Turn the Page, Turn the Life | A Writer’s Battle for Survival | Help Her Win
Turn the Page, Turn the Life | A Writer’s Battle for Survival | Help Her Win








3 mins


Where should I begin to describe them?

Sitting on the swing, during my summer vacations, I looked at her. She would go to the garden with a small pot full of water, place it neatly at a distance and come to the chilli plant with a mug of water and a purple soap case. She would pull the lose end of the saree around her shoulders and tuck it in her waist. She would then bend a little and splash water on her face, some drop would make its way dripping across the neck, reaching her chest and making the thin cotton saree wet.

Flip open the purple soap case, she would rub it on her palm, that thin white soap, till the foam formed fills her palm. She places the soap back in the soap case and rub both arms and then spreads the soapy foam all over her face, circling her both hands, she would clean her face and then wash it with water, till it starts squeaking.

Water drops still dropping from her chin, she would wipe it carelessly and wash the foam off the chilli plant and pouring the remaining water of the pot on her feet, she would turn around walk inside the kitchen, removing the lose end from her waist to pat her face dry.

Then she would come with her hands full with a mirror, a comb, a tiny case, a small glass white jar and a talcum powder case.

Place her on the ‘barandah’ in the afternoon, at around 4-5 pm, she would first look her beautiful face in the mirror, adjust her nose ring and smile. Three of her teeth are a little bigger than the rest, which is why they often push themselves out, but she tries hard to hide them behind her lips.

She applies some cream from the small white jar, then sprinkle talcum on her face and wipes it with her lose end of her saree, opens the tiny case and dips her ring finger of her right hand, move it in circular motion and then stretches the kohl in her small eyes.

She wipes the small patch of kohl left on her finger tip, by rubbing it on her hair. Then at last let her waist length hair lose from the messy bun and removes the entangles with her fingers and then draws the comb along the waves of her hair, the mixed fragrance of the coconut oil and sweat releases in the atmosphere. Braiding her hair neatly then she ties a red ribbon around.

Throwing the braid on her back, she would clutch all the things and go back to the kitchen.

The moment of her beauty I cease is when she walks out of the kitchen door, resting an aluminum pot on her waist. Bending at the end of the roof of her hut and sees directly in my eyes and smiles.

The smile which bares all her front teeth, which no longer are hidden from the world, making thin creases on either side of her dark brown cheeks. Small eyes of hers, kohl stretched and smudged on the edge makes her look like a goddess. The long sharp nose, which shivers at her laughs uncontrollably, opens like a hungry snake. The long braid moves sideways hitting her waist softly and letting the ribbon flap in the momentum.

That’s my beautiful Taara, her mother had named after the falling star, she was mesmerized with.

Rate this content
Log in

More english story from NIBEDITA MOHANTA

Similar english story from Drama