Grateful Cinderella

She sat at the bar, sipping on some concoction which didn’t look too great. But it wasn’t her drink I was looking at. There was something about her. I wouldn’t call her mysterious or even sexy. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Anti-social maybe? And nonchalant. She was immersed in her own thoughts as she stirred her drink slowly. The bad jazz music and several other guys checking her out didn’t make any difference to her at all.

I would have walked out if I hadn’t seen her. My friends were late as usual. Who knew if they’d even turn up. On an impulse I decided to try and talk to her. Try being the operative word. I straightened my tie, crumpled after nearly 12 hours in office, gave myself the once-over in a nearby mirror and strode over to her. The bartender chuckled as I sat down on the barstool next to hers. Obviously my intentions were clear.

“One whiskey please. RC on the rocks.”

I had no clue what to do next. I sat there for what felt like an hour, wondering what to say to her. I found myself staring at her and tried to make myself stop several times. She was still in her own little world. A simple black sleeveless top, paired with a flowy kind of skirt and flat slippers. Her straight, black hair covered most of her face so I didn’t even know what she looked like.

“You waiting for someone?”

Er. Was she talking to me? I still couldn’t see much of her face so I was wondering if she was the one who even spoke, before she looked at me straight in the eye.

She raised her eyebrows. Piercing black eyes. I gulped. I don’t know why. And straightened my tie again.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“Uhm. . Ya. I mean, I think so. I don’t know if they’re coming or not. May take them a while.”

“Hmm. I’m Kowsalya.”

“Uh hi. I’m uh Deepak.”

“Hi uh Deepak,” she chuckled. “Am I making you nervous?”

My mind went completely blank. What the hell was I supposed to say? Yes, you’re making me sweat like a labourer but I don’t know why….?!

“Uh…” had to suffice.

“That’s ok. I do it to a lot of people. Never did it to my step-mother though.”

Right. I could tell a story coming on.

“Can I buy you a drink Kowsalya? Uh, once you’re done with the one you have I mean.”

She chuckled again. Funny though how the smile never seemed to reach her eyes. Was she acting or just very unhappy?

“Sure. Call me Sindhu.”

“Huh?”

“My father named me Kowsalya. People started calling me Sindhu after my step-mother and step-sisters did. Long story. You got time?”

“Yes.” Now I was intrigued.

“Well. Sounds corny but I’m a Cinderella of sorts. Not in the sense that I’ll turn beautiful, find Prince Charming and live happily ever after. But in the sense that my mom died when I was born. Dad was in the army so he travelled a lot. But he adored me. And I loved him more than anything in the world. I was in hostel in Pune. Sahyadri. Heard of it? Anyway, when I went back after my 10^th standard board exams he had a big announcement. He was getting married. I didn’t return to Sahyadri after my 10^th because they don’t have 11^th and 12^th there. No Pre-university college either. Since the step-mother and her two kids were from down south he put me in a boarding school in Ooty. He died when I was in the 12^th. Some assignment gone wrong.

My step-mother hated me. Dad had left all the property to me, all his money to her. Nothing to the two girls. Don’t know if he hated them, maybe he saw through their façade. She hated me the minute she set her eyes on me. Always called me ungrateful. I don’t know why I had to show her any gratitude, she never did anything for me. That’s why I was relieved when Pa put me in boarding again. I couldn’t bear to live with them, even though it meant more time away from my father.

After he died, she refused to put me in college. Said she didn’t have the money. Though she spent it all on clothes and stuff for her girls. She never spent a paisa on me. The maids used to keep quitting because the step-mother and her girls would scream at them and demand so much. One day I started cleaning up because no maids had come in many weeks, and the house was dirtier than a garbage dump. I shouldn’t have. That day onwards she expected me to clean the house. Like I was her maid.

I would do everything from then on. Cook, clean, sew, buy groceries, run behind her and her two bitches. It continued for almost five years.” She heaved a huge sigh. I noticed her drink was over and signalled to the bartender to get her another one.

“I’ve always wanted to try a cosmopolitan. You mind?” she asked me.

“Why should I?”

“Oh right, you’re not my evil step-mom. Sorry.” Another half-smile which didn’t reach anywhere near her eyes. Now I knew why.

“Then what?”

“Right. A few months back some boy fell in love with me. He saw me while I was walking to the vegetable store. He started following me, and I got very freaked out. One day I finally yelled at him but he said he’d been following me because he was scared to talk to me. And all that jazz.” She took a sip of her cosmopolitan.

“I didn’t mind the attention. Or the fact that I finally had someone who cared about me for the first time in God knows how long. My school friends gave up on me years ago. I couldn’t call, couldn’t write, couldn’t email… I wasn’t allowed to communicate with anyone. Anyway I was really grateful for a friend.” She stopped talking. I was digesting everything she had said. I didn’t know how to react, even. So I just waited. But she didn’t say anything. Was that the end?

“Sindhu?” I murmured gently.

“Yeah, sorry. Was just thinking.” She sniffed. Another big gulp of her drink.

“She had him killed. She found out about him and had him killed. Don’t ask me how. I woke up and found a finger in my bed one morning. And a picture of him tied somewhere to a chair, gagged and…” she choked down a sob.

“It’s ok.” I put my hand on her but she flinched so I took my hand back.

“Sorry. I’m not used to people touching me unless it’s to hit me. My boyfriend never got past holding my hand. We never even had the chance to kiss.” Full-fledged crying now.

She stopped almost immediately though. And apologised.

“I don’t like making a scene.”

“Sindhu, what happened? Did you go to the police?”

“No. Something like this had happened earlier. My friend was trying to get in touch with me, and came by the house. That bitch had her beaten up. Showed me pictures. I went to the police. Nothing came of it. I don’t know if she was sleeping with the constable there or what but they didn’t do anything. Even file an FIR.”

“What happened. How did you leave then?”

“They went out that day. The day I found his pictures. She bashed me up till I could barely walk. I walked though. Oh yes, I did. I washed my sheets and everything, found some gloves, dumped the finger and photos under her mattress. When they came back I instigated a fight with her. She tried to hit me again but I was prepared. I caught her alone. She’s menopausal and weak now. Was. I was standing in front of a rather large brass Nataraja statue. I hit her on the head. Her daughters came. Predictably, they also tried to lash out at me. So I did the same with them. And I called the police. Self-defense.

I used every trick in the book. But it wasn’t all lies. Five years… No, it was more. Seven years of having them in my life, losing my father, the man I fell in love with… losing everyone. I told the police everything. They even managed to find his body. Now I have the house a bit of money. And I don’t know what to do with it. It’s only been two months or so.

I remember what she said as she lay there, in a pool of her own blood.

“You ungrateful, scheming bitch,” she sputtered, through the blood in her mouth.

“No, Ma.” It was the first time I ever called her that. And the last time. “I’m very, very grateful. I don’t mind everything you’ve put me through. It’s worth this. This moment… looking at you, dying in your own blood. And soon, it’ll be your daughters’ turns too. I’m extremely grateful for the opportunity you’ve given me. Now, I can get away with it all.”

She’d gone by then.

Didn’t you read about me in the papers?”

I couldn’t reply. I was too… shaken? I shook my head.

“Hmm. Congratulations then. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to apart from a reporter. That’s my story. Sindhu they called me because they began calling me Cinderella. It became Sindhu. But my name is Kowsalya.”

I cleared my throat. “Well, I suppose I’m grateful to you step-mother and step-sisters as well.”

Raised eyebrow. Piercing look again.

“If that didn’t happen, I may have never met you. Am I right?”