Free The Plunge by Sindhu S. Page B

angry and disappointed with men, yet again. The one man she thought had a mind of his own had it only in the groin. Womaniser. What if she had given in to his advances that night?
    Men were disgusting and selfish.
    That was six years ago. Ever since, men had made her even more anxious. She had deliberately stayed away from them.

    The beep of her mobile phone woke her up to the present. A message from Swapna: “Come over for a week if you’re not working.”
    “Shall try, will let you know,” she messaged back.
    Swapna reminded her of their past exploits together.

    School days had been the best time in her life so far. Anjali loved adventure. It was her idea to visit the toilets of the senior girls to discover what the metal boxes in the corner contained. They were twelve years old. One of their classmates had said that the boxes had snake skins, like the kind they had spotted near the pink bougainvillea next to the main gate of the school.
    They had selected the afternoon break for the adventure. When three of them, Anjali, Beena, and Swapna, had reached the restroom area, Anjali opened the lid of the box kept in the corner of one of the toilets, ignoring the disgust and fear that made their hearts race. They could not quite figure out where the objects inside came from: cotton pads soaked with dry blood. They looked like stinking bandages.
    The sight only puzzled them more. It led to a volley of questions. They asked anyone who they thought might have some idea. The quizzing finally brought answers. Sujala, who was a year older to them, had solved the mystery.
    “Stupids, they are sanitary pads girls use during periods,” she said.
    “What periods?” asked Anjali, with raised brows, eyes wide open.
    Sujala explained that it was a monthly pain that they would soon encounter. Periods brought an awful ache in the stomach for some girls, and lasted for five days, a bloody leak from a secret source between their legs.
    “Did it happen to boys, too?” Beena was curious.
    “I’m not quite sure. I’ve heard that some white liquid comes out of their pendulum,” she said with a giggle.
    The knowledge that menstruation would elevate them to grown-up status made their panties the most interesting piece of clothing. Whenever it was lowered, they would check for that eventful red mark.
    “Will it flow or only stain?” Anjali kept asking Swapna, who shrugged each time.
    A year later, she finally saw the stain while changing into her nightgown, just a dark red stain. No pain, no flow. It still made her feel important.

    College days were exciting. The hostel was a cheerful place. Four girls shared a room: four beds, four study tables, four of everything.
    However, except for a lot of sex talk and scribbling of anonymous love notes to classmates or to boys who interested them, they got into no mischief.
    They discussed Mills & Boon titles, Harold Robbins romances like Never Love a Stranger , and William Golding’s The Inheritors , which served as their reference books on sex.
    They learned about love and lust, and about what men did to women during lovemaking. She understood what Madhav felt for her that night. Anjali had felt shy, foolish, and scared, when she realised it. It made her nervous when she met Madhav in Kochi a year later.
    The doorbell woke her up from the reverie. Priya was back from work.

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    12     
    CHAPTER
    Blind Turn
    T he Paschim Express would reach Delhi sixteen hours after it rolled out of Mumbai Central. Unlike most train journeys, this one was exciting for Anjali.
    “Right time,” said the elderly man who occupied the sleeper opposite her.
    She felt a little tired, despite the comfortable journey. It was mid-February, a month since she had resigned from her job.
    Was she taking a huge risk in moving to Shimla with this writing assignment? She was not sure now.
    Swapna had warned her, “Don’t do this, Anjali. Please don’t. Don’t you realise this move is suicidal?”
    Swapna had tried to