The melancholia of the moon reminded Damayanti of home...and oddly, of freedom. There was no daylight to put boundaries around her thoughts. And she could, in the impenetrable darkness, build vast expanses of non-confinement. Martin read her scribbled couplet over her shoulders and chuckled at her disregard for conformity.
-"Leave that girl alone, now!" Helen quipped. "Go for it, Dom. You are the fire we all need"
-"They knew I would be rubbish on the field...consumed completely by my total intolerance of unscrupulousness, of corruption, of malfeasance...that's probably why they've given me this Nolan-esque responsibility of managing the Batmen and Robins.".
-"But that's the thing, Dom!" Martin thundered. "Let your groupies loose, on a moonlit night like this one, moving stealthily through the shadows, taking out the bad, the evil, the malevolent...saving, what can still be saved."
Damayanti sat quietly, taking a sip of her Bourbon Old Fashioned, the classic notes of vanilla and oak playing on her tongue. She remembered how she had urged that little girl, not to look back. Run like there was no tomorrow, with a bag full of clothes, a box full of food (that Ma had so lovingly cooked), and some money. Enough to let her go back to her hometown. But did that really set her free? If only, she, as a teenager herself, had the foresight to advise - "hey! don't go back to that patriarchy, Don't go back to that little one-horse town, where you will be abused, raped, and possibly sold off again." It was a moonlit night, just like this one, when the girl gradually disappeared down the road, into the darkness. Damayanti sighed.
Based on a real incident, when I almost urged a girl to escape from the clutches of her oppressors. Urban setting. Very modern day. But the girl backed out at the last minute. Unable to escape her own conditioning. Happens every damn day.
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