Dinner on Tuesday

He wants to be a billionaire’s wife, he says, in his next life.

Taken care of. Without a care in the world. Sitting

across from me, giggling. Trying to get a rise. Face alive

with irrepressible merriment at having

got my goat. Is every man just a sixteen-year

old at heart? I sit there, sporting smile

slipping off my face and regard this good gent, cheer

and all, and feel myself coming apart. Even with no guile,

how easy it is to trivialise the idea of a woman. Just a hint

will do. A drop of vinegar. Souring. Corroding. Shadow

of an insinuation marring her whole visage. I brazen it

out and he backs off. But there I am, clenched, clammy, sallow

Thinking, what a sport this. Misogyny. Pull the rug out from under

one and watch them all fall. By implication. Women. No wonder

Carol D’Souza (cblaizd@gmail.com) is a research scholar working at the intersection of language and curricula at IIT Madras, Chennai.