|Home | Issues | The Daily Star Home | Volume 5, Issue 47, Tuesday December 02, 2008|
From Page 3|
purses, they work well on any kind of outfit. It can only edify and add to your pieces. Looks great with solid suits rather than ornamented ones as it can remain as a focal accessory. These are extremely stylish and can be put together in a variety of situation, whether it is a sari or fusion wear.
Finally, creativity of presentation is the key. Your level of comfort with the style and colour should always be made considering that your choices give you mileage on your investment. This winter, explore bright vibrant colours in easy styles. The trend is considerably moving towards the 70's aesthetics with contrasting hues and bold motifs.
Photo: Zahedul I Khan
Under A Different Sky
By Iffat Nawaz
THERE was blood everywhere- pouring down my hair, every strand held a drop or more. His white shirt was now red. He still held the receiver of a public phone in his hand. The dial tone was clear and loud and yelling in her monotonous fashion, waiting to be used. His face was shaking, the mark of a fresh bite on his right arm demanded attention, but all the blood that shed from me washed away all the scars, in my body and his.
“Jaan, are you okay, are you okay jaan, I am so sorry,” he screamed.
My face was still in shock. I was trying to figure out the sequence of events. We got into a fight, as usual, after his family's visit and criticism on his newly wed bride, me. I being me, who has seen the world's certain shades and thinks have seen it all, protested to my in-laws behaviour. My husband and I went out for a drive, the fight started, the verbal abuse, how spoilt I am, how snobbish I am, not just me, but my whole family and in return I didn't hold back but gave it back to him with just as much enthusiasm. And then we stopped at this parking lot; where I came to the pay phone to call my mother, to seek her help to tell her how miserable her daughter's newly wed life really is, when he came over, hit me with the receiver of the pay phone which then resulted on a what seems like a fractured skull.
He picked me up. I was feeling like I would faint. My lips were swelling up not from pain but from anger and indignation, I was crying like a baby. He was kissing me, calling me only “jaan” and “baby.” We were not verbally abusing each other anymore. He took me to the emergency room. Seeing my state they took me in right away. And right when they put me in a stretcher I lost consciousness.
When I woke up, he was right there, I saw that he had changed his shirt, it was no longer bloody and red, I wondered where he got it. I saw fear in his eyes, and when I looked around the room I saw a few more sets of eyes staring at me- a doctor, a nurse and a policeman. The doctor told me I needed nine stitches on my scalp. Thankfully they didn't have to shave my hair. The policeman then told me he wanted to speak to me alone. My husband whispered in bangla, “Please don't tell them what happened, he will take me to jail.”
The policeman realising my husband's intentions told him to leave the room immediately.
Now it was just the policeman and I. Todd. Todd with his kind smile. He asked me what happened. I told him I had fallen from the stairs, my common tale. Todd held my hand and pressed it, he told me “if you tell me the truth no one will get hurt, we can help you.”
I looked away, I didn't know if I am better off telling the truth, when my husband, who I am planning on leaving, will end up in jail or not telling the truth when my husband will be free even though I will still leave him.
Todd pressed my hand again, his eyes looked sad; I could tell his desperate effort to read me. He said “I want to help you, just tell me who did this to you.”
And I screamed out “Leave me alone,” not sure to whom I was relying this frustration…to myself, to Todd or to my husband? And then I felt myself falling in the arms of unconsciousness again, sinking deeply into my blood dripped hair, stitched head and hospital white sheets…there is no end to this…anywhere… and I whispered again, “leave me alone please, won't you?”.
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