A Modish Sita’s Stance

As mute spectators – I stood biting my lips and he with a furrowed forehead, sultry in the heat we muttered, “ What the fuck”.

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I causally stepped  into the neat, basement  college cafeteria along with my circle of damsels; the music of Bob Marley  pulsated in my ears through the headset,  with my smartphone in one of the pockets of my multi-coloured harem pants, the blaring volume of debate over college politics made the melody faint.

He pitched a nugget to hit my posterior and I repaid him a contemptuous look, hailed by frivolous hoot by his flock of raucous friends, dared by thumbs down by my gang of boisterous maidens. This shrewd lad was new in town, had rose to fame within a few days of joining my National Art College; convincingly for his strong opinion over a wide subject matter and obviously, he was blessed with cuteness. 

 “I find you a pompous being; however I’m awestricken by your attractive looks …” I had declared to him, in the college corridor, during a scornful dispute, “… during drought of handsome chaps to gaze at”, to which he generously blew air kisses and I hit the hovering kisses in the direction of the waste bin exclaiming, “Bad breath!”

My irksome behaviour towards him erupts from being a neighbour,  he resides bang opposite to my apartment, with this apartment window  in direct view of  peep; initially  he intrigued  me with flaunt of his eight pack abs, until I was caught red-handed by my frantic mom, who reported the incident to my conservative dad. A loud argument in our residential complex made us aware  that our eerie parents were quarrelling  to guilt the culprit; his defending  parents blandly stated their son   was as decent as  Lord Ram , to which   my  old school parents  awkwardly declared I was as innocent as Goddess Sita; as mute spectators –  I  stood biting my lips and he with a furrowed forehead, sultry in the heat we muttered, “ What the fuck”.

And the last thing I knew was he was in my college too, and I am strictly warned by my parents, “Sita, don’t you dare glance at Ram again”

 … And we often meet in the basement parking of our residence, of course, for a fist fight.  

Author: mirandavoice

My interest in writing expands to travel, history, social and general topics. My articles are based primarily on my observations and curiosity in life. You will find the links of my articles in my Twitter account: mirandapresence My blog mirandavoice.com displays my thoughts. My blog masalahealth.wordpress.com (Quick Indian recipes – Easy, healthy,delicious) has recipes of my innovation in Indian cuisine. Journey along with me into the world of curiosity, Thank you. Sylvia Miranda (mirandapresence@gmail.com)

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