The following week, her silence to the people at the house increased to 'Hmms' and 'Seris'. For someone who prayed and wished who would get married into this house felt like her wish came true but the happiness she thought she would attain, in doing so, left her barren.
Sometimes she would just sit in a place and the time would fly past without her actually paying attention to it. Memories of her marriage day would go about in slow motion in her head. Every minut things come alive in her head.
She thinks about them so much that sometimes only the colors of certain things remain in her mind. Fresh and alive waiting to destroy any shred of dignity she had in her.
Like the yellow of her marital thread, that fell loose from Jeeva's grip, and into her lap. The striking red of Meena's saree, when she came in stopping her marriage. The spread of brown of her mother's saree, tear stained, getting darker and darker. And lastly the flashing blinding white of Kathir's veshti.
Sometimes, it made her dizzy, she went to sleep in those days.
Sometimes it made her want to scream in the top of her lungs that she would stop herself from doing so by crying instead.
On the other hand, Kathir pretended that she did not even exist and in the room. Which only infuriated her more adding fuel to the fire. The least he could do was acknowledge her presence, after all that his family did to her that could have been his repentance but he religiously ignored her.
On those days, even when she closed her eyes, she could see red.
But another part of her is really happy that this was how he was planning to deal with her instead of making her life hell by shouting at her or starting a fight with her.
It was mainly Dhanam who expected every to go normal immediately which was impossible for her. After 3 days of being in the room, Mullai finally came out to the kitchen to make herself tea, only to encounter a hopeful Dhanam.
For a second, All she could concentrate was on that icy blue flames of the gas stove before she burst out at Dhanam.
And after her outburst at Dhanam, who from then maintained a distance. Which she later felt bad for, but tried hard not to show it. All the anger being vented out, it calmed Mullai. She was never a person who would hold mighty grudges. And she was afraid that If she stepped out of her room and made conversation with everyone her anger would fly away.
So She stood her ground, by literally, staying put in her room.
One afternoon, there was a hesitant knock on her door. She blinked away from her trance sitting on the floor against the white walls.
It was Kannan.
"Anni..." He started, timidly, his voice in a low octave. She had never heard his voice that sober. She got up immediately, a little worried.
"Sollu Kannan..Enna da.." she asked nearing him. He seemed to squirm a little, his eyes downcast.
"Dhanam Anni enga nu theriyuma..."he asked.
"Theriyaliye... En da?" a week and a half had gone by where she did not want to make it out of this room, unless absolutely necessary, to save herself from those eyes that looked at her with pity.
"Illa lunch time la Inga than vanthu sapuduvan... Anni illa, kitchen la ethu ennaga iruku nu theriyala, vera varu kekanu theriyala... Athan..." He trailed off, unable to look at her eyes and focusing on his toes.
A lump formed on her throat. She was so afraid of being pitied on, so focused on making the others feel bad that she alienated herself to a little boy who has done nothing to her. She felt terrible that she had put herelf in a position where he felt uneasy to take liberty with his own relative. She made him walk around in egg shells in his own house.
She realized that all her hatred did nothing but only make her stand alone. And that was the one thing she was most afraid of.
"Kanna sapadhu eduthu vekkuringala kelen da...," She said and came out of her room, tucking her saree into her hip. Kanna instantly brightened up, at the prospect of food and also because he saw a very tiny glimpse of the old Mullai, in her casual tone. "En kitta enda thayangura..."
"Athu illa Anni, ippidi sapadhu vishayathula aapu vanthuruchu nu oru sogam than.," He stood next to the pillar while she started to reheat everything. "Dhanam Anni illa, kutty Anni Kita ketta avanga kitchen na Enna nu thirupi kepanga pola..." Her back was turned to him but she felt her face muscles twitch at that.
"Unga... Neenga ippolam kammi ya pessuringa.." he said timidly but she knew what he meant Neega ippolam pessave matenguringa. She swallowed hard and rearranged herself her, as the heat from the stove was hitting her, her back was still to him.
"Seri inniki Sothu ku singi than nennachikite than vanthan, but Nala Anni kapathitinga..." He said, returning to his jovial state. She took everything off the stove and laid out the plate for him. He sat down obediently and took his first bite, She was staring at the calming orange of the curry. Beautiful combination of white coconut, orange oil floating on top. She saw it flow around, swishing and swirling as she absentmindedly played with the spatula.
"Un Kita yenna Kanna kovam ennaku, enkita en pessa bayapudura...", She said softly, her cheek pressed against her knee. Kannan could hear a bit of lonliness in her voice.
"Appidi illa Anni, periya Annan than, ungaluku manasu aari, neengala pesura varaikum, thontaravu panna kudathu nu sollichu.." he explained, he was all for getting his chatterbox cousin back.
Mullai have a rueful smile at his reasoning. Moorthy's consideration of her feelings were far too little, too late to be appreciated.
Kannan finished eating and Mullai took the dishes back to its place.
"Appo... Namma inni lenthu olunga pessalama..." He asked enthusiastically, as she handed him a tumbler of water.
"Nee ilana vera yaarum pessmatanga..." She mumbled, and his smile flattered a little, worried. Before he could say something. Dhanam walked into the kitchen, "Dai Kanna maranthe potchu da nee varuva nu, kovil lenthu odi varan.." she said frantically, fumbling with her basket, unaware that Mullai was there.
There was something in Dhanam's voice, that rhyme of motherly concern. Her panic for keeping the little boy, waiting for her. It made just a bit of difference to Mullai. The granite of anger in her heart chipped away a little.
"Illa na...", Dhanam looked up, startled to hear Mullai's voice . "Na parimaritan, saptan." She said, keeping her octave flat. Not happy. Not friendly. More like a railway announcement.
Dhanam was in too much shock to react quickly, she didn't know if she should jump excited that Mullai's had spoken to her or play it cool like this is normal. Kannan looked at both the ladies for a hot minute, before deciding that he better not be in the middle.
"Neenga ippidi moonja moonja paarunga, anga accounts class la na poi thoonguran ..." He mumbled and skipped away.
Dhanam finally made up her mind to say thank you, but Mullai's patience expired and she walked away. Back to her nest.
*
The next evening, after dinner there was another purposeful strong knock at her door knock at her door.
It was Moorthy.
She stood up fast, and went to him and he pulled up a two big suitcases next to him and rolled it on to their room.
"Tho paaru pa, unga veetlenthu mama un saaman la kuduthu vitu irukaru... Ellam iruka nu pathuko pah.." he said kindly.
She mumbled her thanks and bent her head low to take the suitcase. A lump was starting to form in her throat. The suitcase from her house made it seem so final. Up until now every time she realized that she had minimal clothes she'd instantly get reminded that rest of her clothes and amenities were at home. Her home. Now, they're there right in front of her, it meant that her house was not her house anymore.
This was it. This was her home now.
Hot tears threatened to spill. Not because of the marriage. For once it was because of the fact that she had moved to a different phase of life that she thought was ready for, but the reality seemed way too cruel.
"Vaa da Kathiruu.. poi kulichi tu va sapuduvom" She heard Moorthy say, And immediately straightened up to see Kathir, entering their room. There was a faint crinkle at his eyebrows as he eyed the suitcases.
She pulled it away from his path to the other side of the room. And he took his towel, from the string, and left within two seconds. No exchange of words, no pleasantries, none whatsoever. How was she supposed to call this her home? The tears successfully broke out of its barriers.
That night when she was opening the suitcase with the heavy heart, and taking out her sarees and placing them on the wardrobe. She felt something wedged in between the folds of her saree.
Kathir came back with his sombu full of water, And she carefully opened the old saree, that held something hard. She opened to find... Her sketchbook. The one her father got her the day they confirmed her marriage, telling her to never ever stop what she loved doing. It wasn't much but it was something that he could do as he was already financially unstable.
It was the best gift that should ever received, was the only gift that ever mattered. The first few pages she poured her heart and soul into.
She couldn't help it her chest painfully clenched as she let out huff of breath sharply completely forgetting that Kathir was there. She was sitting at her corner, and Kathir sharply turned at this sound, to look at her.
The past week had been nothing but radio silence. Though this is what he had been praying for, when it came to Mullai, that she would just shut up for once. Having had a taste of a firecracker, fizzling out, even before seeing it's colorful outburst. It defied his belief, he would never accept it to her face but he hated it. It was unsettling to him.
The amber light of their room and mix of blue sheen from the windows, reflected of her face. All he could see was the striking parting of her hair, The contrast of almost peachy white and dark black, the curves are for eyebrows, and the tinge of red tip of her nose. She sniffled and a tear fell down.
She was crying.
Subconsciously his body move towards her, but only barely. Because of his heart knew that he should do something, but his brain didn't know what exactly to do. His eyes fell down to see what she was clutching, and saw her trace her fingers gingerly over the sketch pad. The tears didn't want to stop, and she made no attempts to wipe it off.
It seemed like the sketch pad was the reason she was crying and he didn't know how to stop it, he stood there for a minute awkwardly. Unable to hear her soft sniffling, and unsure of what was expected of him, he turned off the light.
To someone who is already shaken the flick of the switch, went off like a siren to her head. He was probably annoyed with her crying. Maybe that's why he turned off the light because he wanted her to stop. She didn't even have the liberty to cry silently, She thought. The thought did nothing but only made her want to weep more, And somehow more loudly this time.
Clenching her jaw shut and telling herself that this is what her life has come down. And that she should just learn to live with it. She fell asleep that night, with the protective hand over her sketchpad...