Icicle Woes

How it begins

The dark decay of her teeth adorned the hollows of her mouth, casually, like icicles hanging off eaves on a cold wintry morning. Vasu was on board the Dadar Express, examining the singularity of her dental status in its tiny washroom mirror. Standing lifted on her toes. Looking for a change of countenance. There was none. She looked at it not with the concern of thought but merely with the appeal of diversion, a tendency of habit to investigate her most distinguishing feature. 'Puchipallu Bombaikaari' (the Bombay girl with infested teeth) she thought, as her maternal grandfather used to tease her, running her tongue along the jagged edges of her mismatched incisors. The staggering sight did not bother her. Vasu was eight. A lot of things did not bother her.Her mother, who stood outside keeping guard, knocked softly on the door. Vasu did not open it right away. Instead, she watched the t…

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