One of the neighbors I met around my parents' apartment is a woman about a decade younger than me the mother of a twelve year old. She is a stay-at-home mom. The husband works at a bank in central Kolkata. I visited D a couple of times during my stay and each time she was waiting for her husband to return from work. The man was being called by mother and daughter in turn as he explained the delay.
Late meeting, stuck in traffic, missed metro train and so on. On the second occasion, the daughter answered the door without giving mother a chance to prepare for me. The living room had lights dimmed and she had been drinking alone. The table was cleared of liquor in a flash and bright lights came on. It was close to 9 pm but she looked completely disheveled like she'd just rolled out of bed. Her smile was bright and she kept up a steady chatter.
The daughter flitted in and out of the living room, alternating between asking D when dad would be back and calling him directly. The late meeting excuse did not seem to hold much water with D. The kid looked anxious. The husband finally reported he had reached the metro station and would be in shortly. I took that as my cue to leave. There is been a bored and lonely housewife as long as there have been housewives. I just happened to run into one of them who might have taken to drinking to pass the time and soothe her nerves - not such a novel idea either.
Yet seeing this happening to a woman much younger than me and close to my parents, made me want to help. Just as quickly as that urge came I knew I would be way out of line. Instead I wished mother and daughter good night and returned to my parents' home. The scene that played out in D's living room made me wonder what kind of truth can set a person free and what a person might want not to know to remain free.
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