Ladies Coupe Read Free Page A

are to question it?’
    Akhila was only fourteen. But even so, she heaved a sigh of relief that there was no uncle waiting in the wings for her to grow up.
    Her mother threw her a dirty look and suggested that she go out and bring in the washing. ‘An idle brain causes idle thoughts. Dangerous thoughts,’ Amma said darkly.
    ‘When you have finished folding and sorting the clothes, iron them. But leave your Appa’s shirts for me. He is satisfied only if I do it,’ she added.
    Akhila grimaced because she knew that it wasn’t so. Her father didn’t care who ironed his shirts as long as they were
done. But Amma liked to perpetuate this myth about a tyrant husband who was easily annoyed and could be placated only by her complete devotion. Unlike other men in the neighbourhood who let their wives rule them. Like Karpagam’s father.
    Karpagam’s mother taught dancing. Every evening between four and six, she gave lessons to the children in the neighbourhood. At the end of a year of lessons, her students knew enough to participate in school dancing competitions and win a few prizes. So she had plenty of girls coming in for dance lessons. Besides, she only charged thirty-five rupees a month per student. She made enough money to be able to buy little trinkets for Karpagam and herself. Maybe that’s why Amma kept her distance from Karpagam’s mother. Amma didn’t like anyone who was different from her.
    One morning, when Akhila was about nine years old, Karpagam brought to school a foot-long pencil with a cunning little pink plastic hand attached to its end. Akhila immediately wanted one like it.
    ‘Where did you get it?’ she whispered when Karpagam showed her how she could scratch her back with it.
    ‘My mother brought it for me,’ she said, giving her back another long drawn out scratch.
    ‘What does it cost?’
    ‘Six rupees. But Mother bought it at Moore Market. She bargained with the shopkeepers and got it for three rupees. Its real value is six rupees,’ Karpagam said, giving Akhila the pencil to hold and scratch her back with.
    ‘Doesn’t it feel lovely?’ she asked, seeing the pleasure on Akhila’s face.
    ‘It’s beautiful. Can I take it home with me for a day? I’ll show it to my mother and ask her to buy me one as well,’ Akhila said, caressing the lines of the pencil hand as if it were a real hand. To have and to hold.
    Karpagam hesitated. ‘I have to ask my mother …’ she began.
    ‘I promise to bring it back tomorrow. Look, if I get a pencil like this, then we can scratch our backs together,’ Akhila said in earnest.
    ‘You are quite silly,’ Karpagam giggled, tickled by the thought of the two of them going at their backs with their pencils. Perhaps that was why she let Akhila take the pencil home.
    Amma was annoyed and then furious. ‘Karpagam’s mother can buy her all kinds of things. Karpagam’s mother has an income of her own. I can’t afford to buy you such useless things. Do you realize that Appa works so hard and in spite of it, we find it difficult to make ends meet? And I do not want you bringing other people’s things into our home. What if you break or lose the pencil? Where will I find the money to replace it?’
    The next day Akhila returned the pencil to Karpagam. ‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘When will your mother buy one for you?’
    ‘She said she can’t afford to buy me things like your mother does,’ Akhila said.
    But all day and later all night, Akhila thought about it. If Amma had a job, she too would have money of her own and she would be able to buy her the things she needed without troubling Appa about it. But what could Amma do to earn some money?
    The next morning, Akhila heard her mother singing under her breath as she went about her chores. It was a holiday and so Akhila had all day to prepare herself before she approached her mother with what she considered was a master move.

    ‘Amma,’ Akhila said when she thought Amma seemed in a receptive