Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. In this case of course, the lovely Tulsi hasn’t been scorned. She just made the mistake of falling in love with the wrong man, like quite a few well-educated Indian women who should have known better, she saw a ‘cute’ cleft chin and long eyelashes and fell hook line and sinker. Love seethed in her veins like a cobra’s strike and in the best tradition of Indian soaps, she eloped with her beloved two days before her arranged marriage.
Madhav, her beloved, was a serial heartbreaker and Tulsi was the 28th woman in his life. She assumed that the number meant 28, full stop, and went onto discover that it did not. Typically, the ex-es kept coming out of the woodwork like the ants she saw everywhere, the ants of death that crawled over corpses. K.R. Meera’s story, stripped to its bare essentials, sounds like a typical tale of love and betrayal, perhaps leading to an avenging fury with a knife, but something sets it apart from the reel life that throbs on TV screens or the pulp fiction genre.