Red, Violet and Everything in between(Kanishka Roy) Two lines.
Positive. That’s what the test kit said.
Double lines mean pregnant.
This shouldn’t have happened. Not now. Not to them.

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Red. Not the bright screaming shade, more like stubborn acne marks. Once, it was white. A dazzling porcelain, out of place, midst flaky walls, cobwebs and low-watt bulbs. Much like her. Then time happened. The whiteness faded under the occasional blood stains and frequent regurgitation. And soon, it was ugly, basking in the ugliness of everything else. Much like her. Rosy stared down at the starchy gloop boiling in a concoction of acidic bile and expired milk. As the sink refused to gulp down yet another day’s vomit she realised that it was too late. Tiptoeing out of the bathroom, careful to not wake thamma (grandmother), she unplugged her phone from the charger and went inside her room. That tiny room was her safe place. And the night was her saviour, the only time she could reveal her being. That little sliver of moon peeping through her window did not judge her. And the dogs, homeless, free from the solitude of home-quarantine, weren’t taught to be condescending. But she remained aware; the rusty window grills had been painted over, inside they were rusted still. She grabbed those bars and pressed her face against them. The dim-lit street lamp exposed her bruised arms. She caressed its reddish brown as a blunt pain gushed through her lips. She had never felt so alone. It was this part of her, the lonely needy voice in her head which made her do it. Or perhaps there was something growing inside of her. Something absolutely different, exploiting the organismic fear of the unknown. She grasped her phone and opened their message thread. Hesitation weakening her fingers, she typed-
“I think I’m pregnant”

Violet.
Ijaya rearranged the artificial violets while the water boiled. She believed this would save her marriage. A cup of lukewarm water infused with freshly squeezed lime and a dash of honey. She had been working out for some time now. As a medical student she knew exactly how cruel female metabolism could be, and where it tends to dump excess fats. Lunges, squats, burpees, planks, side planks- she tried everything the internet told her. It did work though, and it was becoming visibly prominent through the bulge of her saree. Sometimes in the kitchen she would subtly brush her butt cheeks against his morning wood, pretending to reach for the tea jar. In other places too. She would bend over the crockery cabinet and fidget with the china. Most times she would leave the bathroom door open while taking a cold shower or walk in the room soaking wet and naked. Prasad, however, seemed oblivious of his wife’s advances. Obscure online erotica had failed her. Or maybe the damage had already been done. Like f**king a machine- he had said. At least she was not asexual anymore. She probably never was. Ijaya had only recently discovered her libido. And with it she discovered man’s invulnerability over the female form, the irresistible perfume of pheromones and the art of seduction. Now that they were quarantined together in the privacy of their homes, she could flaunt her new found knowledge. And curves.

Red.
It was the briefest of moments. But it lasted, an addictive red beaming through his iris, piercing through to her soul. The red caught his eyes at every alternate thrust, while the blue, green and yellow danced on his bare back. With every rotation of the disco bulb she felt both of her insides devoured- body and soul. In that moment she had decided to let him do it. As she wrapped her arms around his perpetuating torso, looking deep in his eyes, she moaned for his climax. She grabbed onto his love handles and pushed his orgasm in herself to find a warm release inside her belly. He wanted to pay extra for it, even offered to buy the pill. She refused. This time it wasn’t kink for her. It was something more. Something she had never felt. All of this was two days before the lockdown. Now she was just trying to understand this ‘something’. The text she had sent last night was a testament to this unknown predicament. Having not received any reply only increased her confusion. Clueless, she decided to remind him and typed in another message, “Please reply. We need to talk.”

Violet.
Ijaya was stunned at her own image. Making her way from the accentuated bust, she slithered her fingers down the violet corset, and around her rounded hips. The girdle amped up the intrigue in Ijaya’s broader frame, while the violet popped against the slight husk of her skin. She never imagined herself looking so desirable, so feminine. As she admired herself in the mirror, she became confident that this would be the kryptonite to Prasad’s superman. Men are weak - her mother had said. Then this ought to bring him to his knees - Ijaya thought. And it did. At first he was hesitant. But not after that. It wasn’t anything like their first night. He pinned her down, his grip sweaty and firm. Almost piercing through her fabric he ploughed her, manhandling her like a rag doll. The blanket of sweat dripped down from his chin and flowed between her breasts. Ijaya’s screams, disguised as moans, were muffled under his savage kisses, and her ripening senses ravaged under his merciless onslaught. He was what the erotica sites would call a ‘magnificent beast’. At the verge of his orgasm he put his grip on her throat and choked her with both hands. Pulling out of her, Prasad reached for her drying mouth, gasping for air, and shoved his member in it. As Ijaya looked in his eyes, dazed and shocked, she couldn’t find anything majestic. Only a beast.

Red.
The once faint crack on the mirror had fully cleaved in and the red varnish became visible diagonally. On the top side Rosy saw a face, one which the world found beautiful. The bottom side showed her thighs, a ring of discoloured bruising on both.
“It’s done! The holder was broken, so I changed it”- it was Rosie’s electrician, the only person in her locality who didn’t hesitate to enter her house.
“You’re a saviour Basuda. How’d you do it? No one would believe you’re actually blind.”
“I see so much more without them! Like the excited lizard hovering over thamma, her squeaky wheelchair cushion, the joy in your breath every time your phone chimes, and the disappointment which follows.” Rosy was taken aback. The potpourri couldn’t stop his lingering smell from breaching her senses. And the imported perfume failed to hide the stench of cheap soap and desperation. How could they? Almost everything in her room had a bit of him, more than anyone else who’d been on her bed and inside her flesh.
“You know what’s odd? How I happened to lose my sight, yet it’s everyone else failed to recognise me” Rosy looked at her phone screen once again- No New Messages!
“You and I both, Basuda” she chuckled.
“Back in the day I was summoned to the Ghosh villa, something about a British era ceiling fan. Travelled three hours on a summer’s day. The dumb f**ks didn’t know that it ran on kerosene. It was an antique, which in today’s world, is invaluable. So you see, it doesn’t matter who you are or how much you have. Some people just can’t recognise a diamond!”
“I don’t think that’s the word they use for me.”
“They don’t, ’cause you’re not.”
“What am I then?”
“A British era kerosene ceiling fan!”

Violet.
Ijaya noticed a subtle violet emerging around the wheatish tone of her neck. His ways had become more aggressive. Few weeks into the lockdown, and he had already tried every position she had read about. The butter churner, valedictorian, seashell, cross-booty, cowboy, wheelbarrow, leap frog- but he always wanted more. Twice, sometimes thrice a day. Her libido went numb, but Prasad was just warming up. Sometimes there would be rigorous slapping, and almost always some kind of suffocation was involved. But she didn’t have the nerve to refuse.
“How does that feel, you f**king slut!” he would shout. Ijaya would never respond.
“They took you by the ass as well, didn’t they?!”
‘They’ were her past partners. Even though she had never been with anyone else, her naturally ruptured hymen indicated otherwise. And pleasing her husband in every way was supposed to be salvation. Or at least that’s what Prasad believed. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t; rather he believed he shouldn’t allow her to leave the house when Ijaya wanted to volunteer at the hospital.
“No.” Prasad said firmly. And that was it.

Red.
“That’s right…my locality has been declared a red zone” - Rosy informed Titli over the phone.
“Oh honey! We’ve always been in the red zone. And stop sulking over that jerk, we have only ourselves to rely on. These idiots, who would pay extra for unprotected sex because ‘Condoms are for pussies’, are only now afraid of infection. Don’t fret it. Do what I did”
“What is that exactly?”
“Just tell him to pay up, if he refuses threaten to expose him to his wife”
Rosy knew Titli was right. The both of them, they were indeed the most touched untouchables from long before the pandemic. It was money she needed, but not what she wanted. But she was slowly unravelling that unfamiliar feeling that gutted her insides on that godly night. She wanted him to acknowledge her and the warm sensation expanding in her stomach. Perhaps she was asking too much from the universe. But she owed herself to try. Last try- she told herself. And so Rosy tried for the last time, “I’ve been feeling something I haven’t felt before because of you. I think I love you. Please call me”

Violet.
“The presence of HCG or Human Chorionic Gonadotropin in a woman’s urine is an indication of pregnancy. In commercial test kits, two violet lines appear if this hormone is detected, which would mean the result is positive. However if a man takes the test and results are positive, which is rare, it indicates testicular cancer”. Ijaya stood there, naked, waiting. The kit said five to ten minutes. She had never actually imagined this happening. Learning about it in medical school was different than experiencing it in real life. The worst part was she didn’t want it to be positive at all. She cursed her misfortune. Was this every woman’s fate? Or only hers? Only me- she scoffed. She believed the test would come positive even if she was a man. And for a moment she wished that she was. It was ten past nine. The time had arrived. The result in one hand she prayed to all the goddesses her mother worshipped. Thankfully, the prayers worked. And after confirming a million times, the result found itself inside the Indian style pan.

Red.
“You said what! Have you lost it?” Titli yelled over the phone. Rosy shuffled in her tattered red sofa and silently listened to her rant.
“I think I really do love him”
“Listen closely! You are a sex worker. And that’s all you are to him, if not less!”
“You don’t know him like I do. He’s different”
He was different. She had seen it in his eyes, the addictive red which had a window into her soul. It was true and it was pure. All of it. Titli’s voice was just another of the countless noises. Their love was like that piece of moon and the vagrant dogs- accepting and compassionate. Twenty minutes into the call, Rosy realised that her phone was chiming. Four New Messages. Rosy was on cloud nine. He had finally replied. Her stomach felt giddy and her limbs trembled as she opened the messages. It was happening. Things were about to change.
“I told you to take the pill!
I know what you’re trying to do, you whore!
You with your bastard have forgotten your place!
Never contact me again.”
And just like Icarus, Rosy fell on her face. The wings of desire melted under a hateful sun. Her heart exploded as red pain oozed out of her spirit. Nothing was true. Nothing was pure. Only red prevailed. But why her? The control of his carnal depravity, of both his shackles and of everyone else, only because of naivety. Icarus just wanted to fly. Did he deserve his eventuality?
Rosy picked up the phone reminding her that she is a survivor. She was not red. Even rust is on the surface, chemically changed by nature, robbing it of its lustre. But she wasn’t a metal bar. Or a diamond even. She was a kerosene ceiling fan. She deserved to love. And to be loved back.
“I took the pill.
I was sick, not pregnant.
And now I finally know my place.
F**k you! You pathetic tiny-dicked rat.
And yeah….
I hope your sorry balls are cut off!”

Violet.
The first rays of the sun hit differently on her violet bruising. Ijaya felt different as well. Last night she had refused to ‘please’ him, even after a beating. She sat with a cup of hot chocolate and a packet of bourbon on his side of the bed. Maybe today she would join back at the hospital. She grabbed Prasad’s phone to call her senior when she noticed it. Six New Messages- Rosy. Ijaya hesitantly opened the thread.
“Ijaya! You are pregnant?!” Prasad came running furiously from the bathroom.
“I thought I was”
“I’m not an idiot! I found the test on the pan when I was peeing. Two violet lines….. you’re f**king pregnant.” Prasad claimed as he threw the test in her face.
Ijaya was riding on various levels of disbelief. One thing she was sure of was that the test had come negative. She looked at his phone. Then at the test. Back at the phone. And out of the blue she started laughing. HCG. That was the key.
“How long after peeing did you notice it?” she asked.
“Five to ten minutes, while brushing..…how does that matter!? How dare you hide this from me?”
Ijaya kept on laughing. She gulped her drink and took out her medical coat from the closet, a candid friskiness in her movements. She quickly dressed herself in a salwar kameez and tidily bundled her hair, along with a fresh mask and a pair of surgical gloves. In between she burst in spurts of laughter.
“Where do you think you’re going? Answer me first!” Prasad advanced towards her with his arms raised.
Ijaya only laughed harder.
“HCG, my dear, HCG!” Ijaya sang and walked towards the apartment door.
“Before I go, I would suggest you spend some time with your balls. They are about to be cut off”

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