Ghachar Ghochar

by Vivek Shanbhag

Words, after all, are nothing by themselves. They burst into meaning only in the minds they’ve entered.

On that day I became convinced that it is the words of women that wound other women most deeply.

Our relationship with the things we accumulated became casual; we began treating them carelessly.

It’s true what they say—it’s not we who control money, it’s the money that controls us. When there’s only a little, it behaves meekly; when it grows, it becomes brash and has its way with us.

Her mother-in-law wiped off her tears and said, “You can’t buy graciousness. It’s something that’s handed down through the generations. They say the newly rich carry umbrellas to keep moonlight at bay . . .”

That might sound like a tame comeback, but the sword of insult seldom cuts on the surface. No, it lacerates from within and leaves wounds that reopen with remembrance.

Language communicates in terms of what is already known; it chokes up when asked to deal with the entirely unprecedented.