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pain-somnia · 6 years

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Can I Be Yours? [3/?]

Rating: M

Summary: In which one of our heroines is very distracted

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Chapter Three: Jumbo Slices and Metro Fares

As much as Satsuki enjoyed painting and welding, her favorite thing to do was lampwork. She found it relaxing to mold glass into the intricate sculptures she designed. To use fire to bring her ideas to life.

“A fairy?” One of the students observing her asked. She gave him a slight nod, keeping her eyes focused on her heated glass rods.

Satsuki didn't work with assistants but occasionally some of the apprentices would come observe her at work. Because she was mainly a private artist and worked on the commissioned pieces at Glass & Iron, she worked on pieces that were more enjoyable to observe being created.

It was good learning experience. The apprentices would learn new techniques they wouldn't typically use for the stuff they would make for Glass & Iron. At least not for a long, long time.

“Did they ask for a pink haired fairy?”

Satsuki blinked rapidly, trying to process what the apprentice had said. Considering how focused she was she couldn't believe that she had used the pink glass rod for the petal dress on the hair of her fairy sculpture. The original plan was all clear glass with the only color being on the dress and wings.

“It looks nice. Prettier. More girly?”

Satsuki raised a brow at the boy. He flushed red and stammered out an apology.

Everyone knew she was sensitive about the fact that she was one of the only women that worked at Glass & Iron. One of them worked in welding and the other woman occasionally assisted on large commission pieces but mostly worked on making the colored glass they used in the shop.

There once was a rumor that Satsuki got the better jobs because she was sleeping with Kakashi. It had infuriated the other women. It was insulting. Satsuki mostly found it annoying.

She didn't care what people said about her personally. Her skill spoke for itself and the men in the shop were just jealous that they weren't as talented.

It also didn't really affect her that people thought she was sleeping with her old teacher. She knew it wasn’t true and so did Rin, Kakashi’s wife. It only irritated her when Kakashi caught wind of it and burst out laughing. He patted her shoulder and sighed out the rest of his laugh.

“Are you even interested in men?”

Satsuki prepared to seal her fairy by running it in the kiln. From what her client had told her of her daughter she knew that the pink hair would be a nice surprise.

“Are you done for the day? Want to go grab a bite?”

Satsuki paused in the middle of cleaning up her work area and noticed the younger man still hanging around. There was a blush dusting his cheeks and she groaned inwardly. She had assumed that his attention was purely professional. It wouldn’t be the first time she had caught the eye of one of the apprentices. At her age it wasn’t new anymore that she attracted people with her looks but it didn’t make it any less unwanted.

“Are you even interested in men?”

Satsuki couldn’t really say she wasn’t interested in men. She could at this moment to deter the hopeful apprentice but it wouldn’t be entirely truthful.

She just never really thought about them. It was the same with women. It was odd how high her libido was considering she wasn’t attracted to either gender sexually. Usually whenever she was in the mood she didn’t really know where to turn to.

Like being hungry and opening the door of a full refrigerator and finding nothing to eat, her older cousin Shisui had joked once.

Satsuki avoided relationships because she wanted to avoid sex. Yes she had a high libido, but she couldn’t just sleep with someone and she knew it could cause a strain in a relationship with someone. There wasn’t a guarantee that she would engage in a sexual relationship with a person just because she entered a romantic relationship with them. She had never felt comfortable enough.

Correction: she never felt comfortable before.

There was comfort the other night apparently, Satsuki thought dryly.

When Satsuki calmed down from her─not so─minor moment of panic she had curled up on her side under her kitchen table and looked back on the events of that night that she could remember.

She remembered:

Pretending she didn’t already know Sakura Haruno’s name.

Drinking whiskey like it wasn’t god awful without Coke, feeling like she had something to prove to pretty green eyes and a pleasant smile.

Soft fingers down her bikini bottoms and really dirty words falling from a cute mouth.

Satsuki had gotten drunk around rather friendly people before. Sometimes she wondered if Kiba even knew what he was humping when he drank. But she never fucked anyone that wasn’t herself while inebriated.

But apparently she got well acquainted with Sakura who had previously just been a pink haired stranger.

A stranger who had at some point had her face between Satsuki's thighs.

The more Satsuki tried to will more memories all she could imagine were a pair of green eyes shimmering with mischief and a saucy grin before said grinning mouth lowered to give long teasing licks, humming in delight as a small pink tongue added pressure with each stroke.

Satsuki felt heat crawling down her face to her neck. She didn't want to analyze the fact she was probably fantasizing more than recalling memories.

“I'm going home,” she announced to no one in particular, nodding to herself and with her hands on her hips.

She grabbed her canvas one shoulder sling backpack and her utility jacket and left her studio. She shut the door and locked it preparing to stay out of Glass & Iron until her head was cleared of any intrusive thoughts.

“Okay…?” The apprentice stared dumbfounded through the studio’s windows as Satsuki just left, completely forgetting he was in the room. . .

Satsuki glared at the strip of paper in her hand with its cutesy fox design. No matter how adorable, the single day fare card was no replacement for her metro card.

She had filled her card with twenty dollars before she lost it and owning the pass gave her discounted trips. Which she forgot about when she bought the ticket. Satsuki hadn't put enough money on it and couldn't leave through the exit stall.

Groaning, Satsuki dragged her feet to the insufficient funds machine so she could put more money on her ticket to pay off her fare.

Satsuki would have reported her card missing if it weren't for the fact that she had procrastinated registering her card and couldn't get a replacement with the funds she had added. She had a problem with procrastination. Satsuki could make orders and complete them ahead of schedule, her focus intense on her projects, but everything else fell through the cracks.

As she approached the surface she debated whether she should finally go grocery shopping or order takeout again. As the escalator ride was approaching its end she decided that she wanted to go to Jumbo Slice. Her mouth watered thinking about the cheese and the tomato sauce. A pizza slice bigger than her face would be the perfect end to her day.

After she purchased her slice she rolled it into a burrito shape and wrapped it in the foil they served it in to protect her hands from getting sauce all over them. She didn't mind the heat.

Munching on her pizza burrito she thought back on Sakura. It was an intrusive thought. Satsuki was meant to try and forget her but she couldn't help but picture Sakura in her pretty, neat clothes grabbing a greasy slice of pizza in the middle of the night.

Satsuki rolled her eyes and shook her head of the image. It was highly unlikely to happen. Sure it would make sense that someone like her with her busy schedule would stop for a quick bite to eat but that didn't seem like Sakura.

Satsuki felt safe making that assumption remembering an inebriated Sakura talking about her meal prepping and how she found mason jar salads to be super cute.

Satsuki snorted. Once that girl started rambling it seemed like she would never stop. She just flowed from one topic to the other taking up most of the conversation, something Satsuki was grateful for.

Satsuki was awkward and never knew what to say. Whole conversations could go by without her saying anything just for lack of knowing how to jump into the conversation properly.

It was something her older brother Itachi never had a problem with but apparently didn't get carried on to her. Itachi was aloof when he was a lot younger, unable to get along with kids his own age. He grew out of it as he got older and was actually quite charming.

Satsuki was not. The hardest part of her apprenticeship with Kakashi wasn't learning any techniques but learning how to speak to clients. She appeared aloof to many people but it was more anxiety of having to be around others than her being cold and distant.

She was a happy and friendly child according to her family. She was just horribly shy with strangers. Satsuki spent most of her youth hiding behind Itachi or her mother's leg.

Which may explain why her first instinct was to bolt when she noticed she was naked in bed with an equally as naked Sakura.

Not equally as naked. Didn't look anywhere the same when they were naked. Sakura was softer. Curvier. With a much nicer--

Satsuki choked on a bite of pizza.

What a great time to start noticing stuff like that.

Satsuki finally reached her apartment and punched in her code to buzz into the building. One of the first things her father insisted on when she moved out was an apartment with good security. He said he was even willing to help with rent if it meant she would be properly secure.

Satsuki refused the offer. She didn't need a doorman or a security guard at night. Especially not with all the training she had gotten growing up from her father who was a combat specialist.

God, she was glad to be in her own apartment, her own place where her father wasn't around to make her workout all of the time. She hated exercise so much. She preferred sketching with her mother over running miles and weight training.

“Hey Artemis.” Satsuki greeted her cat. Artemis rolled on his back and let out a big yawn. “Bet that's all you did today.”

Satsuki shuffled into her kitchen and put her kettle on the stove. Artemis followed at her heels, meowing loudly. He rubbed against her ankles when she stood in front of the cabinet that housed Artemis’ wet food cans and treats.

“A diet is a diet Artie.”

Satsuki let her tea leaves steep longer than necessary, making it strong and bitter. She poured her tea into a glass mug and carried it over to her balcony. She cringed as she took a seat, eyeing the way her potted forsythia was withering away, the yellow petals now brown and littering the concrete. Satsuki told Yamanaka that she wasn’t good with plants but she wouldn’t hear any of it and insisted Satsuki needed something other than her succulents to brighten up her little deck.

Yamanaka’s friends with Sakura…

Satsuki stared blankly into space. It was starting to get ridiculous how easily her mind drifted in her direction. She didn't want to think about her. Thinking about her made her think about how she wasn't suited for relationships and how she sort-of-kind-of wanted to be in one but there was no hope for someone like her.

Satsuki scowled and drained the rest of her tea.

I'm going to go to sleep and that's the last time I think of a pink haired cutie.

Satsuki pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered a string of curses. It was going to be a tough task. . .

Satsuki was ready to bang her head against something. How did she lose her fare ticket? She was so sure she had put it in her wallet.

What's worse is that she put the exact amount she was going to need and hadn't made any mistakes in the total fare.

Sighing, Satsuki dragged her feet to the fare card dispenser, ready to press the buttons more aggressively than necessary to purchase a new ticket.

Before she could pay for the card there was a breathy voice trying to catch her attention.

“Excuse me?”

Satsuki shut her eyes tight and turned around slowly. She opened up her eyes and almost screamed when she saw that Sakura was standing there holding out a metro pass outstretched in one of her pretty manicured hands.

“I think this belongs to you.”

Satsuki was sure there was a God of some sort and that they hated her.

#sasusaku #ss fanfiction #fem!ss

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wionews · 7 years

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The long aftermath of hunger

Is Gundhar Naik home, I asked a woman scrubbing pots and pans outside the house next door.

"Where have you come from, and what do you want here?" she demanded.

I am a journalist from Khariar who has written stories about Gundhar in the past, I explained. I have come to find out how he is doing.

The woman looked closely at me and asked, "Are you Thakurji?" Yes, I said, pleased that she had recognised me after all this time.

I had visited Barlabaheli village in Bangomunda block of Bolangir district, Odisha, several times in 1996-97. Now I was back after a gap of nearly two decades.

In 1996, a severe drought in western Odisha – across Bolangir, Nuapada and other districts – had caused hunger and starvation. It led to an exodus – many migrated for work to the brick kilns of Andhra Pradesh. Sadly, it was not unusual for this area – every 2-3 years a drought caused such conditions at that time.

Balmati Naik, alias Ghamela, a 32-year-old Adivasi widow of an agricultural labourer, was one of around 300 residents of Barlabaheli village. Her husband had died two years earlier. Ghamela had been forced to give up the little piece of land they owned to repay a loan. She worked as a daily-wage labourer, but following the drought, there was no work to be found in the village. Her six-year-old son Gundhar and she were starving. The locals claimed they had informed block development officials of Ghamela’s situation before her death, but they did nothing.

On September 6, 1996, after roughly 15 days of starvation, Ghamela died. Many hours later, the neighbours had found her son screaming and crying beside her body.

My stories on this starvation-driven death and its aftermath were published in Dainik Bhaskar in October 1996. Local social workers and some opposition leaders visited the village and took up the issue. Members of the Human Rights Commission also came and noted that it was a death caused by starvation. Political leaders, the block development officers, the district collector and district magistrate made tracks to the village. Even the then Prime Minister H.D. Deve Gowda was scheduled to visit, as part of his tour of drought-hit regions, but did not show up.

Reports on Ghamela's starvation-driven death and her orphaned son Gundhar, in 'Dainik Bhaskar' in October 1996 (Others)

The villagers told the visiting officials that employment opportunities were what they needed most. But when they pressed their case, village leaders had alleged, the district magistrate warned them not to play politics or take their protests too far, or the village would be denied the few benefits (such as ration cards) it was getting.

After his mother's death, Gundhar was very weak. Local panchayat leaders took the child to Khariar Mission Hospital, nine kilometres away, where he was diagnosed with severe malnutrition and cerebral malaria. He was critically ill, but survived.

After he recovered, Gundhar was sent back to the village. The national media arrived to cover the story. The district administration granted him Rs. 5,000 – a fixed deposit of Rs. 3,000 and Rs. 2,000 in a savings account. And with that, they washed their hands of the orphan.

For 19 years, I had wondered what had happened to Gundhar.

Ghamela’s husband had a son, Sushil, from a previous marriage. When she died, he was around 20 years old and working at a road construction site on the Khariar-Bhawanipatna road.

The neighbour told me that Gundhar now works at the Pappu Rice Mill in Tukla village, less than five kilometres from Barlabaheli. His in-laws live in Tukla, she added, and he has a two-month-old baby. His stepbrother works as a haliya (helper) at a nearby farm.

Riding my motorcycle over the ridges of the fields, I found the farm where Sushil was tilling the land owned by his employer. His three daughters and a son were nearby. Sushil, now 40, was unmarried when I had met him following Gundhar's mother’s death. He did not recognise me, but when I reminded him of the stories I had written, he remembered.

Sushil is paid Rs. 4,000 a month, or Rs. 130 per day, on which the family subsists. Some of his kids had clothes on, some did not. Their poverty was evident.

I left for Tukla to meet Gundhar. At the Pappu Rice Mill, I met the owner Pappu, and he informed me that Gundhar had gone to his village that day. I went to his in-laws' house where I met his wife Rashmita, who was holding their baby boy, Subham. Her husband had gone to Barlabaheli to clean the house and had been gone a long time, she said.

Gundhar's wife Rashmita (standing, left), his sister-in-law, and parents-in-law outside their house in Tukla village (Others)

Rashmita and their son Subham (Others)

I went back to Barlabaheli. Gundhar was indeed at the house. He smiled and greeted me. The six-year-old had become a young man, a husband and a father. But there was still an innocence about him. And he had never fully recovered from the weakness and malnutrition of his childhood.

The house made of mud and tile was much the same. Gundhar's family lived in one room and Sushil's family in the other. Gundhar said they had been living with their in-laws for the delivery of the child. They would return to Barlabaheli soon.

Two of Sushil's children at the family's bare home in Barlabaheli village (Others)

How much do you remember of the past, I asked Gundhar.

"I remember my parents were never well because they were always hungry," he said. "My mother had a fever. She starved for several days and then she died."

When he returned to the village from the hospital, prompted by all the publicity that followed my reportage, the administration got him admission at a local ashram (residential) school for Adivasi students.

"I studied till Class 2 or 3," Gundhar says. "But when I came home for the summer holidays, it was difficult to get any food. So I shepherded goats and sheep for people and ate whatever they gave me. I never went back to school. Then I worked at a hotel near Tukla. They gave me food and Rs. 50 a day. Once I went with 2-3 friends to work at a brick kiln at Mahasamund. We worked for 3-4 months, but the brick kiln owner did not pay us, intimidated us, and drove us away. We came back and started shepherding cows and bulls for the villagers."

His brother and sister-in-law got him married. "I am a poor man. The day I earn is the day I eat. So I could not afford any celebration and just brought my bride home."

How much do you earn at the Pappu mill in Tukla, I asked.

“I sew jute sacks there, for which I get Rs. 80 per day," he replied. "Those who lift sacks of rice get Rs. 130 per day. But I cannot lift the weight in this heat, so I tailor the jute sacks.”

Gundhar does not have a BPL (below poverty line) card but has an Antyodaya card under which he gets 35 kilos of rice per month.

Will you educate your children, I ask him.

“I am a poor man. I will educate them as much as I can. Because we have trouble getting enough food, my wife cannot breastfeed the baby. So we have to buy Amul milk; that takes most of our money."

When I once again visited his village a month ago, Gundhar had left for Andhra Pradesh to work at the brick kilns. His entire family had gone to the kilns, to work and raise money for his sister-in-law's wedding. But they had to work so hard against the six-month advance payment of Rs. 18,000 they received per person, that after returning to Barlabaheli recurring illnesses and medical expenses took up a lot of the money they had earned and tried to save for the wedding.

After a while, Gundhar went back to the kilns. He is now working as a loader there, piling bricks onto tractors for their onward journey.

Nineteen years on, this young man and his family are still struggling to stave off the hunger that claimed his mother and left him with a lifelong frailty.

This article was originally published on 21/ 10/2016 on the People's Archive of Rural India.

Photo Credit: Purusottam Thakur

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