Free Ladies Coupe by Anita Nair

kolam in the puja room herself And for that she used fine rice flour and the designs came out of the scrapbook of her memories. Akhila hated it. Akhila hated all kolams: the outer and inner ones. She hated this preparation, this waiting, and this not knowing what her real life would be like.
    But that morning, Akhila actually wanted to draw a beautiful kolam that would make Amma mouth rare words of praise. Akhila wanted to hear her say, ‘Akhilandeswari, that is a beautiful kolam befitting a good brahmin home.’ And Amma did. Perhaps that was the omen the gods sent Akhila’s way to tell her all was not right about that day.
    Later in the afternoon when Akhila had finished all the chores, she went to her mother who lay on the swing reading a magazine. ‘Amma, I’m going to Sarasa Mami’s house. She’s asked me to come and help her with some vadaam.’
    Amma looked up from the magazine and mumbled, ‘Isn’t it rather late in the day to begin making vadaam?’
    ‘Jaya and I are just going to clean the sago and soak it. Sarasa Mami said she’ll grind it and season the batter. So all I have to do is go there early in the morning before the sun gets too hot and help her pour tablespoons of it on to the cloth pieces. Oh, and Amma, she asked if you have any of Appa’s old dhotis lying around the house for her to use …’
    Amma sat up with a sigh. ‘Sarasa is a wily creature. For so many years I have asked her what she uses to season her vadaam and she’s never revealed all the ingredients. Maybe she’ll share it with you. Tell her that you’ll bring the old dhotis tomorrow and also tell her that I don’t want you standing in the sun. I don’t want you burnt black. You need to look after your complexion. All men want fair-skinned wives even if they are black as coal themselves!’
    That was Amma’s way of granting permission for her to step out. Padma and the boys had friends of their own in the same street. But Sarasa Mami lived two streets away. And each time, Akhila had to ask her mother if she could go visiting. According to Amma, the streets were fraught with all kinds of dangers that would rob her of her hymen before it was legally perforated by the man who would be her husband. Thereby bringing disgrace to her father, their family, and the whole brahmin community.
    Outside, the sun blazed. May was the hottest month in a year constituted of hot months and a few hot and wet months. The Kathiri star had been spotted and nobody in their right senses stepped out during the day. The heat scorched the scalp and parched the throat. Even at three o’clock in the afternoon, shadows remained knee-high. The leaves of the giant ficus tree at the end of the street shivered in the heat, bleached and grey. Dogs crouched beside culverts that ran on one side of the road. Mirages swam before one’s eyes in a matter of minutes. Akhila hurried towards Sarasa Mami’s house. She didn’t care about the heat or that the roads were deserted, but the neighbours did. If
someone spotted her, they would find a way to point out to her mother the evils of letting a young girl like Akhila out in the streets by herself
    Sarasa Mami had a trunk full of books. Novels that her brother-in-law had bought during his college years and had no use for any more. It had lain there till one day she asked Akhila to help her clean the trunk. ‘Every few months I take it out, dust it, kill the silver fish that seem to breed within the pages and put it back,’ she said, opening the lid of the trunk. ‘I keep telling my brother-in-law that he must take it with him but each time he has a fresh excuse.’
    Akhila let her hand slide over the books. There were James Hadley Chases and Perry Masons; Harold Robbins and Irving Wallace and the odd classic or two. Dog-eared, yellowed with age and sweet-smelling racy books that made the blood hammer in her heart and unfurled forbidden thoughts. Sarasa Mami let her borrow one book at a time. ‘Are you sure your