Lipstick On Your Collar

Janaki was gently dropping the clothes into the washing machine one by one. Not many really, as her family was small-she, her husband Ramesh and their son Dileep who had joined a leading MNC a year ago - a chip off the old block, who had inherited his father’s build and looks. Ramesh had retired a few months back and they led a very peaceful and happy life.

She picked up the last one from the bucket, the blue shirt with the white-collar. She was turning the shirt inside out and was buttoning the collar, a tip she had learned from her friend, to get the collar washed clean; it was then she saw the stain.  Unmistakable… this was the stain of lipstick. She was shocked. Distinct…red in color. 

 

How could he? Why did he? Her hands shook.

Ramesh..her husband of thirty-five years…sporting lipstick on his shirt collar.

The immediate reaction came in the form of tears. She quickly wiped her tears and took the old toothbrush brush which was always handy there on the shelf to clean the collars of the shirts.

She scrubbed furiously as if trying to erase the presence of it from her mind.

She couldn't.

The song, which she knew years back, sprung to her mind

“Lipstick on your collar, Told a tale of shame on you…”

Those were the school and college days, when she was hooked on to Pat Boone, Paul Anka, Dean Martin, Connie Francis…this was the Connie song, if she was not mistaken.

In a daze, she pressed the “Start” button on the machine and went to the kitchen to continue with her cooking.

Why should Ramesh do this to her!!

Why?

 The lyrics of that song came back to her once again.

“You said it belonged to me, made me stop and think.

Then I noticed mine was red, yours was baby pink…”

But she never wore lipstick. Loathed it, in fact.

The residential apartments they were staying in had three buildings and scores of flats. It was a jazzy one with a Gym, Launderette, Library, Meditation Hall, Fruit and Vegetable stall, swimming pool and Tennis Court.

Ramesh played Tennis in the morning. Being blessed with terrific looks, he hardly looked the sixty he was. Once a week Golf was his Mantra. The garden below would be alive with young girls and boys in the evening and he would be ever surrounded by the teenagers laughing with him at his jokes; clearing their academic doubts, or just chatting. He was brilliant, a Gold Medalist from the Indian Institute of Science years back.

 

Her thoughts rushed to the various girls in the building who dropped in quite often to taste her chocolates, cakes, and crispies and chat with “Uncle Ramesh.”

That stupid movie (in fact she had watched it with admiration and loved it) “Cheeni Kum” …Tabu and Amitabh… Chee..these filmmakers have no sense. Silly stupid movie!! Pairing young girls and old men!! 

  

It couldn't be Nayanthara who was pretty obvious in her adoration of Ramesh. She was a die-hard academic with dreams of becoming a Nuclear Scientist. And she never wore lipstick. A totally study-oriented girl, she was slovenly or sloppy as far as the dressing was concerned and wore no make-up.

 

M m m m m… it just cannot be Jascintha…

though she wore Red Lipstick quite often. She was one of Ramesh’s fans too. But she had her own fiancé. She had seen them umpteen times from her sit-out.He would drop her well past ten in the night on his Honda Bike. They would stand there for another thirty minutes talking away and reluctantly part. They were going steady. That left Jascintha out.

 

Who could it be?

 

Couldn't be the British girl in the Golf Course. Ramesh wore only T-Shirts while playing Golf.

Janaki wracked her brain. She was desperate. She was sad. She was furious. She was very upset.

This need not have happened to me. After I sacrificed all my talents.. my painting, my research on Folk Music- just to look after his big family.After I gave all my jewels to get two of his sisters married. After I looked after his parents for so many years as long as they were alive---putting up with all their eccentricities; their insults; their admonitions.

She felt like crying.

Why? Oh why?

Who could it be?

The rice had been cooked. She covered the vessel with a plate and inverted it over a vessel and tucked it in place with a steel tumbler. Meanwhile, the Sambar was also almost done.

 

Sambar….red lipstick..Ambika?

She scolded herself for thinking in this manner! What am I doing! God, I am crazy!!

Ambika was the housewife next door. Very orthodox until she went to the U.S a year ago with her husband to spend four months with their son who had been working there for two years. When she came back, a lot of residents had raised their eyebrows. Her trademark- crumpled silk saree and loose blouse had been replaced by chiffons and well-tailored fitting blouses. The hair had been clipped short and the lips painted. The new environment and her son had transformed her. She even spoke with an accent, rolling her ‘r‘s.

Ramesh just can’t stand her. He called her the Times of India…as the happenings in every flat there, were at her fingertips.A busy body!!

 

“Amma,” it was Dileep.

  She suppressed her emotions and tried to smile,

“Yes, Dileep?”

 

“Where’s that blue shirt with the white-collar? Remember, the one I got from Singapore last month? I got a similar one for Appa also?”

 

She was stunned for a moment. Her face then beamed with a brilliant smile as she said,

 

“Dileepa, it’s in the machine. Maybe the washing is over. I’ll spin-dry it once more and press it if you want it now.”

 

“No Amma. It’s okay. I just thought I could wear it once more as I had worn it just for a couple of hours last night for the Annual Dinner.”

He was wondering why she looked so happy -telling him that she was having it washed.

He shrugged his shoulders as he went out of the kitchen.

 She was feeling pretty bad, rather hopeless - for having rushed to conclusions and suspected Ramesh.

 

She now started worrying about who it could be who had kissed Dileep ......