Out of Print Workshop at MAP: 'Maramalli' by Aiswarya APV

Maramalli

Written and Illustrated by Aiswarya A P V

The road was jammed with metal and smoke. Neha took a turn and cut into a small alley with giant cars parked along it; the noise faded away like a door had closed behind her. She suddenly stopped and grabbed her phone. She had an urge to capture the flowers fallen around the pavement on her camera. Neha walked carefully without stepping on them and crouched low to photograph the maramalli-covered footpath. Undisturbed and bright, the old and dry flowers faded into the dark weathered pavement, making a bed for the new ones. 

A horn blared behind her, sharp like a slap. Neha hurried to her scooty, tucked her red scarf around her face. He must think I'm crazy or something, but those flowers were beautiful, right? Neha thought while winding the scarf tight. She fired the engine and pierced back into the traffic. 

Image by the author

Sheela‘s Ladies PG, was written in bold pink letters on a tall gray building. Neha parked and walked through the cold iron gate. As she entered the warm smell of chapatis crisping on shared pans flooded the corridor, a familiar comfort. She avoided the long queue for dinner, walking past the new and familiar faces. Oh the quiet girl beside our room has vacated, she always smiled, she thought. Caught up in thoughts of the constant change around her, she gently opened her door. The room was dark and filled with an awkward silence. Riya was already in the bathroom, and the sound of rushing water came from behind the door. Swetha was, as always, tucked into a corner of her bed, her face bathed in the blue light of her phone, completely absorbed and unbothered. 

Neha loosened her scarf and sank onto her neatly folded bed. A chill seeped up from the mattress. She closed her eyes, and the day’s exhaustion pulled her down. The hum of the hostel blurred into something soft. She felt cold water sliding over her feet. She reached down to touch the crystal water, dipping her hands in the cool current. The water escaped from her fingers, vanishing back to the flow. As she stared into the stream, a face appeared beside her reflection, calm and still. She looked up. It was her mother. Her eyes were bright with a familiar hope. Her skin was bright and loose along her bones. Her thin hair fell over her shoulder. 

Neha moved forward and took her mother’s hands, caressing her warmth. Her eyes filled with guilt. Her mother squeezed her hand gently and whispered, ‘I'm fine, mole’. Neha closed her eyes a warmth rolled down her cheeks. 

The bathroom door slammed open. ‘Why don’t these people ever clean the bathroom properly?’ Riya yelled, her voice shattering the peace. ‘It's disgusting!’ She stormed out of the room, rushing to the staff. 

Neha’s eyes flew open. She was back in the dark room. Reaching for the phone, she saw the picture of Maramalli, bright and undisturbed. Neha could not help to unsee the long list of missed calls. With a long sigh, she locked the bright screen and slipped it under the pillow, and walked towards the corridor. The smell of chapatis lingered like a promise, and down the hall, Riya was still arguing with the indifferent walls.