Her only connection with the outside world was the maid who comes every other day to clean up and cook for her.
Sometimes, when she goes downstairs, she could see the neighborhood kids playing in the park and looking at them, Preetha could neither control her tears or her breast milk which threatened to ooze out of her eyes and breasts. The first drops of rain had spotted the road on the ground like leopard print, and the musty smell of the wet earth and her leaking motherhood were strangely identical.
File 145989799623- (473.09KB , 2171x1472 , mat_03) The darkness in Preetha’s heart was reflected, as it were, across the sky as dark clouds had covered it from horizon to horizon.
Slivers of lightning were streaking through the inky blackness that blotted out the blazing sun of the afternoon.
This is the reason Preetha doesn’t wear western clothes like T-Shirts, tops or salwar-kameez these days.
These spontaneous effusions have become an issue of embarrassment for her.