Sunday, August 23, 2009

Lady with chequered shoes

"Are you sure? I just can't believe that they are prostitutes" a wave of ecstasy has started ebbing in my stomach. I was wishing the words of roommate to be true as the green devil in me has started arraying fantasies in my utopian world of imagination.

My friend, as he was slipping into casual dress, looked at me briefly and asked, "Why that glitter in your eyes on hearing this, Mohammed?"

"Oh nothing! I would assimilate this too as an inevitable element of Metropolitan life". Those words of me were rushing to prevent my friend from suspecting me that one day I would be seen knocking at the door of our neighbours, a bunch of Russian prostitutes. They have recently moved into flat 402.

Life was not so interesting on the floor of our Black Tulip Apartment, as I have expected earlier, save the moments of occasional share-smiles with those Russian ladies in the elevators. Most of the times, I was too tempted to talk with them more than the greeting words. My complex mind, which was seasoned in my country life, had always been a hindrance in such occasions. My eyes were always lowered in the presence of those ladies. I started remembering the colors of their shoe pairs and at one instance, I could recognize the ladies by their shoes. Amidst of all the pairs, my eyes got glued to a pair of shoes with chequered design. I used to laugh to myself over the absurdity of the shoe designer for chosing such a design for ladies footwear. He should have had a domestic feud with his wife or should have blasted by his boss on the day of designing such a lifeless pair of shoes. The owner of these shoes was a thin lady who was always looking impeccable dresses.

"The thin lady? She's Alina", my roomie, Wassim was sounding irritated over my recent curiosity over the neighbours.

"How did you collect their names?"

"I just asked them. You don't want to roll cart wheels to know anybody's name in this city. Go to bed. I've got a project visit tomorrow"

The next day evening, I met Alina in the elevator. That was the usual time, she used to go for her 'duty'.

"Alina?" I cracked the ice atlast.

"Me Elina. No Alina", her bad English eccentrically encouraged me from that day on. I used to have monosyllabic dialogues with her during our confined spaces within the walls of elevator. The second reason for such short dialogues, other than her bad English, was the time constraint, we had. The 20 seconds travel time, were just enough to share only brief dialogues. I started developing a good acquaintance with Elina.

It was a Saturday morning. Like anyother first day of the week, I started to my office with malice. As the doors of elevator opened, Elina emerged. She was in a very bad shape. Her eyes were swollen out of crying, her facet was reddish than usual. She was uncontrallably sobbing. As she saw me, she started howling and her words were broken. I could not understand anything as she was speaking to me in Russian. All I could understand was she she had a bad 'client'. As she walked past me, I did not fail to notice her ugly gait. She was unable to walk properly. As the doors of elevator were closing in front me, I spotted blood spots on her white skirt.

I did not see her for few days. I started worrying about her and dared not to enter her room or ask her friends about her.

After a month, while I was returning from work, I saw a tiny figure on haunches near the garbage container at our building parking. As I neared, I understood that it was Elina. She was inspecting the garbage container as her long fingers were clenching a small soft doll.

"Elina! How are you?" I could not resist my anxiety.

"Mohammed! see. This for my daugher Ursula" she was exhibiting the small doll in the twilight. My eyes were instantly clouded to witness her motherly love. Also, I was exposed to such a strange form of motherly love in the heart of a demeaned lady. In silence, I raised my thumb and uttered an another monosyllable to Elina, "Great".

My mind has already discarded the slightest lust that I had possessed over Elina. From that day on, I envisaged a small girl lurking in the shadows of Elina. There were a tiny pair of chequered shoes on the feet of Ursula.

18 Observations:

Rane (The Orchid with All Shades Pink) said...

omg i am speechless..!!

Shruti said...

this is your best post till date. You portrayed the beautiful angle-mother's love of a demeaned lady!!
I must say its awesome!!

Btw, I too wrote a recent experience of mine.
Check it out!

Musings of a lonely traveler said...

@ Rane!
Thanks a lot Rane! Glad that you liked it :)

@ Shruti!
Thank you sissie :)

pawan said...

This post definitely needs a huge post!
Shocking man!
Absolutely, I will put a link of this post in my upcoming post!
Touched my heart, btw, is this a real incident?

Shruti said...

check out my new post :)

Musings of a lonely traveler said...

Hi Pawan!
Yep that one a real incident; back in 2000, when I was a bachelor, I've seen this lady. I stayed in that apartment for nearly 10 months. I just wanted to share those incidents as sometimes we read certain people from the wrong angle. I wish to share all my encounters with people like Elina in my blog. It's my great pleasure that you would post a link to this blog of mine. Keep reading Pawan :)

@ Shruti!
Sure sister, I would check in no time :)

pawan said...

You gave me an inspiration to write a new series. Three stories all unrelated but with a common theme of Fight with Life, lets see how it shapes up!

Musings of a lonely traveler said...

I'm sure you will strike the bull's eye; Best of luck :)

chan said...

Hi Moma Ramadan Kareem.

Gr8 post. I remember the flat if i am right.

A chronicle to explain; step in other's shoes to see things in other angle.

Moma do u think any relation between prostituion and a child labour in india. I mean the situations.

Musings of a lonely traveler said...

Hi Praveen!

U r right :) Prostitution and Child labour could not be on similar grounds all the time. As you know, Child labour is always insisted by someoneelse whereas prostitution, not necessarily be the same. Some prostitutes pick their way in search of more money and luxury (no justice imparted in their decisions). Do you get what I mean? :)

Sat_hi_sh said...

really gr8 post man :)
liked it alot....
u now have a follower in me :)

keep up the good work :)

Musings of a lonely traveler said...

Hi Sathish!
Pleasure is mine; Thanks a lot Sathish for your valuable comment :)

althaf said...

Moma its a real good story which will have an impact to those people you thinks the same (like you before).

expecting more from you


Musings of a lonely traveler said...

Hi Althaf! welcome to my blog; glad that you liked it :)

Ekam said...

Am speechless! I haven't read such a post ever!

Musings of a lonely traveler said...

It's pleasure to share my memoirs and receiving some good appraisals in reciprocation. Glad you liked Ekam; keep visiting

Shilpa Garg said...

I had missed reading this post!
And thank you, Pawan for asking me to read this!!
Mohammed, I am numb!! You have an amazing expression!!

Musings of a lonely traveler said...

Shilpa! Glad that you read this unnoticed story and above all you liked it. Thanks for your inspiring words...

Thanks a lot Pawan :)

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