The Locked Mind

Ten more pages to go, Smitha smiled to herself despite the throbbing head. After four years of experience, she had finally been able to edit seventy pages per day. She’d go home on time today and relieve her mother. Poor thing, she has had so much to endure because of her.

Smitha interlocked her fingers and cupped the back of her head against them. She ignored the smirking girl sitting next to her, and raised her taut shoulders and rotated them.

That was relaxing. She felt quite tempted to leave, yet she decided to pick up more work, now that she had handed over print-outs of the edited manuscripts to her boss Vasantha.

The hand bag on the table buzzed. Smitha fished the mobile. Rekha. It had to be something important, else she wouldn’t ring at this time. Since she wasn’t expected to take personal calls at her desk, she got up and walked out. Thank God for small mercies, a good excuse to relax and chill out.

Standing at the balcony of the eleventh floor, she traipsed the ground below, taking in the panoramic view of the steady stream of honking vehicles leaving trails of smoke. Traffic would peak in an hour. What’s all this mad scramble for, she wondered as she said a cheery ‘hi’ into her mobile phone.

The usual chirrupy Rekha sounded tense.

As Smitha listened, her face darkened. ‘Oh, God,’ she pressed her temples and muttered intermitently to herself. She had no doubt the news that Rekha had squealed out in shock was indeed true. It had to happen one day. Though she wasn’t yet prepared for it. Ashok. The last person she ever wanted to see. Or think.

She wanted to be alone for some time. Yet the only place she was allowed to be in was her own desk or… or.. the loo! No common room or lounge facilities. The publishing company she worked for provided offshore services to overseas clients. With cut-throat competition, survival was a challenge met with drastic cuts in cost.

Smitha headed to the only haven. She felt so hot that she cupped her ears with wet hands and splashed water on to her face several times. Then, steadying herself she sat on the commode. With one hand, she covered her mouth as if to stifle the sob that gushed out, and with the other, she tightened the grip on the mobile phone.

Before a couple of minutes could pass, she could hear shuffling feet outside. She got up in a hurry and tidied her dishevelled hair.

“Hey Smitha, you’re alright?” Vasantha rushed to her side as she came out. Much as she tried, she could protest only weakly that she was fine, and then sank on the stool the housekeeping girl had kept in the common wash basin area.

Vasantha almost dragged an unwilling Smitha to her room. As Smitha sobbed that she had to go home to take care of her sick child, Vasantha wondered how little she knew about her staff. Smitha, with a child? Who would have thought that the beautiful young girl was even married?

Smitha was her usual sober self now. She couldn’t refuse Vasantha when she insisted on dropping her home in her Szuki Wagon R. She was relieved she didn’t ask her any uncomfortable questions. Every now and then while she was driving, Vasantha would cast an assaying glance at her and then look ahead at the road. Smitha hated any show of sympathy, as very few of those she had known as friends ever stood by her when she needed them most.

Suddenly she perked up as fear crawled up her spine. What if she finds out her child was fine?

“Drop me here,” she suggested hastily as they neared Rajaji Nagar, “you don’t have to deviate and take a longer rute for my sake. I’ll take a rick.”

“It’s no problem for me. Besides, won’t you offer me a cup of coffee?”

One couldn’t counter that argument. How could she tell she hated entertaining anybody at home?

Kamakshi, Smitha’s mother, opened the door, but took a few steps back as she noticed a stranger and the words she was about to utter stopped on the track. She gave an embarassed smile.

A young girl, about four years old, was sitting on the sofa flicking her fingers and shaking her head. There was something quite odd about the child, something about her distracted, vacant look and the jerky body movements. Smitha kissed her head and smiled at Vasantha.

“I wish I had stopped somewhere to buy some sweets for your sweet daughter. You were in such a state that I couldn’t think of anything,” Vasantha said.

Smitha decided to hide no further. “That was because of the phone call about my husband. I have separated from him. You could say he ran away from me and Sangeeta, our daughter; no, no, my daughter. I came to Bangalore from Chennai to forget him. He seems to have come here now. That selfish devil won’t even let me live in peace,” Smitha’s face contorted with the collective memories of five years of agony.

Sangeeta was banging a spoon on the table. Then she threw the spoon and shrieked as though in pain and tottered towards the kitchen. One could hear her yelp and wail. Smitha rushed into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she came back with two mugs of coffee. “I’m sure you could guess. Sangeeta is autistic. I guess she is hungry. Don’t worry, my mother can handle her well,” she assured a distraught Vasantha.

“He left you because the child was autistic?” Vasantha’s outraged question reflected the pain on Smitha’s face.

“Mmm… Even before Sangeeta was born, he had lost interest in the marriage. I couldn’t quite figure out clearly then.” Smitha said softly. She got up and looked out through the window. A group of children were playing noisily.

“Shall we go to the terrace?”

It was very peaceful to sit in the terrace watching groups of birds flying to their roost. The panoramic view of the expansive ISKCON temple and the the golden gopuram of Mahalaxmi temple glowing in the setting sun lent an air of serenity.

All the emotions trapped in the alleys of Smitha’s mind tumbled forth as she began to speak.