| Khamoshi |
Amma's hypotheses were ridiculously naive and abba was a coached rational thus a major portion of my days would be spent gnawing into abba's eyes with disdain whenever amma uttered. Habituated.
Some odd evening she would navigate deeper into naivety and whisper something as blunt as 'Namira, do not touch the pickles. You are menstruating.' Somedays I would keep shut and at others I would clench my fist, purse my lips, crease my eyes and sigh. She would look up and whisper 'Don't touch, okay? '. And I would wait for abba to return to cringe and laugh along.
For Abba's sake, she was a quiet woman. Of the stories I have heard, there have been a lot many instances where she wasn't allowed to meet his guests or put forward her opinion. I never found it very surprising for you see my mother was a naive woman. Her wail had come down to a whisper, her love to silence. She doesn't cry, she whispers in an automated tone, does not beg for ear, slings back sympathy into sinning mouths and does not plead for love.
I fell in love a little too early and never fell out of it, one odd day when his thoughs were hammering my head and the blades ripping my skin, she whispered from across the room. She whispered from across the other end of the room and I whispered from this end. How he slapped, kicked, almost stabbed, abused. Her whisper grew, the silence withered, her voice shivered, her body roared. She howled, how he slapped, kicked, almost stabbed, abused and then her silence resurrected and shrouded us.
For her husband's sake, my mother is a quiet woman. ----------
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