eFiction India eFiction India Vol.02 Issue.09 | Page 27

STORIES

26

SAD ENDINGS
    SREEJITA BISWAS                                   

A

LL LOVE STORIES end sadly…
That was what Juana believed. At
39, she seemed rather indifferent
towards her unmarried friends as they went
berserk trying to get married. And as for her
married ones, she had no high regard for
them. With every new dawn that greeted
her, her scorn grew stronger. She believed
that a new day began to remind the unfortunate ones of their bleeding hearts. Each
new day began to thrive on heartbreaks,
usher in new ideas of dishonesty and distrust, nurture hatred and bitterness, give life
to cruelty, to drink from the fresh tears that
sprang from the human eye on the slightest provocation.

A writer (for hire), Sreejita Biswas’s
relationship with words can only be
defined as dysfunctional. There are
times when they can be woven beautifully into tales of wonder and times,
when they can only be defined as a
hapless dyslexic disarray.

Not that she had never fallen in love;
indeed, she had. She had serenaded him in
delicious moonlight as he stood abashed at
the hostel window. She had whisked him
away to a delightful weekend by the beach
as he smiled, surprised. She had toiled in
the kitchen, perfecting recipes to which he
sold his soul. She made love with uninhibited passion, emotions and expertise…
and they were swept away. She had loved
deeply, tenderly, heartbreakingly. She had
loved innumerable times, each time with
the same passion, the same honesty and
the same fervour; but alas, never had she
allowed them to turn into stories with a
mind and life of their own, with emotions,
with sentimental tentacles overpowering
her, squeezing from her eyes droplets of
pearls and then, finally, leaving her a broken
heap on the floor. She had loved, had felt
the unique happenings of each time embed
in her mind, felt them stir feelings experienced and unfelt in her heart, felt immense

attraction, turned into a possessive woman,
jealous and unrelenting, and played the coy
mistress, seductive and intriguing.
Yes, she had felt it all. She knew every
action, every move and every emotion by
heart now. As she sat in front of a huge
mirror, mechanically dabbing powder on
her neck, her face, feelings of disgust overtook her mind. Somewhere in the dimly
lit recesses of the alley outside, thunder
clapped, loud and menacing. Her hooded
light eyes rolled lazily towards the worn
couch at the end. He was sprawled all over
it, his hairy paunch visible through a tear in
the vest. Large sweat stains adorned his shirt
which was draped limply over the edge, covering a large rip in the upholstery. A dribble
of drool traced its way towards his fleshy
jowls, trembling slightly as snores filled
the room. He was the only man she had
allowed herself to form a concrete connection with. Pale skin, yellow eyes, a betel
juice stained mouth, he constantly smelled
of perspiration and cigarettes. Repulsive,
yet in some perverse manner she loved him.
Loved him for all he was worth, perhaps for
all he wasn’t. A loafer, he had no income,
but expenses he had innumerable. Vices
clouded his existence and yet, he was
master, and Juana, beautiful, intelligent and
rich, was slave. Bound to him with an invisible cord, she worked tediously, to meet his
demands, to keep up with her schedules,
to earn and to see her hard-earned money
be siphoned off systematically, invested in
alcohol, drugs and gambling.
A liar and a scoundrel, she had found him
following her home as she walked back

eFiction India | June 2014