"My partner is so much like me, yet I fight with her..
Because sometimes I need to fight myself. "































































He had been living in the rented room upstairs for years, and through all those years he kept observing her - the maid - coming to work at the landlord's house downstairs. He was an author and would sit by the window for hours, trying to find the right words for his story, and all he could think about was her. He would love those moments when she came to the terrace to dry the clothes. That was when he got a chance to say a 'Hi' to her. He waited for those moments.
 
She always carried a grumpy face, as if to say she did not like the work and yet had to do it. Over the years the grumpiness had left a permanent mark in the wrinkles of her face. Yet, for him, the grumpiness did nothing to dent the joy he derived from beholding her visage and its glum expressions.
 
She never smiled at him, even tried to avoid his brief conversations, yet he kept at her. He loved her body. There was something ineffably attractive about it - like a mix of menace and delicacy, or stubbornness and sensitivity, like insanity and sensibility roasting each other to bring about that perfectly tanned skin.

On days when he got aroused seeing her, he would use that flow to pen some amazing chapters in his story.
 
For her, it was exactly the opposite. Her body was her biggest burden. It always came in the way of her life - it was a stumbling block. During childhood she could not run around and play freely like her brothers: her mother always kept covering her with a bundle of clothes and restrictions. "You are a girl. Be careful about your body when you are outside." She could not sleep freely too. Even in the hot summers she could not sleep outside (like her brothers) as she had to be careful about her body. Later on, when she went to college, nearly every guy friend that she made seemed more interested in her body than in her. She had to drop out of college, just because her body always came in the way. Finally she had ended up doing these domestic chores. And even here, the old man would not let her work in peace and kept trying to touch her in many places. She hated her body for how it had bogged down her life.
 
For him, her body was an inspiration. He saw how it gave her power over the men in a male-dominated society. In fact, he thought that from the perspective of her body it was a female-body dominated society. Every thing in her life revolved around it. She never had to stay hungry - the body had the means to feed itself, and the more it fed the more it become empowered. Such a powerful influential positive feedback loop that binds society and Nature into a vicious circle. It was in its pursuit for the female body that the naked face of the male libido wore the diplomatic hat of chauvinistic finesse. Though it was primarily for her body, yet men were being nice to her, unlike how they were towards him. He was talented and creative, yet he was out of a job. He had to struggle to earn his bread, but she could just command it with one nudge of her body.

He long pondered over the miracle of her body, visualizing it like a sceptre of human dimensions. While she spent sleepless nights in her room, imagining the blank and objectified future that lay ahead of her.

For him, her body gave meaning to everything in her life. For her, the body stole meaning from everything in her life.

Then came the point where he got so besotted with her body that he began madly desiring for it; while she became so disillusioned with her body that she began detesting it. He wanted to steal her body and wear it upon his soul; while she wanted to escape from her body and bare her soul from it.

One afternoon, while drying the clothes on the terrace, she noticed the author wasn't in his room. This was her chance. She climbed up the roof, up onto the huge water tank, took a deep breath and jumped in it. In the evening, when he got back to his room, tired and famished, he went straight to bath. He turned on the shower. As the drops began to pour, he sensed a vague temptation in the water and instinctively opened his mouth and began to drink it.

The water, which carried the juices of her body, would turn to blood and integrate with his. What was her body in the morning, became his by evening.
 
 
 
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