The reporter moved on to a piece about the Gulf war and the bombing of Kuwait by Saddam Hussain. Rajjo did not want to hear anymore of the morose news so she muted the sound and let the visuals play.

As she continued to chop the cabbage in her living room, suddenly and unannounced came a violent rage at all the months she had spent in the house, feeling bottled in a jar that was ready to topple over any minute. The feeling hit her like a blizzard. She’d tried hard to keep at bay. It was dreadful to lie in bed next to her husband till he was satiated and fell asleep. Rajjo curbed the desire to run off from the bed and scrub herself clean, with a bar of soap and a bucket of water night after night.

The loud snores that followed instantly would keep her awake as she stared at the mango tree through her window, and spotted a star or two between the leaves and the shadows. Sometimes, when the snores got loud and unbearable like a screeching train getting derailed, she would kick him hard out of frustration.

The next morning he would wonder about the tender spot and a bruise, but never dared ask Rajjo that he suspected she kicked him in the night. Once when Seth-ji mentioned his recurring dream of being kicked, Rajjo would just look down, pretending to focus on her kitchen chores. It was her little secret.

Rajjo had found ways to pass the time, and the most important discovery in the last few months had been the red diary in the cobwebbed attic.

She’d discovered an abandoned steel trunk full of musty books eaten by moths and time. It was a collection by some imminent philosophers. The covers had peeled off, the binding had come undone. The musty smell made her cough. And as she was going through the books she found a red leather diary, scribbled with notes. Someone had penned down thoughts and verses by well-known philosophers. Painfully jotted down with an ink pen, a patient nib and a calm soul. Rajjo thought of the professor who lost his wife and then his mind. She was sure all this belonged to him. In time, the professor’s diary became her most prized possession.

The diary had seen her through the monsoon to the harsh winter.

One crisp winter morning, Rajjo and Kesar stepped out for their weekly vegetable shopping, clad in warm sweater and stole, with Kesar wearing a woollen monkey cap. They were supposed to cross the local temple to offer a garland and some oil to appease Lord Shani, so that he would grant a boon and profits in Seth-ji’s dwindling business and bless his plans for starting his own cable TV business. The local priest had suggested the remedy. Rajjo wondered if all the priests got commissions for subscribing all and sundry to appease Lord Shani!