He would start work at 7pm sharp. Not a minute early, not a minute late. He did his job with pride, standing tall as the little town went about its life. He would watch the little boys racing down the lane, middle aged women on their way to the grocery store, the old men who’d walk down the lane for their daily dose of Indian politics and healthcare prices. The town hadn’t changed in years.
His eyes drifted to the group of young wives who sat by the park opposite him. Huddled together, painted nails, eyes drawn, their hands marked with the pale orange of fading henna. They seemed to converse in giggles. He sighed. He had seen young girls turn to beautiful brides and beautiful brides turn to scornful mothers-in-law. Only a matter of time, he thought, before their youth gave way to rough hands, pale sarees and sweat…
View original post 522 more words