Thursday, January 21, 2016


They took my husband at the darkest hour. A hand covered my mouth. I was blindfolded. They did not disturb the sleeping kids. It was over in five minutes. After they were gone, I reached out and felt his warm space go cold.
I reported it to the police. They did not conceal their irritation. What could they do? My parents and siblings dropped by. His stayed away. A few neighbours watched from behind curtains, some closed the windows; it was as if we were in quarantine. I won’t blame them. I would do the same. When the first one from our area was taken, a few months back, I told my husband to keep a low profile. He did not listen.
The media stayed away. It isn’t news anymore–‘Another goner’, on page seven. It wasn’t like that when it started. There was outrage against extrajudicial rendition. Even the gossip columns speculated–love trap, suicide, financial mess, what-not. Then, the tone changed and they reported justification–anti-national, global security, sedition, risk. Finally, someone classified the lot as ‘goners’. That said it all.
The kids adjusted. Grief gave way to determination when the financial situation seemed fine. Initially, I shied away from the public eye. One day I said to myself, let them pry. Let the spy-cams roll, let them read and watch everything, let them think I am dangerous. It was easier after that. Days went by. He was missed, not forgotten; but, we had lots of other things to think about. A colleague proposed marriage. Another suggested sex. I was too tired to act offended. There was just too much on the plate.
Then, he was returned; again, silently.
That too has been happening. Not news, is it?

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