The Unoiled Hinges

Santosh Bakaya

Santosh Bakaya

“Oh! These hinges are still unoiled”, Prasun said, talking to himself
and walked into the room humming Vandana’s favorite song,
“I still want you by my side …”

Only to stop in his tracks.
The room was flooded in bright light and looked as if it were reeling under a massive identity crisis.
This was definitely not the house that he had built, brick by brick. He was a man of such simple tastes, and Vandana had often remarked about his lack of aesthetic sense and he had laughed it off. He sighed. Their house used to be such a small, but snug, unpretentious little house. What was this monstrosity that he had walked into! His head started reeling.
The drawing room even had a bar! He gasped, he had always been a teetotaler. Dried herbs and flowers hung from a floral rod inside the bar. The kitchen had a granite topped counter too. The walls had been wall-papered. Vinyl wallpaper. Strange. There was extravagance and luxury everywhere. But the book rack which he had built with such loving care had been removed, and in its place was a grotesque painting of a canine with fangs bared. What obnoxious taste, he shuddered, anew.

If everything had been refurbished and renovated, why was the door still creaking and unoiled? He wondered.

So many changes in just a matter of six months. He quickly hid behind the door, as he heard loud guffaws coming from the bedroom and footsteps heading towards the drawing- cum dining room. Round – eyed, he saw Vandana walking towards the dining table. Was it really Vandana? His demure, meek Vandana! What a metamorphosis! She, who never wore anything but sarees, was clad in a pair of skin- tight jeans and the tiniest of tops! She, who was so proud of her long, shoulder length, shimmering hair, now sported a stylish blunt cut. He looked on, completely flummoxed.
Then his eyes fell on a figure emerging from the bedroom, and heading towards the bar.
Gaurav! He gasped, swaying as though about to fall. What is he doing here?
Horror- struck, he saw a picture of Gaurav and Vandana on the wall- papered wall. Beaming, blissful – Vandana in bridal attire.

 “Can you believe the stupidity of your dear hubby, Prasun? That bloke could not get a whiff of what was going on right under his nose. What a moron! What an absolute simpleton! ”Gaurav said with a guffaw which seemed to shake the very foundations of the newly renovated house.

“And the way you tampered with the brakes of his car …. Hats off to you! My poor, poor hubby. Is it really six months since he passed away in that gruesome accident?” She smiled a smile, which seemed to cover the entire house with its malevolence.

Gaurav answered her by taking her in his arms and filling his glass with scotch and offering another to her. Then the twosome sank into the newly upholstered sofa, lost to the world, as the ornate lamp -shade on the side table fell to the carpeted floor, followed by a paroxysm of giggles.

I had considered myself the luckiest person on earth. Who could have imagined that behind that meek girl was a scheming, maneuvering virago? Prasun shivered, once again wondering if everything in the house had been refurbished and renovated, why the main door was still old - creaking and unoiled.

Her vicious smile pierced through his heart – or where his heart used to be lodged six months back. His heart had yearned for one last look at his beloved Vandana, but now it pained and pained, and he knew there was no hope for him – not even an iota.
For the dead are beyond hope.

Setu, May 2020