Sharmishtha Basu is an unemployed artist, writer who is out to test her works, see if they can help her to build an “unorthodox” career, a path followed by many before, some has been blessed with success, most have not, let us see what you make of her attempts! A failure or success- it all depends on you. These are pieces from her book, the book is available on createspace and amazon-
This is a chapter from my own life, the reason why I cant go out and look for a job like you guys do and live a normal life, because the monsters of this book hovered around me for too long, to ensure that my life gets screwed up as much as possible, they succeeded in material sense, that is a credit I will give them without least hesitation. Read it with an open mind and if you are Indian, woman better believe it. I have done my duty, believing truth or not is your choice.
I. Hell unravels itself:
Anita became my shadow. Wherever I went she was sure to go (other than office, rest of her coven was there, so she could do without that place I guess) even when I visited Sulata’s home she stayed there with me.
It seemed mystery was second name of Rajpur. My things started to disappear and come back on their own.
I still remember the day when I first became aware of this disappearing and returning act. A bunch of letters arrived from my family, I was reading one of them when Sulata called me and I got busy with her.
I returned after half an hour the letters were gone, I searched everywhere but could not locate them.
When I returned from office next day they were back, they were at a place where I always searched first under my pillow.
That again convinced me someone was over curious about my personal life. The only person who could smuggle those letters out was Anita. But who was on the receiving side? Both Sharma and Jain family were hundred percent Marwaris, as per their claims of-course, though they knew Hindi well but none knew B of Bengali.
My suspicion again reverted back to Ritu, it was not impossible for Anita to call them up and tell them that a bunch of mails have arrived for me, someone might have been waiting outside to fetch those mails. Even the vegetable vendors and peons of Rajpur owned their own vehicles like scooter. They might have done it earlier without my knowledge.
As it happens, when an innocent person is forced to suspect, he or she starts to suspect every one. So, when things started to go crazy I started to observe every one. If they have placed Bengali or people well versed in Bengali in the office then why not in home too?
I always had a feeling about Sulata that she was Bengali and Abhishek though he claimed he was a Marwari born and brought-up up to his college in Sawai Madhopur, he looked like a Bengali guy.
I still remember how I asked Rik if Sulata was Bengali when I first saw her from the roof top, she was in the courtyard below doing something.
A deep suspicion started to form that they were living there with some other intention.
The thing which fuelled my suspicion most was the weird things Sulata used to say quite often.
Things which were often outrageous to my small town taste. She used to glorify the lifestyle and happiness of a friend of hers who became a mistress of a rich old man. I never had the taste of asking her if that man had another wife or not.
Or she used to do things which I have only seen sex workers doing on silver screen. The same gestures of body or eyes that are trademark of professional hookers!
I used to feel quite uneasy with these behaviors, even though I had deep sympathy for sex workers but I would have never liked it if someone thought Sulata one. So I one day blurted out something about these gestures and some offensive words about sex workers.
I saw the colour of her face changing. Though she recovered it instantly but for a second she lost her composure and I saw hatred on her face, hatred for me.
That one incident opened a barrage of filth for me I believe. Wise people say that if you call Jesus Christ evil he will forgive you, but if you call devil evil he will leave no stone unturned to destroy you, such is the fury of a guilty soul.
A lesson I learned too late then who will think that your own sibling will invite you for a stay in a garbage can hiding it under the cloak of respectable residence or office.