by DR. SAROJINI SAHOO
Burqa-clad women PHOTO/Indian Express
(The original story was written in 90’s and is included in author’s Odia anthology Deshantari (ISBN: 81-7412-147-0) under the title ‘Burkha’ and English version of this story was first published in The Kindle in 2011. Hindi translation of this story has been anthologized in author’s short stories collection Rape Tatha Anya Kahaniyan, (ISBN: 978-81-7028-921-0) published by Rajpal & Sons, Delhi. Arita Bhowmik has translated it into Bengali and it has been included in author’s short stories collection Dukha Aparimit (ISBN 978 984 404 243-8), published from Bangladesh by Anupam Prakashani, Dhaka.)
All throughout the journey we faced each other in the compartment on the train. We were acquainted with each other; we were classmates in college but it had been a long time since we saw each other. And even then, there had not been any great bonding between us; we just had been in the same section. She was smart and I was just a simple middle-class girl. She had passed out from an English-medium school and could speak English fluently while I struggled. While she used to make running notes during lessons and lectures, I could not understand what was being taught in the lessons I attended and struggled.
Her name was Simi. As I remember, she wasn’t very pretty, though they say that youth makes even a monkey look beautiful! Her face was big like a pancake. Her nose was flat and broad. Her teeth were not uniform but there was a magic in her smile. She was very healthy. Her bust line was bigger than mine. We used to come in salwar kameez; she used to wear skirts. All the girls were very quiet when they stepped out of the common room to go the classrooms; she was never quiet. She had a different style of moving in and out of the classroom than the rest of us. She would enter the classroom after the teacher always asking, “May I come in, Sir?”
The lady now sitting in front me resembled the Simi I remembered from college. Her face was round like a pancake just like hers. Her nose appeared as if someone had slightly pressed the clay when the sculpture was still wet just like Simi’s. But this woman was not smiling so I could not make out if she still had a magic in her smile. She sat in front of me but never showed any signs of recognizing or knowing me, let alone smiling at me. I was a bit confused. I hoped I was not wrong. Or maybe, she was someone else. As it was, I didn’t have a good memory for faces. That’s why most of the time I had to face unpleasant situations.
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