Serving Crazy With Curry by Amulya Malladi Read Free Book Online
Authors: Amulya Malladi
bathtub.
Devi was neat, tidy to the T. When she settled on the blade as being the best way to end her life she also decided that the bedroom was out of the question. Even if she was dying, the idea of soaking her mattress or the floor with blood was intolerable. The bathtub, teeming with warm water, was the perfect solution. The water would keep her warm and keep the blood from congealing on anything. And at the end of the day, all the landlord would have to do to clean the mess would be to drain the water and use a brush in the tub. He wouldn't even have to use her deposit of two thousand dollars to clean up.
Devi thought she'd contained the damage the best she could, though now she wished she had blown her brains out instead. So what if there would've been pieces of brain matter splattered everywhere, she would at least be dead.
And if she were dead she would not have to listen to this scene. Devi didn't want to open her eyes, didn't want anyone to know shewas awake, alive. As long as she kept her eyes closed, she could shut the world away and at least for another delusional moment pretend that the problems of her life didn't exist.
“Why did she do this?” Devi heard her mother again, speaking through a voice full of tears and agony. Devi had no doubt her mother loved her immensely, but she had come to the conclusion that she would never reconcile her notion of love to her mother's. This was going to be just one of those things that couldn't be resolved and if she'd died it wouldn't have mattered. All those things she wanted to escape would've been eliminated, but now that chance had eluded her.
The real world waited with questions.
She hummed a small tune in her mind, a toneless tune that she used when she was sad to keep thoughts from entering and leaving her brain.
Slowly Devi drifted into sleep, letting the sounds of her family and the music in her brain lull her to sleep.
Genetic Coding
It was a given, Devi was more like Vasu, and Shobha was more like Saroj. It was unshakable. Vasu sincerely believed in it, but now, as she sat by her granddaughter's side, she admitted that there were dark crevices in Devi's mind she knew nothing about.
She only thought she knew Devi, but Devi… ah, but Devi was her own person, unique, like no one else. Vasu admired her spirit, her courage to try the unknown, seek out the strange and the unusual. She wanted Devi to have inherited all those wonderful qualities from her. Now it looked like Devi was more like her suicidal ex-husband rather than herself, Vasu thought with a small laugh that quickly turned into a sob she needed to control.
The white bandages on Devi's wrists were evidence of Vasu's failure. On the surface, Vasu knew she could easily blame Saroj and her lack of compassion for this tragedy, but deep down Vasu knew that Saroj was not guilty. She knew inside her heart that Saroj stopped influencing Devi one way or the other, years ago.
Devi had been close to Vasu, had told her all the secrets, the first kiss, the first love, everything. Somehow Devi, who felt comfortable telling Vasu about her method of contraception, her years-older lover, had failed to mention her impending self-inflicted death sentence.
Oh, her heart hurt. Vasu put a hand against the pounding muscle inside her ribs. It was weak, maybe too weak to sustain this. Once again she stroked Devi's cool forehead and thanked God for sending Saroj in time to save Devi.
When her ex-husband, and he was always ex-husband, never just husband, killed himself, she'd felt myriad emotions, but they were a jumble. There was sorrow among the hate, the relief, the apathy, but it was buried, not like now, now there was only sorrow, gigantic, like the Himalayas, immovable. There was no comparison really.
Vasu married Ramakant because she was of marriageable age and his family proposed the arrangement. Then he worked in a bank and seemed normal. But once she started going to medical school, things went from bad to
Devi was neat, tidy to the T. When she settled on the blade as being the best way to end her life she also decided that the bedroom was out of the question. Even if she was dying, the idea of soaking her mattress or the floor with blood was intolerable. The bathtub, teeming with warm water, was the perfect solution. The water would keep her warm and keep the blood from congealing on anything. And at the end of the day, all the landlord would have to do to clean the mess would be to drain the water and use a brush in the tub. He wouldn't even have to use her deposit of two thousand dollars to clean up.
Devi thought she'd contained the damage the best she could, though now she wished she had blown her brains out instead. So what if there would've been pieces of brain matter splattered everywhere, she would at least be dead.
And if she were dead she would not have to listen to this scene. Devi didn't want to open her eyes, didn't want anyone to know shewas awake, alive. As long as she kept her eyes closed, she could shut the world away and at least for another delusional moment pretend that the problems of her life didn't exist.
“Why did she do this?” Devi heard her mother again, speaking through a voice full of tears and agony. Devi had no doubt her mother loved her immensely, but she had come to the conclusion that she would never reconcile her notion of love to her mother's. This was going to be just one of those things that couldn't be resolved and if she'd died it wouldn't have mattered. All those things she wanted to escape would've been eliminated, but now that chance had eluded her.
The real world waited with questions.
She hummed a small tune in her mind, a toneless tune that she used when she was sad to keep thoughts from entering and leaving her brain.
Slowly Devi drifted into sleep, letting the sounds of her family and the music in her brain lull her to sleep.
Genetic Coding
It was a given, Devi was more like Vasu, and Shobha was more like Saroj. It was unshakable. Vasu sincerely believed in it, but now, as she sat by her granddaughter's side, she admitted that there were dark crevices in Devi's mind she knew nothing about.
She only thought she knew Devi, but Devi… ah, but Devi was her own person, unique, like no one else. Vasu admired her spirit, her courage to try the unknown, seek out the strange and the unusual. She wanted Devi to have inherited all those wonderful qualities from her. Now it looked like Devi was more like her suicidal ex-husband rather than herself, Vasu thought with a small laugh that quickly turned into a sob she needed to control.
The white bandages on Devi's wrists were evidence of Vasu's failure. On the surface, Vasu knew she could easily blame Saroj and her lack of compassion for this tragedy, but deep down Vasu knew that Saroj was not guilty. She knew inside her heart that Saroj stopped influencing Devi one way or the other, years ago.
Devi had been close to Vasu, had told her all the secrets, the first kiss, the first love, everything. Somehow Devi, who felt comfortable telling Vasu about her method of contraception, her years-older lover, had failed to mention her impending self-inflicted death sentence.
Oh, her heart hurt. Vasu put a hand against the pounding muscle inside her ribs. It was weak, maybe too weak to sustain this. Once again she stroked Devi's cool forehead and thanked God for sending Saroj in time to save Devi.
When her ex-husband, and he was always ex-husband, never just husband, killed himself, she'd felt myriad emotions, but they were a jumble. There was sorrow among the hate, the relief, the apathy, but it was buried, not like now, now there was only sorrow, gigantic, like the Himalayas, immovable. There was no comparison really.
Vasu married Ramakant because she was of marriageable age and his family proposed the arrangement. Then he worked in a bank and seemed normal. But once she started going to medical school, things went from bad to
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