eFiction India eFiction India Vol.02 Issue.09 | Page 67

STORIES

66

LET THE
ANGER LIVE
    PURVA GROVER                                   

T

HIS HAPPENED TO women
you and I know. I am breaking
their trust and narrating their
secrets here because I don’t want this anger
to die off. I want each one of us to stay
angry.
Some stories have to be told.

Purva Grover dreams in words. People
who know her call her MS Word with
a spell-check, rhyme and feelings.
When she is not meeting professional
deadlines she is dreaming of penning
down not a book but a dictionary!
A journalist by profession, her life
revolves around datelines, headlines
and deadlines. And she ‘still’ loves it
very much. She works decent hours,
sometimes; insane hours, most times.
She feels words have souls. She is in
search for her favourite word. She
holds a post-graduate degree in Mass
Communication and Literature.

I never feared the breeze. It was always a
friend. I loved it even when it blew the
flower in my hair in the wrong direction.
I smiled at it even on the day when it took
away my umbrella with it. I always tried
to feel its rhythm and sing along. We were
friends. We got along well on all days, in
all seasons and at all turns. So why did it
betray me? Why did it stand away from me,
quiet and feeble? Why can’t it meet my eyes
today? Why can’t I breathe in it anymore?
Why did we stop being friends?
I loved that polka-dotted skirt. It was a
cheerful lime green with happy white dots.
My mother had got it for me for my birthday. I had slipped into it, the moment she
took it out from the brown paper bag. I
still re