Savitri Bai Bhage

Kawade was expecting his first cup of chai as he flipped through Prajavani

In the small balcony adjacent to the living room
though his roots took him back to Maratha lineage,

His Marathi was laced with Kannada

The rituals he followed were a pleasant mix of cultures his ancestors had

Followed in a land that they tried to suit
Kawade in his late fifties was a hairy man with thick eyebrows,

Moustache and everything about him was as thick as his weird head
His eccentricity made his wife exist as a shadow

She had nightmares wherein his smiling face appeared, just the head sweetly calling her “Savitri”
All day Savitri scrubs the house as he likes things sparkling clean like his sanitized self

Theirs was a love marriage!
But how was she unaware of his capricious nature
She was too smitten by the Bullet he rode twice a day in front of her house
And she would catch a glimpse of him taking a drag from his cigarette like a film hero
While he flashed his teeth in her direction and looked at her only from the corner of his eye
Her heart just melted and she eloped with him without second thought
Leaving her Brahmin past that closed its door forever

Kawade soon picked a virus afflicted by most Indian men

Suspicion. He traced her moves constantly
Then caged her with two children while his nights were spent in unknown rooms of dim lit streets
After all It had been 18 years since they were married

Kawade’s body had now worn out
Life had blessed him with diabetes and kidney problems that kept him occupied
Luckily his wife was 13 years younger to him and could take care of his ailments
So much for marrying the right cunt

That morning when Kawade  didn’t find his chai served with the morning paper
He called out her name – “Savitri, Savitri”
Didn’t know how many years it had been since he had done that
When he didn’t get a response

For a moment he shamelessly wondered if Savitri indeed was his wife’s name

Bitch he thought. Where the hell has she gone?
She knows without Chai he can’t finish his ablutions

He entered the kitchen and found a letter spread as unwilling as a virgin on her suhag raat

It had her signature and just one line:

I resign from the post of your chai maker. Shift to instant coffee instead. Bye!

Poornima Laxmeshwar resides in the garden city Bangalore and works as a content writer for a living.


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