The Radioactive Woman

She strode out of her house, carefully choosing her steps, placing her high heels on the slippery snow. It was the first time they were meeting. She had taken care to have her eyebrows equaled, they lady at the salon had spoiled them last time, she even had her hair highlighted. She didnt like it coloured, streaking gave her locks the salt and pepper look. She had moved to Finland, the Finnish were said to be the most open minded people around, non withstanding the highest suicide rate among young adults. She carefully locked the door, even though she had nothing which could be stolen except some led-zepplin music, which gave her company in her pensive moods. They had met a fortnight ago, and now he had asked her out for a dinner and dance date. She was against workplace romance, and this was just gonna be a simple dinner after all. She reached the “Chilangas”, a chinese restaurant, almost an hour late – it wasnt her fault that there was no hot water when she wanted to have a bath or that her car had run out of fuel. He was sitting at the table, with a disinterested look on his face, having some wine. He gave her a missed call on her cell-phone as she was just walking into the non-smoking section. He rose and took her overcoat, that was so very sweet of him, she liked to be pampered, but she had her own strong individualism. They decided to have a lobster, even though she didnt know the art of eating it. The conversation was a bit slow for sometime, but she knew he had a wicked streak in him, and soon the talk was enjoyable. This was her life, no strings attached, living by herself and loving it.

Even though she was highly educated, yet she had started working for a children’s magazine. She had just completed two years at the office and had even co-authored a book on dancing for kids. Dance was an art she lived for, it gave her inner strength and freedom to express. She hated to be policed, she wanted to walk with her head held high no matter what, she wanted to speak whatever she wanted to no matter what, and she liked to dress whatever way she wanted to no matter what. Her most treasured possessions were the letters that the little readers of the magazine sent to her, some were written with crayons and some with sketch-pens. Sometimes she could not even read the scrawny writing of a young hand but yet she kept them all, in a box below her desk. They provided excellent company when she was lonely.

Seven years ago she didnt know what she had to do with her life, but she had reached here and she knew that this was what she always wanted. Shifting to a new country was a tough decision, but then she could live her own life. Nobody knew where she had come from and how she had spent her previous life. Her father had not completely understood why she had wanted to do this, but he had supported her nevertheless. Seven years ago, she had been sitting on the sofa at her home, when she suddenly felt a whiff of a deodorant from her past. She desperately ran into every room, searching for that particular smell, trying to capture it, maybe some of it had been trapped under some nook. All traces of the smell seemed to have vanished suddenly, only leaving behind silent tears. It was then that she decided that she would leave this smell behind forever, move to some place new, start a new life.

She never knew that she would one day become an editor. She had trained to become a chartered accountant, she had loved that too. But she wanted to do something that had some meaningful action to it. Moving other people’s money around so that they could steal on taxes wasnt exactly her cup of tea. She had a passion for the arts, or rather she just had passion, passion for anything, passion for everything. She had passion for playing baseball, and everybody just stared agape when a slim female used to pitch betwixt tough guys on the university baseball diamond. She liked being around guys, they were just so carefree and less complex than girls. She wasnt a tomboy at all, but her girly self used to come out when her guy friends went for vacations, and then she missed the boys. She liked colour pink, her dreams were all pink, with pink grass and pink birds flying among pink clouds thats why all her sexiest tops were pink, but she was simply attracted to the colour red as it reflected the passion inside. Black used to bring out the mystery within her.

She knew she was sexy, and dressed to kill usually more to flatter her own self than for other people’s benefit. Nobody could guess how old she was, she still looked like a college student. She didnt like the cold too much, she always needed warmth in her life, but she never had known that fate would bring her to the wintry environs of Finland. She couldnt wear her navel baring tops in the chill, but thankfully the workplace was centrally heated. They had dubbed her “The Radioactive Woman” at the workplace. She was a fireball, she could do anything she wanted to, even if the whole world was charging against her. And to top that, she was always tastefully attired. She liked to look good, it gave her a burst of confidence. She knew that every man had set his heart on her, but she was a butterfly, she teased them all mercilessly with her dresses, with her style, with her talk. She sought out the good ones, but still kept all her relationships down to the level of decent friendships. She had enough of relationships, they all ended up hurting her anyway. It wasnt as if she hated men, some men were sweet too.

Maybe she was a perfectionist, and maybe her relationships were none too perfect for her. She never knew, she hated to analyse her actions, she knew what she had done was the best for her own self, she knew that she couldnt be stifled no matter what happened. She always thought she had found the life that she yearned for as a young girl, which she had day dreamed of during those boring university lectures… but somewhere down the line she discovered that what she had been desperately seeking was not completely her own life. She knew that her relationships were less than perfect, but she didnt want perfection here, she had just sought satisfaction. Nothing had ever been complete, it had always been half. Everything was half right. Whenever she had been shocked out of her reverie, she had realised that the relationship that she had and life she was living was just half of what she should have gotten. People only half understood her real self.

Yep, she was indeed radioactive, she’d lived many half-lives….


~ by sleepwalker on December 23, 2005.

5 Responses to “The Radioactive Woman”

  1. hi there dizzy! nice article! how busy is ur schedule these days?! studies keeping u busy?

  2. Thanks Vidhi!
    schedule is light coz holidays are on, the eigth semester shall start from january and then the research project and all that. just now life is fun at home with parents, catching up on cricket and enjoying delhi’s winters.

  3. Interesting…
    is this your own work ?

  4. haaaaaaaaaaaaaaan its my own work!!!! i have copyrights to it for 60 years after my death… am I right?? our college had us all do a course on legal ramifications of technology and intellectual property rights…

  5. great 😀

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: