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Fiction: Abandoned by everyone she has ever known, Monica rediscovers her first love, photography

Scroll | June 25, 2025 12:39 AM CST

Three months ago: Powder Room.
The Royal Bombay Yacht Club, Colaba.

Monica looked at her reflection and did not like it. A drawn face, tired from insomnia. Sunken eyes on the verge of tears. The best foundation and concealer could not hide the dark, bulging bags underneath. Putting her hand on her lower abdomen, she then moved it up to her solar plexus and pressed it firmly. There it was, a gnawing gut, as if aware of impending doom but uncertain as to what exactly the problem was.

Monica then stared at her face, pursed her lips and whispered, “Baanjh.”

Blood curdled in her veins as tears welled up in her sunken eyes. “Baanjh.” The blasphemous word for women who cannot conceive quivered through yet again.

“Baanjh,” she repeated as Rashmi, aka Mrs Nunu, walked in tok-tok, her Louboutin heels clacking on the marble floor of the club.

“Eeew! What did you just say?”

“I just repeated what I overheard this morning. Raghu’s phone was in speaker mode when he was talking to his mother. She said it. He put the phone off speaker mode just as I entered the room. But the cursed word did not escape me.”

“Really?”

“I could not get the entire phone conversation, but it seemed as if...