The Mangled Shadow

The Mangled Shadow

Ben was working on his geography project about soil erosion. It was quite a fascinating concept for the ten-year-old. He never imagined before, that the top soil was getting carried away by wind or water. The term sounded fancy too. He liked to say it over and over again. His mother Sarah was making dinner. She had kept all the pictures and text required for his project ready. Ben was trying to write the points neatly on a light blue chart paper.

"So mom, what do you think? What does more damage, wind or water? Does soil get blown away more or washed away?" Ben asked Sarah.

Sarah replied casually, “Blown away, I think. Where is the water to wash away? Hardly any rain fell this year!"

"Oh yeah, even the rivers are becoming thinner," Ben agreed thoughtfully.

"So mom, if the top soil is getting blown away, there will be less food?" Ben was still wondering.

"That's what the experts are saying. Crops will not grow very well without the top soil. But that's the job for all those agriculture researchers. They will find new ways to keep us fed. Don't you worry," Sarah assured her son.

"But then Mom, after some time there will be deep pits where all the soil has eroded off. Won't that be dangerous?" Ben imagined a landscape punched with holes.

Sarah nodded her head and then said sternly, "Focus on completing your work. Don't you want to go and play?"

Ben made a face and sat in deep thought for a minute before resuming his writing. He was very disturbed by the vision of an uneven playground, where he would have to run zig zag to avoid crevices.

The door bell rang and Ben ran to open it. Sarah tried to tidy up her hair and straighten her dress. It was Ben's father, her husband, James. He hugged Ben tightly and then noticed that project was under construction. “Go and finish it neatly,” he instructed.

Sarah remembered to smile and offer tea. He declined and went into his room. Soon the battling voices of a debate on a news channel could be heard.

Ben finished his project and ran off to play with his friends. Sarah finished cooking and looked around to check if the house was looking tidy. James disliked dusty and messy homes. Sarah picked up some toys from the floor and dusted two chairs. She then picked up her phone to check the Whatsapp group of her college girls’ gang. They were always writing about live incidents at work or home.

James called out suddenly, causing her to almost drop her phone. He was asking for snacks. She resisted the urge to tell him it was almost dinner time. She dutifully carried some banana chips in a bowl to him. He was on the phone and motioned her to place it on the table.

Sarah walked back to the kitchen table and sat down, wondering when Ben would return. She started to browse through the Whatsapp group chat. Someone had sent a hilarious picture that made her smile. She was typing away a comment when James appeared in the kitchen.

“Twenty-four hours you are glued to your phone! Who are you chatting with now?” he roared and snatched the phone from her hand. She sat there, frozen. She couldn't find her voice. She felt very ashamed. She couldn't fathom the reason for that, though. She hadn't done anything wrong, had she? She was only talking to her friends. Would that be a crime, anywhere in the world? Then why did she feel condemned?

James scrolled through her chats and handed back her phone.

“Don’t your friends have anything better to do with their time? You women do have a good life. Watch TV the whole day. Crib about your husband to your friends. You don't have to step out of your house, even to buy groceries. Everything is ordered in,” he shook his head and took few steps.

Sarah sat there, unable to fathom where the anger was coming from. She glanced around her, was anything out of its place?

James continued berating.

“If you are going to give me curd for lunch again tomorrow, please don't bother. I am tired of eating curd all the time.”

Sarah failed to detect that this was the underlying issue.

“But I gave curd with rice just today. Last two days you have had something different,” Sarah casually remarked.

“Last week, you sent curd.”

“So that was last week! I am not giving curd for lunch every day,” she wasn't ready to give up, yet.

James's voice grew louder and menacing, “Why are you arguing? I am bored with the lunch you pack. If you can cook something tasty and different, then it is good. Otherwise please spare me the horror of eating boring rice and curd. Why are you putting so much pressure on your brain? Just listen to me and do as I say! Does your mother also back answer your father? That's how you got so uncouth.”

He stormed off.

Sarah sat there feeling like a pig in a sewer. Why did James regularly humiliate her, her friends or her parents? Earlier she used to think it made him feel good about himself. These days, she started believing his words. A strange guilt started descending on her. Did she really not keep track of lunch menu? Was she really wasting her time, chatting with friends? But she did love to talk, share her little accomplishments in the kitchen or lament her nervousness of driving on a busy road. James never wanted to listen. All these years had made her numb to his caustic words but today it hurt a little bit. She realized as always, that she was not a person to him. She held no respect or worth in his eyes. She was just the same as someone he mowed down at the office.

She got up and went to Ben's room. She felt comforted there; the rest of the house seemed to sting her. She resisted jumping into the cosy bed. She would feel lethargic and more depressed. She needed to distract herself, so she sat at Ben's table and casually glanced at the chart he was working on earlier. The images of gorged land, riddled with holes, suddenly appeared alive. She stared at the images and couldn't stop herself from thinking that this was exactly the state of her own personality. Full of gaping holes. Uneven. Perforated. Marred. Marriage wore her down, like a mighty river carving its rocky shores. The harsh words, insults dug into her personality.

She was an entirely different person, before James. She had so many ideas about her life. She wasn't very ambitious but wanted a friend for life with whom she could share her crazy adventures. She laughed a lot, finding humour in every failure even. James was a very hard-working perfectionist. He wasn't sensitive to art or finer human sensibilities. He was on throttle, rat race. Getting ahead in the workplace was all that mattered to him.

Maybe there was some love between them in the first few fresh days. But he had to wield power and suppress her opinions, which he found inferior. She remained very confused initially, then slightly nervous and fear overshadowed everything else. Fear of being ridiculed in front of others. Fear of being accused of the most bizarre crimes. Marriage was baffling to her. But she ploughed on, apprehensive of the trauma her parents would suffer if her marriage fractured publicly.

One day, she had created a beautiful painting which was well appreciated by all the neighbours. She was in a new city and didn't know her way around, so asked James about framing the picture. He was a bit hesitant first. Later he took her to a place and got it framed but the whole process was so unpleasant for Sarah. James acted terribly inconvenienced. He couldn't understand why they had to drive all the way to the city and frame a picture of few flowers. He even offered to buy her some classic paintings which would be of good value. Sarah did paint again but showed no one. Slowly, her joy in painting vaporised. Earlier she would get all excited about something she saw and soak up its hues and curves. She couldn't sit still or concentrate on anything else till she finished pouring out the image which besotted her. These days, nothing captures her so profoundly. She admired wildflowers on rocks, shapely trees in the twilight. But the pull she felt to immerse herself in painting that glorious piece of nature, was gone.

Sarah brushed away those hot drops of sorrow rolling down her cheeks. She reminisced her college days. She missed her friends so much. They were so alive. They had so many animated discussions on life's important issues. Now she couldn't even expect to talk to her husband about lunch. She wanted to scream. She wanted to walk out into the night and never return. Her daring, passionate attitude to life had eroded away. All that was left of her was an unnoticed shadow, withdrawing to a secure corner of the house.

Could she really move out? Would she be able to face the world and explain to everyone that she existed? Not just as his wife, but as a person whose every thought was just as important. Was it wrong to want the joy of just being able to speak her mind? Was it wrong to want to be noticed? To be romanced? Or even thanked? What was her role in his life? What was his role in her life?

She stood with a start when the door bell rang. Ben was home. He joyfully called out to his dad and ran to talk to him. As she listened to both of them, she was grateful that he was a good father. Ben loved his dad. And that was enough reason to bottle up herself and carry on the farce.

She needed to keep the home together for Ben to grow up safe and happy. She couldn't let the cracks show, especially to Ben.