Ruhee-a character

This is my attempt to start on a new story. Due to writer’s block and much needed time to discover new styles, ‘He who summoned the magpie robin’ story needs to take a rest. Writing female characters have always been a bit of a challenge.

And Happy Independence day everyone. Enjoy!
– Nirjhor Barua
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Ruhee was the independent type. Being raised as the only daughter, without a mother, she became the free spirited. She needed no one, except her father of course and that to be very rarely. When she was young she would wear boy clothes and bully the boys in her school. And when she had her first period at the age of eleven, she went up to her father who was reading a V.S Naipal novel, Baba I am bleeding, she said, down there. Her father like always and especially in this case could offer her no help and the neighbour-aunt was summoned to the rescue. Much to everyone else’s annoyance, especially her dead mother’s sister who thought her father was doing a poor job at raising her, she took karate lessons in a local dojo with the name Flying Friends Karate School. She learned the Shotokan Karate style, the most common one around, and when her father asked why she was kicking a sand filled sack around, hung from the empty fan-hooks on the ceiling, this is self defence, she replied, what if someone wants to rape me when you are not there? Her father had no argument to refute her. I keep telling my sensei, I think I should reach black belt soon, she said and the itch-knee-sun-see punches would continue on the poor lifeless sack. She, still in her orange belt, never cared that the style of martial arts Bruce Lee performed in his movies—that she would play during her training sessions—was very different from the one she was learning. All that mattered to her twelve tear old self was the kiba-dachi, punches and the roundhouse kicks. She once spent the entire evening going about the house in a horse stance. The Enter the Dragon tape soon worn out and was replaced with Jackie Chan CDs.
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She grew older, blooming into a beautiful woman; her bronze-coloured shiny skin gleamed against the sun, as she went about places, proudly, with a confident walk. Once she reached the age of sixteen she declared she wanted to commute alone. No Baba-escorted rickshaw rides anymore. Her father, who did not know what he was doing wrong all this time, complied. Who wanted to argue with a blue-belt Karateka. She never got to reach her destined black-belt; growing breasts that had a mind of their own and wanting to look feminine had made it difficult for her to pursue her Shotokan-Bruce-Lee-dreams. She in this case admitted defeat. If her mother was alive, she thought, then her mother could have bought her the bras she needed, maybe, maybe then she could continue her flying kicks. As usual, Baba in the growing-girls-department was pretty useless.

While time passed and the seasons came, she soon learnt it was difficult for her travel alone, for any woman for that matter. The harassment and lewd stares were common place. In crowded buses, as the hands would brush against her rear, not the accidents rather the intentional ones, where some stroked lightly, some with impending rigorousness, she would at most times feel disgusted, feel her space being violated, molested. The invasion of hands on her posterior, working their way up her butt-cheeks, sent fight or flight signals to her brain and when she turned around to protest, to knee-kick the groin area or two, the man would be gone it seemed, lost amongst others in the crowd and all the men around could have done it, all of them looked like it was possible for them to grope a woman. Other times though, the strong digits caressing her end sent chills up her spine, exciting her, making her almost wet, invoking feeling she hadn’t felt before. She would push against the hand, push against the quick pinches, push against the thumb digging into the cloth-covered-crevice. And then when she would turn around, this time too the man would be gone, the hand would be already retrieved, and all the men present, pushing against her in the crowd, looked like they would grope a woman. The hungry look on their faces told her so.

Even though with her Karate-chopping-takes-no-shit type attitude, her beauty was not lost on anyone. Her aunt, dead mother’s sister, would roll in with proposals once she hit eighteen—American citizen! Dubai resident! Cholo Cholo! Get your daughter married fast or she will elope with some no good penniless chap! Her father was not ready to lose Ruhee yet. To quieten her aunt she agreed to meet this suitor of hers, but to make it interesting and probably to scare him, she turned up in her old karate uniform, washed and neatly pressed with her precious blue belt tied in the waist. The suitor, a American green-card holder in the mission to pull her in with the American dream, got scared stiff, said sorry for wasting her time and left.    

***************************************************************************************************************26/March/ 2014
photo source: internet, Enter the dragon.

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