The Weighing Machine

She behaved like a woman possessed. She would step on it every hour, calculating, sweating, crying, wondering how many more hours to spend on the treadmill. The numbers on the display consumed her every thought, influenced every decision from food to clothes. But the numbers never changed.“Look at her!”she overheard an aunt say to her mother, “Saand jaisi! She’ll never get married.”This pinched her in so many ways. The same condescending aunt discovered her hanging from the ceiling fan.There was a broken weighing machine on the floor.
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