#ColourYourWords: Purple: The mystery behind her purple bruises………….

DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this Story are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and unintentional.

 

“Is it Purple?” asked Mrs. Neelam Khanna, a look of mystery on her face.

“No it is NOT!” argued Mrs. Kajal Saxena strongly, her neighbor, her best friend, and worst enemy, all combined into one.

“But it will be!” Mrs. Khanna went on decisively and added hopefully “after some days”.

Mrs. Khanna kept on looking in the mirror, with more mystery, wondering when they will appear and become obvious….those purple patches……which would turn into coveted purple bruises that she was looking forward to……… and after they did appear…those purple bruises……..it would be no mystery to anyone where they had come from or what they meant!

It was that moment that Mrs. Khanna used to wait for.

So desperately and miserably, at times, the wait used to get so unbearable……….that she just wanted the suspense to end…….immediately and at once.

“Two days, maximum” Mrs. Khanna uttered after carefully reflecting on a similar past situation for reference. “Maximum two days and they will appear dark purple, almost black!" Mrs. Khanna almost cried out in anticipation.

Mrs. Saxena did not say anything but just kept on looking at Mrs. Khanna who was looking mighty pleased with herself for Mrs. Khanna knew that this time she had definitely earned more than expected. Naturally, she broke into a sudden smile. Which was painful for her alright, because her jaw had also been hit. As always.

Mrs. Saxena was trying hard not to appear jealous of Mrs. Khanna, which in a sense she was. But instead was trying hard to appear concerned, as was suitable for the moment.

“Three……………one, two, three…………yes, there are definitely three!” Mrs. Khanna concluded with an unhidden glee. And even pointed it out to Mrs. Saxena, with a shivering finger which would have had a broken bone had her husband’s mobile not rung, disturbing his thoughts and of course, his wild actions.

Mrs. Saxena, trying harder than before not to appear jealous of Mrs. Khanna, sulked but said anyway “I think it is only two………..” trying to take away the icing from the cake or the complete glory that Mrs. Khanna was about to earn.

“No…………it is three alright” Mrs. Khanna proclaimed confidently, letting to rest the mystery and suspense that surrounded them and giggled like a child.

For today, Mrs. Khanna was indeed a bundle of happiness! A bundle of cheer! A bundle of bustling energy. Who was singing and singing sweetly. In spite of the obvious pain that her slim body was going through. For she was a victorious person and the one who would definitely get the mileage out of yesterday’s event. That too paid back in interest.

Mrs. Saxena could not contain her sense of envy for her neighbor. At her happiness. And victory.

Moreover, Mrs. Khanna’s episodes of happiness were getting pretty routine these days, Mrs. Saxena observed.

Mrs. Khanna once again brushed her swollen face lightly with her manicured fingers and beamed with satisfaction when she pronounced “It is three alright………..and even beginning to look slightly purple”

Which meant three presents! From her husband.

For her three purple-colored bruises! Given to her by her husband. 

Her rich, spoilt, womanizer, and alcoholic abusive husband -Mr. Ajit Khanna.

Who like typical drunkards would drink almost every day, irrespective of the moment, arguing stupidly to justify his extra pegs.

“I am very happy today, hence drinking”

“I am very low today, hence drinking”

“I cannot think properly today, hence drinking”.

“I am thinking too much today, hence drinking”

Her husband, Mr. Ajit Khanna used to become a ‘split personality’ when drunk and could either be extremely passionate or extremely violent.

Mrs. Khanna liked and feared both these extreme emotions of her drunk husband.

For they could either rain praises on her or land blows on her. 

Naturally, she was frightened of both, of course!

But the only silver lining was that she knew that praises just remained praises, they were never converted into anything else.

While the blows….well…the blows……..they were usually converted into bruises and bruises into presents. So at least they had a ‘monetary value’.

While praises had just the ‘sentimental value’!

When drunk, her husband used to beat her ‘black and blue’ as the phrase goes……only in her case it was ‘purple and then dark purple’……….for her fresh bruises used to be first purple-colored because of her very fair skin and they would eventually become dark purple……….with time.

That was the time that Mrs. Khanna liked the most!

For she rode on the moment and could now dominate her 6 feet tall, 4 pack strong, handsome husband who had a body of an athlete and a face of a hero.

Her husband Ajit used to crawl within himself when the bruises became purple and obvious.

He would become sober instantly at the sight of the bruises and overcome with guilt and dread, while she used to parade with unmasked pride with those bruises in their huge bungalow, which reeked of enormous prosperity and new money.

Her husband, a newly successful and powerful ‘self-styled’ businessman, was one of those people who had earned his millions in a jiffy and had the power to attracted money and fame to himself as naturally like sugar attracts ants to itself.

Mrs. Neelam, formerly Ms. Neelam Shah’s story, was also that of ‘rags-to-riches’, much like her husband’s.

She was born poor, but she had decided that she will not die poor. She had aimed for greater heights from her teenage. That she was blessed with beauty and brains was an additional advantage. She was just 19 when she won the coveted ‘Beauty Queen of the State’ competition, which opened doors for her and for her ambitions.

She went from party to party, from status to status until the rich and young businessman Mr. Ajit Khanna’s eyes set on her and settled on her. She also did not give another thought and became Mrs. Ajit Khanna merely three months after she had first met him.

It all started off pretty much like a fairy-tale story, with the right combination of money and luck and beauty and love and success……………….pretty predictable, but like all fairy-tales or love stories, there had to be a villain!

In her marriage also, there sure was!

And that villain was alcohol.

Ajit was fast becoming an out-of-control alcoholic and his wife Neelam was bearing the brunt of it. She was the one getting abused and hit and slapped, by her hot-tempered, alcoholic husband.

But all fairy-tales or love stories have a hero who rescues the ‘damsel-in-distress’, Neelam too had found her hero!

Her hero was ‘Ajit’s guilt and fear of loss of reputation’ after he had returned to his sober self and was logically sane to understand the impact of her threats to go to the ………………no ……………not the police……………but to the press!

For like any self-made millionaire, whose ‘rags-to-riches’ story was the stuff that motivational coaches liked to speak about and bloggers like to blog on, the one thing that Ajit feared the most, was not loss of money……………..because money can surely be earned again………………but the loss of face and reputation………….which, like trust and faith, once lost are more difficult to get back.

Ajit was one of those who liked to swirl in the parties of the rich and famous…………..with a pretty beauty queen of a wife on his arm, like a trophy.

The parties that they were invited to were far too many these days, another sign that they were progressing in the right direction!

Those glamorous parties, where the rich partied inside closed doors and the press armed with cameras, waited outside, both existing in a symbiotic relationship, for none could do without the other.

The rich required the press to capture and glorify their success and opulence.

The press required the rich to create and glorify their stories of success and opulence.

People who have earned their name always feared the loss of their fame the most!

Ajit Khanna, a relatively new millionaire on the block, also most feared not being recognized and idolized.

His wife Neelam, knew this one weakness and had decided to cash in on that.

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After every argument, Neelam would come up with the same threat ‘Of going straight to the press and unmasking to the world what a monster the famous millionaire Ajit Khanna really was’

Ajit naturally had to cool her down, not just with words and promises of improved behavior but also monetarily. 

For every argument, every fight, every blow, every bruise had to be accounted for.

And paid off monetarily.

“Emeralds!” uttered Mrs. Neelam dreamily. “This time, it will have to be emeralds…………..or rather three huge emeralds, for my three purple bruises, in a necklace.”

Mrs. Saxena tried hard not to visualize Mrs. Neelam’s sleek and sensuous throat enveloped in an emerald necklace. But images of the emerald necklace continued to appear like wasps of clouds, in her mind and she grimaced suitably with envy.

“I am fed up with pearls or diamonds” complained Mrs. Neelam to Mrs. Kajal, fluttering her eyelashes, to prove her point.

To which Kajal grimaced and kept on thinking ‘How can a lady possibly hate pearls or diamonds?’ and was totally clueless as ever.

“This time…………as soon as the purple bruises start appearing………..I am going to ask for the limited edition ‘Emerald set with matching earrings’, launched this season by Kapoor and Sons Jewelers” muttered Neelam, half to herself and a half to Kajal.

Mrs. Kajal sighed. For she knew Mrs. Khanna game plan to the tee.

When the purple bruises started appearing and becoming obvious and it would be no mystery to anyone where they had come from or what they meant, Mrs. Khanna would then threaten her husband that she will definitely go to the ……………..no…………….not police…………….but the press ……………who could punish her husband better than any policeman in the world! 

When the purple bruises carried that unmistakable tale of domestic violence, Mrs. Neelam would threaten her husband that she would slander him and his picture-perfect image of a loving, dutiful husband, by showing the real ‘Ajit Khanna’ to the world.

Who was a monster and a wife-beater.

So in order to keep her mouth shut, her husband, being a good businessman, used to bargain with her. And used to close her loud mouth with bribes………of jewelry.

What started off as a temporary solution to a problem, had become an even bigger problem itself!

Like all women, Neelam had started getting addicted to jewelry. Very quickly, she started earning a precious stone per argument. Or per bruise. For her husband’s business sense had definitely rubbed off on her only after a year’s marriage!

In less than a year’s time, she had collected a box full of jewelry, that way!

Eventually, Neelam had started enjoying ‘the beatings and the rewards cycle’. And instead of trying to get out of the vicious cycle, was sub-consciously trying hard to maintain it, give it a perpetual motion so that it kept on going on and on its own, without much outside support.

These days, Neelam used to manage to convert her small arguments, petty fights into huge and loud arguments that eventually led to her husband getting out of control and beating her ‘black and blue’………..in her case…….’light purple and dark purple’.

Which would earn her more diamonds, more pearls, more rubies.

‘One precious stone per bruise’ was the unspoken agreement between the husband and wife.

Though it did work out well initially, it was getting pretty routine, boring, and predictable these days.

Neelam’s picking up of fight where there was none, her snowballing of the fight into a huge disaster and hence directly or indirectly, subtly or purposefully, provoking her husband to hit her.

And give her a bruise. First. 

And a precious stone. Later.

It was not that Ajit, a shrewd businessman, could not look through his wife’s scheme of things. But at present, he just did not have a better workable plan. To shut her up.

For Ajit, each argument was getting not just louder and murkier. But more expensive.

For Neelam, each argument was getting not just more abusive or violent. But more rewarding.

Finally, it had reached a point when, all that Ajit started dreading, was seeing ‘Purple’ around him.

Much the same way that Neelam had started dreaming, seeing ‘Purple’ on her body.

Purple.

Purple.

Purple.

That became the only color that they as a couple would either dream or dread of these days.

Dreams became purple and pleasant for Neelam.

Imagination became purple and horrid for Ajit.

Their collective consciousness became purple until both started seeing only purple all around them.

With only one difference.

Ajit, with dread.

Neelam, with delight.

Because explaining the mystery behind her purple bruises to the world who idolized her husband Ajit was something that Neelam had started looking forward to and delighting in.