There is stillness in her eyes. She rarely looks at us,
keeps herself busy in her work, but I steal away the moment to look into her eyes. Her
eyes are big, but they look pale. The dark complexion with emotions too less,
makes her face look heavy. I always doubt if she ever smiles. I didn’t see her
smile until that day. I have been told that she is here with the family ever
since they came to this newly built house. The house is eleven years old now.
And I wonder how could she live with a family which is not hers. Yes, she only
works here. She lives with this family and does all the household work. She
prepares food for the family. My landlady lately offered me to have dinner every
night with them at a nominal charge, which evidently I accepted. So I get chances to witness the enigma that the dark lady
keeps within herself. Though I don’t comment on the food much, but I have sensed
that she stays attentive to know how the food was. Every artist expects a
feedback, if not from others then from his or her own self. She is an artist
too. Probably she has mastered the art of cooking, washing clothes and cleaning
floors from the ground floor to the second floor in this house. Sometimes I feel so awkward
to tell my landlady that my room needs cleaning. This would make the dark lady
come down and clean my room too. Shouldn’t I be cleaning the room myself? It’s
a 10x10 room only by the way.
That day was shocking for me. She came with a packet of sweets as I was about to
leave for my office . "It’s my wedding anniversary", she
smiled this time. I wished her, and she smiled again. I couldn’t stop myself
from asking, "I never met your husband, where is he?"
“You have probably seen him. He stays here, in this house. It’s just that he
does not regard me as his wife, and that is why you were not able to know.” She
smiled for the last time, and then she turned and walked away.
