Anisha’s hands were trembling as she held the pregnancy strip between her legs. “Please God, please. Not this time,” she mumbled nervously, till she witnessed the two unfortunate red lines with her own eyes. “One, two. One and two,” she counted again and again. She clumsily lifted the paper bags and stepped out of the women’s washroom. This had to be her third abortion in two years.
Anisha was one of the prettiest girls in college. Her big honey-coloured eyes were bordered with long, fluttering eyelashes. Her flawless skin glistened in the sun and you could smell the sweet scent of her charcoal black locks from a distance. Anisha knew that she was the envy of every girl, yet she was lonelier than the moon on a starless night. Although the college boasted a mixed crowd, everyone steered clear of her. “She’s too forward for us. Even our dupattas are thicker and longer than her flimsy tops,” said the orthodox group of girls. “She looks like the type who’ll steal our boyfriends,” sneered the unorthodox group, while blowing out rings of smoke. “Has she ever stepped into the library? We doubt she’ll be of any help in gathering notes,” squeaked the geeky gang. “Maybe she doesn’t belong here, maybe she should enrol herself in a B-school in the US,” joked the judgemental junkies. And even then, if there had to be a most-likely-to-be-stalked competition in college, Anisha would have won the first prize, leaving the runners-up far behind.
So it was no surprise when Ryan proposed to her on Rose Day. Ryan, the Casanova of the college. “I gave my heart to you the first time I saw you. And I promise that this will be the last time,” he went down on his knees with a bunch of 100 roses. Ryan’s trifling gesture of affection moved Anisha to such an extent that she happily accepted his proposal, unaware of the precarious future.
Flooded with cakes, flowers, scented candles, perfumes and organic hampers, the days that followed were the best days of her life. Till one day, Ryan convinced her for a night-out at his friend’s farmhouse. “We’ve been dating for almost six months baby, I’d love to take you out to a friend’s birthday party,” he nudged.
“I’d love to come but I’ve never sneaked out of the hostel, Ryan,” she said restlessly, unable to contain her excitement.
“I could play your brother and get you out if you want me to,” he grinned, and pecked her lips.
The touch of his lips sent such a current down Anisha’s spine that she instantly agreed. Little did she realise that she was making the biggest mistake she’d ever make.
The morning after the party, Anisha woke up with tattered clothes and a bleeding mouth. Anxiously running her fingers through her messy hair, she tried to remember the snapshots from the previous night—giggling with Ryan’s friends, stuffing her face with fish tikkas, dirty dancing with Ryan, his fingers sliding up her thighs and then the drink. Yes, the drink. At that moment, Ryan walked into the room. “Congratulations, sweetheart. You’re officially mine now,” he touched the dried blood at the corner of her mouth.
“What did you do to me, Ryan,” she quivered, drawing her knees closer to her body.
“Nothing to worry, love. It was just a wild night. C’mon now, we’ll buy you some clothes and get breakfast on our way home,” he glared.
It was as if Ryan had cast a spell on Anisha, and she refused to disobey him or speak about his uncanny behaviour with anyone. Secretly, she enjoyed his dominance and misconstrued it as love. “Ryan, my parents are divorced and remarried. They send me money every week, but honestly, they’re too busy to care. Everyone in college refrains from making any conversation beyond the usual pleasantries. You’re all I have. I’ll be in the middle of nowhere if you leave me,” she’d once confessed.
In six months, Anisha had lost the angelic glow on her face. Her eyes had lost their sparkle and she could barely apply a lipstick, for her beloved had sucked the very life out of them. Her body had red marks all over it, as if someone had tried to attack her with a sharp object. Every time she’d try to retaliate, Ryan would humiliate her more–physically and emotionally.
When Anisha walked out of the women’s washroom one fine day with a third foetus growing in her womb, she knew she had to choose between two paths– one that freed her from the shackles of life and the other that was strewn with brambles but eventually led to pretty blossoms. On any other day, she’d call Ryan and ask him to accompany her to the gynaecologist. But this time she didn’t.
To my old self, she wrote:
You have suffered for far too long. You’ve spent nights crying on the bathroom floor at three in the morning and you’ve spent ample days staring at the ceiling, waiting for things to change. And however terrifying it sounds, only you have the strength to pick yourself up. No one else. The man has hurt you enough. Now is the time to get out of this abusive relationship. Chin up, darling. We are good.
A few hours later, Anisha penned down a checklist and read it aloud thrice—a little louder each time. “Baby—aborted, hair—clipped short, clothes—new, body spa—check, groceries—done, yoga class—enrolled, new number—activated”. From a naïve damsel in distress, she had turned into a strong, independent woman who could take care of herself. This time there was no turning back.
Anisha visited the counsellor every Saturday without fail. She looked out for events that involved interacting with new people–from Warli painting to midnight cycling and trekking the mountains, she signed up for one activity every weekend. Boy, she was on a roll. She made new friends, but refused to talk about her past.
Ryan called her endlessly for almost a month, sweet talking and threatening her to return. “There’s nothing worse left to do to me, Ryan. You’re lucky that I’m not suing you,” she hung up each time and crashed on the floor consumed with sobs. Till one day the phone calls stopped completely and so did her tears.
When she went to college after almost two months the day after, she was pleasantly surprised to see two girls come and sit beside her on the same bench. After class, the girl turned to her and smiled, “She’s Reisha and I’m Reva. We know what happened to you. Are you okay?” asked the girl in the checkered shirt.
Anisha was taken aback. How did this girl who she was meeting for the very first time know about her?
“Reisha is a gifted tarot reader. She can sense a person’s vibe,” said Reva.
Reisha quickly tore a piece of paper from the last page of her long book and wrote down her number. “Here, call me when you feel like you’re ready to open up. You need healing and I’d love to help,” she touched her arm.
It was after months that someone had so lovingly asked about her well-being. Anisha savoured their words of concern like the faint flavour of a candy. “Thank you,” she hugged her and broke down like never before…
-Priya Chaphekar
