This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

I am special because I choose to emerge from a mess.

What is special of about me… what makes me unique Amba wondred as she sprayed the perfume on herself, perfumes they were created to mask the stench of foul and offensive odoues, spices and bold flavouring were created to mask the taste of putrid and rotting meat… what was music created for she wondered, maybe to drewon the voice of others like

At forty if you are so naughty I would have loved to know you when you were younger” Vijaya had told her when they met at the conference.

“I love talking to you; there is so much of peace that I get after it.” Satish had said.

“I love your soft voice it is so soothing” vishal had said” those were the voices. Maybe the music helped to drown the voice within her.

Amba wondered what would happen to the happy, extrovert, non-judgemental image people had of her if they found out the truth about her, even her best friend jwala kept calling her “aggressive or cat” but she never called her morbid, dark or kinky because Amba had carefully worn a mask to hide that from the world.

“Prabhu wants you join his company as CEO”


“Because he considers me daughter and you as his son-in-law”

“Oh! These people who claim relationships, ask him to give a share in his property.” That was the first inkling Amba had that Danish was influenced by people and their status, when the person was his primary contact he was okay, but when it was anyone else then the reactions were different. Then there was the time when his grandfather was ill, and his aunt had called up his mother to look after them for a fortnight since she had to go out station.

Of course the aunt did have an option of hiring an hospital nurse but she thought it right to ask the daughter first, and the reaction was, “when it comes to care giving mom is made to share, but when it comes to property no talks share.”

Probably most people keep parts of themselves hidden and secret. Sometimes these parts are wicked and unkind, but often they are brave or wild or colourful parts, cunning or powerful even marvellous, beautiful parts just locked up away at the bottom of their hearts. They do this because they are afraid of the world and of being stared at, or relied upon to do feats of bravery or boldness, all those brave and wild and cunning, and marvellous, and beautiful parts they hid away and left in the dark to grow strange things, may those pop us as mushrooms, or maybe those wicked unkind parts turn up as shadow,

“No, the sad unaccepted part turns up as shadow” said a voice from within.

Amba turned on the laptop, and signed in this was not Amba arihanta her real life, she was signing into secondlife, where she lived a virtual life, there was something about it, after all she was masquerading of someone else, or did her masquerade disclose the reality of souls?

“Hi how are you today?”

“Hey phantom great, how are you”

“Thanks hurricane Katrina, I am great too, give me a hug, I need it today my boss kind of screwed my morning up.”

Amba mailed in the icon for hug, “want comforting” she asked,

“Want to comfort” he quipped back, Amba’s avatar quickly did away with her top and Phantoms avatar fondled her, “thanks cats.”

She was safe here, neither Phantom nor she wanted to know who the other was, they just wanted to live their fantasies without feeling kinky or perverted.

As long as no one saw who she really was she could tell the intimate details of her life, she talk and enact her fantasies and furies she could shed this mask out, to another person who was wearing a mask too, yet not wearing the mask that covered is physical presence and even his voice disguise  his voice. The person she spoke she knew did not really know the banter made them open up shadows emerged taking lives and presence of their own.  There was this kind of thrill that there was someone somewhere in the world who knew her just the way she was.

Then when Amba walked down the street she wondered if this was the person, or the other was the person, then she wondered if each person she passed wore a mask, then there would emerge an interest in that person for all she knew that person might be her unknown confidant. The smile came back.

“You are always smiling,” somebody had told her once.

“Your body language is offensively rude” Nazi had told her,

“Well, I only reflect, so see what it is about you that bother you. By the way let me return the compliment you are obnoxious” saying that did make Amba feel good, but she also felt that there was a flaw a dent, she should have stayed stoic no matter the provocation. After Nazia was entitled to her opinion just as Amba was entitled to think of Nazia as a twit. Somewhere Amba realized no man for any considerable period wear one face for him and another to the multitude without finally getting bewildered as to which is true.

It was a dread when the day was done, and she had to wind up there was this monster that controlled her, laughed at her because he knew her secret, he knew that she was really ugly scared and kinked.

Amba had names for people who she housed, they were very much part of her, Cats the mean, kickass woman who controlled Amba, she lived Amber’s virtual life and was a border line nymphomaniac, somewhere Amba lived in the security that she held Cats in control for signing into Second life was Amber’s choice,

“Honey you are addicted to my life, so you see”

Amba did ask herself, “was she addicted to Cats life?” the answer was quiet hazy though the journey was not, it was not as if she woke up one fine morning and turn into Cats… it took her quite a while to get into being Cats, she was not Amba either when started off, she was weak, deluded person with no name,

Amba could still see herself the way she was when it all started, sitting in that bare room wearing a off white skirt that looked like the mundu of the set mundu, she was sitting where the corners met, there was a window above head and light streaming in, she could see the tree top, yet she was helpless and lost.

All she wanted was someone to reach out to her and accept her unconditionally, scars, kinks and all.  That probably was the essence of the story of the beauty and beast, when one can accept the other with kinks, and be there for the person, then it makes life different.

The forgotten person in the bare room, she had to manifest, her existence had to acknowledged, Amba had taken on used the forgotten body to express and manifest herself, like Catherine had used the body to express and manifest herself, and the woman of forgotten existence had let them do so, for she was addicted to the kind of adulation the two women got. But it was this “vikora” who scared her for he knew her secret, he knew that Cats and Amba were one, and neither were real they were both using the forgotten woman.

Now the forgotten woman had decided to pour her soul out, she had finally found someone, that she could pour her soul out and guess what, she stopped in shock at the words she uttered… they were so rusty, so ugly and so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside within her so long.

this article is an excerpt from my NANOWRMO writing.
this article is an excerpt from my NANOWRMO writing.

But now she took a decision, a pleasure in transformation, yes Amba looked quiet and consistent, but few knew that there were other women too in her, she kept their names quiet because she was scared at the onset, now she like them immensely, she did not share their names, it was like surrendering a part of them, but she had grown to love the safety of secrecy.



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