heard. Mayuri just stood there, rooted to the spot. The one man who had loved her for what she was. Who had seen the softness in her despite her hard exterior. The one man who understood…a mere boy. Was dead. On the morning they had almost said they loved each other. And he had asked to stay for just two more minutes… and she had sent him away.
Mayuri stood there, rooted to the spot. Then her lip quivered, her chin, her eyes watered and as the tears rolled down her cheeks there was a wail….Mayuri, the prostitute, crumpled to the floor.
There was about silence for a split second… and then they had clapped. All of them. I was still curled on the floor, crying. The tears wouldn’t stop. But they were clapping. Some were crying. Before that, they had laughed with me as I had joked from the stage. THAT feeling. THAT sound. To have people move with you, believe what you are enacting. Sheer, sheer bliss. That was my debut on stage… September, 2004. The story of a 29-year-old GB road prostitute who falls in love with a 19-year-old, blind college boy. I loved every bit of it. One of my happiest memories.
And funny that she was there too… She who betrayed me and who I will never, ever write for again. OK. This is HAPPY post. Before I spoil it… ta.
