The Dressing Table (standard:Psychological fiction, 1667 words)
Author: Shamoil Ahmad	Added: Jan 26 2010	Views/Reads: 4282/2383	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The Dressing Table’ is an offbeat story - advocating strongly the ‘’reality’’ how the objects that we think , are lifeless – absorb human vibrations and energy so intensely that they can influence human life adversely as we

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His wife now swung her hips as she walked and used missi powder to tint 
her teeth. His daughters began to wear payals on their ankles and spent 
a lot of time dressing up in newer ways. They began to put on lipstick, 
paint their eyes with kohl, apply a tika on their forehads, and draw 
moles on their cheeks. A paandan had been brought, and every evening 
came flowers and gajras. Early in the evening Brijmohan's wife would 
sit with the paandan, cracking betel nuts, and indulging in 
light-hearted banter with everyone. Brijmohan watched it all like a 
spectator. He was so baffled that he had become dumb. Why didn't he say 
anything? Why didn't he reproach the? 

One day when Brijmohan was in his room, Badi came and parked herself in
front of the dressing table. She looked at herself from the right and 
the left and then began to loosen her bra. She lifted her left arm and 
touched the hair in her armpit with the fingers of her other hand. Then 
she took out some lotion from the drawer of the dressing table and 
began to apply it to her underarm. Brijmohan was in a terrible state. 
He observed his daughter's actions without a word. Meanwhile Manjhli 
appeared followed closely by Chhoti. 

"Didi, give me the lotion." 

"What do you want it for?" 

"Didi, I will use it in the bathroom..." Chhoti replied . "Get lost,"
Manjhli pinched Chhoti's cheeks and all three began to laugh. 

Brijmohan's heart began to beat with alarm. His daughters had changed
completely. They didn't seem to care that he was in the room. He 
changed his position in he bed so that his reflection could be seen in 
the mirror. But either they did not notice it or chose to ignore him. 
Badi continued to apply the lotion while the other two stood beside her 
making faces in the mirror. As Brijmohan started he felt as though he 
had no importance in the house anymore. Suddenly Naseem Jaan was 
smiling at him from the mirror. 

"I am important in the house now." 

Brijmohan was stunned. It looked like Nassem Jaan had entered his house
locked up in the mirror and would soon get out and spread into every 
nook and corner of the house. He wanted to go out but his feet seemed 
to be stuck to the ground. He couldn't budge from the bed and kept 
staring at the dressing table while his daughters were laughing 
heartily. For a moment, in the midst of these playful girls, he felt as 
though he wasn't their father but .... 

Brijmohan was now afraid of the dressing table. Naseem Jaan laughed in
it - she laughed when Badi tinkled her bangles; she laughed when Chhoti 
jingled her payals. And now Brijmohan .... 

That day, his daughters were standing in the balcony and laughing. As
Brijmoahn watched them, his heart filled with dread. He felt that 
passers-by had begun to stop 

to look at the balcony. Suddenly a yough standing in front of the
paanwala made a gesture. The girls gestured back and he smiled. 
Brijmohan wanted to ask the young man his name. 

As he approached the paanwala's kiosk, he hesitated. He felt he was
taking the same kind of interest in the youth as his daughters.... He 
wondered why he wanted to know his name What were his intentions, after 
all? Would he take him to his daughters? An enigmatic smile played on 
his ips for a second. He put the roll of paan into his mouth, took a 
comb out of his pocket and bean to run it through his hair looking into 
the mirror hanging there. This act brought him some relief. He looked 
sideways ast the youngman. He was talking softly to a rickshawala and 
looking up at the balcony now and then. As Brijmohan put the comb back 
in his pocket, he admitted tohimself that he was drawn to the yough. 
Were his values also ... hunch .... To hell with values. What kind of 
values he had that made him rob a prostitute? A prostitute! How she had 
cried. Bhaiya .... bhaiya meré! Naseem Jaan's voice rang in his ears 
all over again. Brijmohan shook his head in disgust. He looked up at 
the balcony, paid the paanwala, crossed the lane and went into his 
house. 

He stood in front of the dressing table. He felt his appearance had
changed. His face was blotched, his eyes had deep purple shadows under 
them. He untied his dhoti, tied it again, and then ran his fingers over 
his face. He felt like putting kohl around his eyes and tying a red 
kerchief around his neck. As he was staring at his image, his wife came 
in. She had draped her sari over her bra. Standing in front of the 
dressing table she let the end of her sari slip. Smiling coquettishly, 
she winked at her husband to tighten the hook of her bra. 

Brijmohan looked at the mirror. The breasts trapped in the bra tempted
him. His hands crept onto her breasts in spite of himself. 

"Oui daiyya...! Brijmohan's wife doubled over leaving him in a strange
stage. He began to knead her breasts vigorously. 

"My king ....!" She moaned. Bloodk coursed rapidly through his veins. He
tore off the braw and pushed her to the bed. She clung to his body and 
began to giggle, whispering, "My kind .... Plunder your kingdom!" 

Brijmohan had never heard his wife use such expressions before. It
seemed to him that these weren't words but notes from a sarangi that 
were flowing out from Naseem Jaan's kotha. And then .... The mirror 
clouded over ... and the sarangi tunes rang out. 

Brijmohan got up from the bed, took the tin of kohl out of the drawer
and lined his eyes with it. Then he tied gajras around his wrists, 
fastened a red kerchief around his neck and went down. Leaning against 
the wall near the landing, he puffed at the bidi in his hand. 

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