01-12-2025, 11:52 PM
After lunch Indhu drew the curtains, dimmed the bedroom lights, and lay down on the big bed that suddenly felt too wide with only her in it. The satin nightie slid coolly against the sheet. She reached for the small steel bowl on the side table: fresh curd mixed with a spoon of turmeric and a little besan. She spread the pale paste over her face and throat, careful around the eyes, then rubbed the last bit down her arms and the tops of her breasts where the neckline allowed. The cool mixture tightened gently on her skin. She set the alarm for four, closed her eyes, and let the quiet take her under.
She woke to the soft chime, the curd mask now dry and flaky. In the bathroom she splashed cool water, watching the yellow streaks swirl away, revealing skin that looked brighter, softer, almost glowing. She smoothed fresh aloe gel from the plant on the balcony across her cheeks and collarbones, then ran her fingers through her loose hair. The mirror gave her back a woman who looked twenty-eight instead of thirty-six. She smiled at the reflection and felt the smile stay.
In the kitchen she made Karthik's favourite: soft murukku from the new batch of rice flour and a tall glass of rose milk. The clock showed 4:25. She was spooning the pink liquid into a steel tumbler when the front door rattled.
“Amma!” His voice carried all the way from the gate.
She hurried to open it, barefoot, the satin hem brushing her knees. Karthik's face lit up the moment he saw her, college bag sliding off his shoulder as he stepped in.
“Missed you,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He dropped the bag and followed her straight to the kitchen like a magnet.
The murukku disappeared in handfuls while he talked between bites: cricket scores, the new physics sir who shouted too much, how Vignesh got caught with a phone again. Indhu listened with the usual half-smile until she noticed the phone-shaped bulge in his pocket.
“Karthik,” she said gently, “you know the college rule. Phones only for emergency. If they catch you once more they'll call your father.”
He went quiet instantly, cheeks colouring.
“I… I couldn't concentrate after this morning,” he mumbled, staring at the plate. “What you said at breakfast… that you feel caged here… I never saw it before. I feel so stupid.” His voice cracked. “I'm sorry, Amma.”
The tears came sudden and hot. He tried to blink them away and failed.
Indhu's heart twisted. She rounded the counter in two quick steps and pulled him into her arms without thinking. He was taller than her now; she had to reach up, but he bent instantly, burying his face in her shoulder the way he used to when he was six and the world was too big.
“Shh, kanna, no sorry,” she whispered, kissing his damp cheek, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes with her thumbs. “I didn't say it to hurt you. I'm happy you understand. That's all I ever wanted.”
His arms tightened around her waist, strong and careful at the same time. The satin was thin; she felt every inch of his chest against hers, the heat of his skin, the slight tremble in his breathing. Something shifted inside her chest, warm and unfamiliar. This was her little boy, yet the shoulders under her palms were a man's, the arms holding her were steady and sure. For the first time in her life a man was choosing to stand between her and the hurt, and that man was the one she had carried inside her body.
Karthik felt it too: the way her body fitted against his, softer than he remembered, the satin sliding under his forearms, the faint scent of curd and aloe and something that was only Amma. His heart pounded so hard he was sure she could feel it.
They stayed like that longer than either expected.
Finally Indhu loosened her hold, cupped his wet face. “Go freshen up. Uniform smells of sweat.”
He nodded, still dazed, and walked toward the bedroom. At the doorway he turned back. “I meant it, Amma. If Appa says anything again, I'm on your side. Always.”
She believed him completely.
When the bathroom door closed, Indhu leaned against the counter, hands pressed to her chest as if to quiet the sudden wild beat beneath the satin. Calm, happiness, and something deeper, something she had no name for yet, washed over her in slow waves.
She made a fresh batch of murukku for Leka, carried the plate to the hall, and switched on the TV just for the sound of other voices. Sunlight slanted gold across the room. The house felt different: lighter, fuller, humming with a promise neither of them had spoken aloud.
Outside, the June evening waited, thick and sweet.
The front door clicked at 6:47 p.m. Leka's college bag hit the floor with a dramatic thud.
“Amma, I'm home!”
Indhu was curled on the three-seater sofa, legs tucked under her, remote in hand. Karthik sat on the floor in front, leaning back against the sofa edge, close enough that his head occasionally brushed his mother's knee. Some old Vijay movie was playing; neither was really watching.
Indhu's face lit up. “Come, kanna. Murukku and rose milk still there. Heat it two minutes if you want.”
Leka bounced in, still in the peach kurti and black leggings, hair loose and a little frizzy from the bus ride. She looked brighter than she had in months.
“Amma, you won't believe today!” She dropped beside Indhu, stole a piece of murukku from Karthik's plate, and spoke with her mouth half-full. “Everyone noticed! My friends screamed the moment I got down from the bus. ‘Leka, finally you look like a college girl!' Even the seniors were staring.”
Indhu raised an eyebrow, half amused, half cautious. “Boys also stared?”
Leka rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the smile. “A lot. Like I suddenly became Miss Chennai. But I didn't talk to anyone extra. I just walked straight, head up, like you told me. Felt… powerful.”
Indhu reached over and squeezed her daughter's hand. “That's my girl. You looked beautiful this morning. Today you felt beautiful too, right?”
Leka nodded hard. “If only I could dress like this every day…”
“Soon,” Indhu said softly. “We'll make your father understand. Slowly. Today Karthik understood how we feel. One day Appa will also see.”
Leka turned to her brother, eyes narrowed in surprise. “You understood?”
Karthik shrugged, a little shy. “I heard Amma this morning. She's right. We've been blind. I'm with both of you. Whatever happens.”
Leka studied him for a second, then gave a small, genuine smile. “We'll see, thambi. Let's see.”
Dinner was simple: leftover sambar, rice, and potato fry. They ate at the small dining table, talking about nothing and everything. Leka described every compliment she got; Karthik teased her about the boys; Indhu laughed more than she had in weeks.
Dinner ended with the usual clatter of steel plates. The three of them moved around the small kitchen in easy rhythm, Leka washing, Karthik drying, Indhu putting away. No one spoke about tomorrow or about rules; they didn't need to. The air itself felt looser.
By nine-thirty the lights were dimmed.
Indhu slipped into the second bedroom (the one filled with stacked clothes and old suitcases), locked the door, and began her quiet night ritual.
She lifted the satin nightie over her head and folded it carefully on the stool; it was still the only modern one she owned, the single secret piece in a wardrobe full of high-neck, full-sleeve, ankle-length cotton nighties. The rest were pastel florals and tiny checks Rajan had approved years ago.
Standing in just her simple beige cotton bra and panty, she sat on the low wooden stool in front of the small mirror. First the cleanser, then rose toner on a cotton pad. After that she took the precious bottle Varsha had given her: the vitamin-C body lotion for friction-darkened skin.
She poured a thick ribbon into her palm and started the slow, familiar circuit. Calves, backs of knees, the faint dark patches on her shins from years of tight petticoats. Higher: the sensitive inner thighs that had turned almost black in places from constant rubbing, the sides of her hips and buttocks where elastic marks used to dig in. She worked the lotion in gentle circles, watching the skin drink it up. One month of this every night and the difference was real: the darkness was fading, the texture turning silky, the old marks softening like someone was erasing years of neglect.
When she finished she slipped the same bra and panty back on (they were the only set she wore under the satin; everything else felt too matronly), then let the coffee-brown nightie fall over her body again. It settled against the freshly lotioned skin like it belonged there.
In the bedroom Leka was already under the sheet in one of her usual long, modest nighties (pale yellow with tiny roses). Karthik lay on the far edge in his boxer shorts, scrolling on Indhu's phone because his own was charging.
Indhu slid into the middle, the sheet cool against her calves. She propped the phone against a pillow and opened YouTube: old Vadivelu comedy clips, the ones that never failed.
Leka shifted closer on the left, resting her head lightly on Indhu's upper arm. Karthik mirrored on the right, shoulder brushing his mother's, the satin cool under his bare skin. They laughed at the same moments, the sound soft and sleepy in the air-conditioned room.
One by one the giggles slowed. Leka's breathing deepened first, her hand curled loosely near Indhu's waist. Karthik held out longest, but eventually the phone slipped from his fingers and his head settled on the pillow facing his mother, one arm flung across the sheet in unconscious habit.
Indhu killed the screen, plunged the room into darkness, and lay very still for a moment, feeling the gentle weight of both children against her sides.
The AC hummed. The satin whispered when she breathed.
For the first time in years, the big bed did not feel like a cage.
It felt like home.
The first pale gold of dawn slipped through the gap in the curtains and painted thin stripes across the bed. The AC had clicked off sometime after four; the room was cool but not cold. Leka breathed softly on the far left, one arm flung over her face. Karthik woke with a full bladder and the fuzzy confusion of deep sleep.
He sat up slowly, rubbed his eyes, and turned to slide off the bed. That was when he saw her.
Indhu lay on her back, head turned toward him, lips slightly parted. The satin nightie (her only one) had twisted and ridden high in the night. The hem was bunched almost at her hips. The soft coffee-brown fabric framed a triangle of simple beige cotton panty and miles of smooth, lotioned thigh that caught the early light like warm marble. The skin there was flawless now, the dark friction patches faded to a faint memory. One knee was bent outward; the gentle curve where thigh met hip glowed golden in the half-dark.
Karthik froze.
He had seen his mother's legs before, of course, always hidden under long nighties or sarees. Never like this. Never bare, glowing, impossibly soft-looking. The sight punched the air out of his lungs. For three full heartbeats he simply stared, throat dry, a sudden hot pulse low in his stomach that felt both thrilling and wrong.
Then reality slammed into him.
It's Amma.
Guilt flooded in behind the excitement like ice water. He forced his eyes up to her sleeping face: messy hair across the pillow, the faint smile that lingered even in sleep, the tiny mole just above her upper lip he had kissed a thousand times as a child. Beautiful. His mother. His safe place.
He wanted to pull the sheet over her, fix the nightie, protect her from anyone seeing her like this, especially himself. But if he touched the fabric and she woke…? What would she think? That her son was some pervert staring at her in the dark?
He swallowed hard, stood up on shaky legs, and padded silently to the attached bathroom. The click of the latch sounded deafening.
The soft sound woke Indhu instantly.
She opened her eyes to the pale room and felt cool air on skin that should have been covered. Her hand flew down. Satin bunched high, panty on display, thighs completely exposed. Her heart stopped.
Karthik's side of the bed was empty.
He saw. Oh God, he saw me like this.
Shame burned through her so fast she felt dizzy. One stupid nightie, one moment of selfish vanity, and now her own son had seen her half-naked while she slept. What kind of mother was she? She should have changed back into a proper nightie before sleeping. She should have known the fabric would ride up. She sat up quickly, yanked the nightie down to her knees, and pressed both hands to her flaming cheeks.
The toilet flushed. Footsteps. She couldn't face him yet.
She slipped out of bed, hurried to the main door on silent feet, brought in the milk packets from the delivery box, and went straight to the kitchen. Routine. Normal. Pretend nothing happened. She put water to boil, measured tea leaves with trembling fingers, added extra elaichi because Karthik liked it that way.
By the time the tea was ready she had calmed her breathing, but her stomach still twisted.
She carried two steel glasses back to the bedroom. Karthik was sitting on the edge of the bed, pretending to check his phone, face carefully blank.
“Tea,” she said, voice a little too bright.
He looked up, cheeks pink. “Thank you, Amma.”
They sipped in complete silence. The air between them felt thick, charged, both terrified the other would mention what had just happened. Neither did.
Leka stirred, yawned, sat up. “Tea for me also?”
Indhu handed her the second glass with relief. Normal morning sounds filled the room: Leka complaining about college, Karthik reminding her to take the assignment printout, the usual bickering.
Indhu escaped to the bathroom the moment she finished her tea. She showered fast, scrubbed away the last of the lotion scent, and changed into one of her regular boring nighties (long sleeves, tiny blue checks, hem brushing her ankles). Safe. Respectable. The satin nightie went to the bottom of the pile, buried under old sarees.
Leka chose another set from Indhu's small secret collection: dark grey leggings and a modest maroon kurti that still felt like freedom. She twirled once in front of the mirror, kissed Indhu's cheek, and left for the college bus.
Karthik shouldered his bag at the door. He hesitated, then stepped close and hugged his mother quickly, carefully, the way he always did. But his arms lingered half a second longer, his cheek brushed her hair.
“Bye, Amma,” he mumbled into her shoulder.
“Study well,” she answered, voice steady only because she forced it.
The door closed behind him.
Indhu stood alone in the quiet house, hand pressed to her chest, feeling the wild beat slow to something almost peaceful.
Nothing had been said.
Everything had changed.
She woke to the soft chime, the curd mask now dry and flaky. In the bathroom she splashed cool water, watching the yellow streaks swirl away, revealing skin that looked brighter, softer, almost glowing. She smoothed fresh aloe gel from the plant on the balcony across her cheeks and collarbones, then ran her fingers through her loose hair. The mirror gave her back a woman who looked twenty-eight instead of thirty-six. She smiled at the reflection and felt the smile stay.
In the kitchen she made Karthik's favourite: soft murukku from the new batch of rice flour and a tall glass of rose milk. The clock showed 4:25. She was spooning the pink liquid into a steel tumbler when the front door rattled.
“Amma!” His voice carried all the way from the gate.
She hurried to open it, barefoot, the satin hem brushing her knees. Karthik's face lit up the moment he saw her, college bag sliding off his shoulder as he stepped in.
“Missed you,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He dropped the bag and followed her straight to the kitchen like a magnet.
The murukku disappeared in handfuls while he talked between bites: cricket scores, the new physics sir who shouted too much, how Vignesh got caught with a phone again. Indhu listened with the usual half-smile until she noticed the phone-shaped bulge in his pocket.
“Karthik,” she said gently, “you know the college rule. Phones only for emergency. If they catch you once more they'll call your father.”
He went quiet instantly, cheeks colouring.
“I… I couldn't concentrate after this morning,” he mumbled, staring at the plate. “What you said at breakfast… that you feel caged here… I never saw it before. I feel so stupid.” His voice cracked. “I'm sorry, Amma.”
The tears came sudden and hot. He tried to blink them away and failed.
Indhu's heart twisted. She rounded the counter in two quick steps and pulled him into her arms without thinking. He was taller than her now; she had to reach up, but he bent instantly, burying his face in her shoulder the way he used to when he was six and the world was too big.
“Shh, kanna, no sorry,” she whispered, kissing his damp cheek, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes with her thumbs. “I didn't say it to hurt you. I'm happy you understand. That's all I ever wanted.”
His arms tightened around her waist, strong and careful at the same time. The satin was thin; she felt every inch of his chest against hers, the heat of his skin, the slight tremble in his breathing. Something shifted inside her chest, warm and unfamiliar. This was her little boy, yet the shoulders under her palms were a man's, the arms holding her were steady and sure. For the first time in her life a man was choosing to stand between her and the hurt, and that man was the one she had carried inside her body.
Karthik felt it too: the way her body fitted against his, softer than he remembered, the satin sliding under his forearms, the faint scent of curd and aloe and something that was only Amma. His heart pounded so hard he was sure she could feel it.
They stayed like that longer than either expected.
Finally Indhu loosened her hold, cupped his wet face. “Go freshen up. Uniform smells of sweat.”
He nodded, still dazed, and walked toward the bedroom. At the doorway he turned back. “I meant it, Amma. If Appa says anything again, I'm on your side. Always.”
She believed him completely.
When the bathroom door closed, Indhu leaned against the counter, hands pressed to her chest as if to quiet the sudden wild beat beneath the satin. Calm, happiness, and something deeper, something she had no name for yet, washed over her in slow waves.
She made a fresh batch of murukku for Leka, carried the plate to the hall, and switched on the TV just for the sound of other voices. Sunlight slanted gold across the room. The house felt different: lighter, fuller, humming with a promise neither of them had spoken aloud.
Outside, the June evening waited, thick and sweet.
The front door clicked at 6:47 p.m. Leka's college bag hit the floor with a dramatic thud.
“Amma, I'm home!”
Indhu was curled on the three-seater sofa, legs tucked under her, remote in hand. Karthik sat on the floor in front, leaning back against the sofa edge, close enough that his head occasionally brushed his mother's knee. Some old Vijay movie was playing; neither was really watching.
Indhu's face lit up. “Come, kanna. Murukku and rose milk still there. Heat it two minutes if you want.”
Leka bounced in, still in the peach kurti and black leggings, hair loose and a little frizzy from the bus ride. She looked brighter than she had in months.
“Amma, you won't believe today!” She dropped beside Indhu, stole a piece of murukku from Karthik's plate, and spoke with her mouth half-full. “Everyone noticed! My friends screamed the moment I got down from the bus. ‘Leka, finally you look like a college girl!' Even the seniors were staring.”
Indhu raised an eyebrow, half amused, half cautious. “Boys also stared?”
Leka rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the smile. “A lot. Like I suddenly became Miss Chennai. But I didn't talk to anyone extra. I just walked straight, head up, like you told me. Felt… powerful.”
Indhu reached over and squeezed her daughter's hand. “That's my girl. You looked beautiful this morning. Today you felt beautiful too, right?”
Leka nodded hard. “If only I could dress like this every day…”
“Soon,” Indhu said softly. “We'll make your father understand. Slowly. Today Karthik understood how we feel. One day Appa will also see.”
Leka turned to her brother, eyes narrowed in surprise. “You understood?”
Karthik shrugged, a little shy. “I heard Amma this morning. She's right. We've been blind. I'm with both of you. Whatever happens.”
Leka studied him for a second, then gave a small, genuine smile. “We'll see, thambi. Let's see.”
Dinner was simple: leftover sambar, rice, and potato fry. They ate at the small dining table, talking about nothing and everything. Leka described every compliment she got; Karthik teased her about the boys; Indhu laughed more than she had in weeks.
Dinner ended with the usual clatter of steel plates. The three of them moved around the small kitchen in easy rhythm, Leka washing, Karthik drying, Indhu putting away. No one spoke about tomorrow or about rules; they didn't need to. The air itself felt looser.
By nine-thirty the lights were dimmed.
Indhu slipped into the second bedroom (the one filled with stacked clothes and old suitcases), locked the door, and began her quiet night ritual.
She lifted the satin nightie over her head and folded it carefully on the stool; it was still the only modern one she owned, the single secret piece in a wardrobe full of high-neck, full-sleeve, ankle-length cotton nighties. The rest were pastel florals and tiny checks Rajan had approved years ago.
Standing in just her simple beige cotton bra and panty, she sat on the low wooden stool in front of the small mirror. First the cleanser, then rose toner on a cotton pad. After that she took the precious bottle Varsha had given her: the vitamin-C body lotion for friction-darkened skin.
She poured a thick ribbon into her palm and started the slow, familiar circuit. Calves, backs of knees, the faint dark patches on her shins from years of tight petticoats. Higher: the sensitive inner thighs that had turned almost black in places from constant rubbing, the sides of her hips and buttocks where elastic marks used to dig in. She worked the lotion in gentle circles, watching the skin drink it up. One month of this every night and the difference was real: the darkness was fading, the texture turning silky, the old marks softening like someone was erasing years of neglect.
When she finished she slipped the same bra and panty back on (they were the only set she wore under the satin; everything else felt too matronly), then let the coffee-brown nightie fall over her body again. It settled against the freshly lotioned skin like it belonged there.
In the bedroom Leka was already under the sheet in one of her usual long, modest nighties (pale yellow with tiny roses). Karthik lay on the far edge in his boxer shorts, scrolling on Indhu's phone because his own was charging.
Indhu slid into the middle, the sheet cool against her calves. She propped the phone against a pillow and opened YouTube: old Vadivelu comedy clips, the ones that never failed.
Leka shifted closer on the left, resting her head lightly on Indhu's upper arm. Karthik mirrored on the right, shoulder brushing his mother's, the satin cool under his bare skin. They laughed at the same moments, the sound soft and sleepy in the air-conditioned room.
One by one the giggles slowed. Leka's breathing deepened first, her hand curled loosely near Indhu's waist. Karthik held out longest, but eventually the phone slipped from his fingers and his head settled on the pillow facing his mother, one arm flung across the sheet in unconscious habit.
Indhu killed the screen, plunged the room into darkness, and lay very still for a moment, feeling the gentle weight of both children against her sides.
The AC hummed. The satin whispered when she breathed.
For the first time in years, the big bed did not feel like a cage.
It felt like home.
The first pale gold of dawn slipped through the gap in the curtains and painted thin stripes across the bed. The AC had clicked off sometime after four; the room was cool but not cold. Leka breathed softly on the far left, one arm flung over her face. Karthik woke with a full bladder and the fuzzy confusion of deep sleep.
He sat up slowly, rubbed his eyes, and turned to slide off the bed. That was when he saw her.
Indhu lay on her back, head turned toward him, lips slightly parted. The satin nightie (her only one) had twisted and ridden high in the night. The hem was bunched almost at her hips. The soft coffee-brown fabric framed a triangle of simple beige cotton panty and miles of smooth, lotioned thigh that caught the early light like warm marble. The skin there was flawless now, the dark friction patches faded to a faint memory. One knee was bent outward; the gentle curve where thigh met hip glowed golden in the half-dark.
Karthik froze.
He had seen his mother's legs before, of course, always hidden under long nighties or sarees. Never like this. Never bare, glowing, impossibly soft-looking. The sight punched the air out of his lungs. For three full heartbeats he simply stared, throat dry, a sudden hot pulse low in his stomach that felt both thrilling and wrong.
Then reality slammed into him.
It's Amma.
Guilt flooded in behind the excitement like ice water. He forced his eyes up to her sleeping face: messy hair across the pillow, the faint smile that lingered even in sleep, the tiny mole just above her upper lip he had kissed a thousand times as a child. Beautiful. His mother. His safe place.
He wanted to pull the sheet over her, fix the nightie, protect her from anyone seeing her like this, especially himself. But if he touched the fabric and she woke…? What would she think? That her son was some pervert staring at her in the dark?
He swallowed hard, stood up on shaky legs, and padded silently to the attached bathroom. The click of the latch sounded deafening.
The soft sound woke Indhu instantly.
She opened her eyes to the pale room and felt cool air on skin that should have been covered. Her hand flew down. Satin bunched high, panty on display, thighs completely exposed. Her heart stopped.
Karthik's side of the bed was empty.
He saw. Oh God, he saw me like this.
Shame burned through her so fast she felt dizzy. One stupid nightie, one moment of selfish vanity, and now her own son had seen her half-naked while she slept. What kind of mother was she? She should have changed back into a proper nightie before sleeping. She should have known the fabric would ride up. She sat up quickly, yanked the nightie down to her knees, and pressed both hands to her flaming cheeks.
The toilet flushed. Footsteps. She couldn't face him yet.
She slipped out of bed, hurried to the main door on silent feet, brought in the milk packets from the delivery box, and went straight to the kitchen. Routine. Normal. Pretend nothing happened. She put water to boil, measured tea leaves with trembling fingers, added extra elaichi because Karthik liked it that way.
By the time the tea was ready she had calmed her breathing, but her stomach still twisted.
She carried two steel glasses back to the bedroom. Karthik was sitting on the edge of the bed, pretending to check his phone, face carefully blank.
“Tea,” she said, voice a little too bright.
He looked up, cheeks pink. “Thank you, Amma.”
They sipped in complete silence. The air between them felt thick, charged, both terrified the other would mention what had just happened. Neither did.
Leka stirred, yawned, sat up. “Tea for me also?”
Indhu handed her the second glass with relief. Normal morning sounds filled the room: Leka complaining about college, Karthik reminding her to take the assignment printout, the usual bickering.
Indhu escaped to the bathroom the moment she finished her tea. She showered fast, scrubbed away the last of the lotion scent, and changed into one of her regular boring nighties (long sleeves, tiny blue checks, hem brushing her ankles). Safe. Respectable. The satin nightie went to the bottom of the pile, buried under old sarees.
Leka chose another set from Indhu's small secret collection: dark grey leggings and a modest maroon kurti that still felt like freedom. She twirled once in front of the mirror, kissed Indhu's cheek, and left for the college bus.
Karthik shouldered his bag at the door. He hesitated, then stepped close and hugged his mother quickly, carefully, the way he always did. But his arms lingered half a second longer, his cheek brushed her hair.
“Bye, Amma,” he mumbled into her shoulder.
“Study well,” she answered, voice steady only because she forced it.
The door closed behind him.
Indhu stood alone in the quiet house, hand pressed to her chest, feeling the wild beat slow to something almost peaceful.
Nothing had been said.
Everything had changed.
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