so...

“So, does your wife know you are here?”
She asked him, ruffling his hair as he lay with his head on her chest.
“No.”
“Would she ever know?” She ran her fingers across his bare back and wiped a few sweat beads away.
“No.” He wrapped his arms around her more closely, and buried his head onto her bosom.
“What if she does?”
“She won’t.”
“Hmmmm!”
“You are not convinced.” He lifted his head from her breasts.
“If you are convinced so am I. It’s just that, if she finds out; it’ll be bad for you. But nothing for me.”
“It won’t affect you at all?” he was looking at her face as she said it. She seemed to believe what she was saying.
“No.” She said grinning.
“Why?” He contemplated sitting up. But then her body was too warm to leave. He sank down again, on her side, one arm draped around her belly.
“Coz you came to me. I never called you to come to me. I was never after you.” She looked at him right in the eye.
“And does that make a difference?” He didn't understand it. He did. But then he didn't.
“Amir!”
“Ok. I get it. But I can always say that you enticed me.” He thought that was smart enough.
“Ha! You would never say that.” She laughed
“I wouldn’t? What makes you think so?” He removed his arm from around her tummy.
“Coz I know you.” She stated
“Hmmmmm...” he sank into her again. “Do you?”
“Yes.” He wondered how she could be so sure about everything. Something that his wife never was.
“What do you know about me?”
“I know enough.” She said winking at him. Gently running her long fingers through his hairy chest.
“That’s not an answer.” Her fingers were driving him mad. He caught it and bit into her index finger.
She laughed.
“I know that you do not expect me to say ‘I love you’ to you. And I know that you don’t want to say that to me either. That’s all that you need isn’t it?”

He made love to her till morning. She gave him what he wanted till he left for his home.

wishing

I go to sleep everyday hoping I'd be woken up by your knocking on the door. I wake up everyday and open the door, hoping you'd be there, waiting for me to come out. I keep my room neat everyday, so that when you come, you would want to stay and never leave. I put kajal everyday, hoping you'd be there beside me, whispering how much you like my kohil lined eyes. I wait for you to get a holiday, hoping you'd come down to see me. I cry to you that I miss you, hoping one day, you surely will come to kiss my tears away. I wish everyday would be my birthday, so that you'll have a reason to surprise me by coming to me. I drape my bed with blue bedsheets, knowing that you love blue, and hoping one day, you'd wake up with me on them. i ask you come to me, you find different answers all the time...



I tell you that I miss you....don't you miss me too?

Twenty Rupees

I still don’t know why we decided to take that walk.


It wasn’t rainy. It wasn’t winter. There is no winter here anyway. It wasn’t the calm, cold October month. It was hot, sultry and sweaty. Summer making its obvious presence felt on our armpits, and our foreheads, where little beads of perspiration pondered sliding down our noses.


Am not sure if we talked that day. I remember sly glances and colour on cheeks. Yellow dupatta and a bright green slawar kameez, a white tee and Bata chappals. But nothing of conversations. Funny how a few days ago when friendship was the term that had defined our relationship, words would never stop, tumbling over each other in their rush.


But now friendship was lost. And in the first walk together to nowhere, there was something else. And we were smiling all the while.


It was she who wanted the watermelon. I watched her as she ate. It was as if even watermelons loved her. Or perhaps I was too lost to really think of the careless way in which she bit into the pinkness of the melon.


Two brown seeds were sticking to somewhere between the tiny crook where the lip starts and what you would perhaps refer to as the chin. I looked at them (and her). My hand rose hesitantly, fingers wanting to brush the seeds off, wondering how it would be to feel her skin.

My hand must have just begun the sojourn to her face.


“20 roopa chetta” (that will be 20 Rs.)


She brushed the seeds away herself. My hands found two ten rupee notes in my pocket.

Rain Clouds

You told me rains were tears of the clouds. You told me you wore bangles because you liked to listen to them talk to each other. You told me that you loved the way the beach sand sticks on your soles. You told me you loved to make patterns in the sand. You said nothing beat coffee. You always insisted on drawing a smiley face with the ketchup bottle on your plate after you were done. You liked waving at trains. You loved lying on your back and watching the clouds till the night swallowed the sun, and you could see them no more.

I walked with you in the rain, because I knew you put wet towels on my forehead the next day, if I fell sick. I bought you bangles, smiling at the way you listened to them talk. We walked on the beach together, letting the wet sand tickle our toes. I took pictures of all that you drew on the sand, and pinned them up on my wall. I insisted on lying on my back with you watching the clouds, while I studied the way your lips moved while you spun stories about clouds.

I knew you hated early mornings, preferred white roses to the red ones, I knew you washed your hair with coconut oil and amla, that liked your coffee with more milk and less sugar, I knew the way you laughed, gasping for breath, and clutching at your sides. I have seen you cry, the way your lips quivered and the tears always came out of your left eye first. I knew the way your hair always came undone, strands that kept falling into your eyes. I knew the way you held my hands and squealed when you were excited. I knew the way there would always be silences between us, where you’d be near, yet so far, and I waited for you to come back to me. I knew the shops you went to, the food you ate, the worst coffee you’d ever had, the worst fear of yours, your biggest dream to sail on a yacht alone, with Orhan Pamuk and Marquez for company. I knew the books you loved, the way you could never like Howard Roark, I knew the passwords to your e-mail accounts, the combinations to your number lock, I knew how hard you tried to learn to whistle...

I thought I knew everything about you. I thought we were perfect.

But I never knew that you never loved me. Until you left.

The animatedness of inanimation

I guess life has been opened and closed simultaneously for me. There are new things everyday and also the old things. There is nothing happening on some days, while a lot, though nothing particularly significant (usually) that happens.

It is nice to think about someone all the time, miss him,his touch, his smile, but also miss a lot of inanimate animate things like a missed call, a message, a scrap. Sometimes I think it’s so worthless to be in this state that I am in right now. This over invasion of inanimate things in my life. But then, there is no other animation that happens. Then again, if not for these inanimations, I am at a loss as to where and what I’d be doing.

It seems perfectly natural to miss one person constantly, think about what he would be doing, which side of the bed he sleeps on, how much tooth paste he puts on his tooth brush, the amount of stubble he might be growing now. It also seems incredulous that I spend my time on this. But again, to come back to what I was saying, it all seems so natural.

If I’d chose to do something other than the ones that I’ve mentioned prior, it shocks me that there would be nothing. True, I might write, I might paint, but there is this constant thought process going on somewhere, almost involuntarily about just one person.

Sometimes I think obsession is bad. But then again, it’s not so bad at all. Is it?

I enjoy my state of mind usually, and I just don’t mean the “good” state of mind. I also mean the not so good, and the worse. But what happens is that the thoughts which i enjoy in these frames of mind differ. The whole missing part which seemed so romantic a short while ago seems all so wrong and so melodramatic and oppressive. And i get into animated discussions with myself. This however ends in a lot of inanimation.

So there, life- and the animatedness of inanimation.

Being there. final part

"Ah! you are awake. I was just coming to wake you up. You wont ever believe what I've done now." Sai came into the room just as Nidhi was stretching herself and struggling to keep her eyes open, in spite of the mid day sunlight.

He stood there with such a wide grin and an unbeatable look of accomplishment that she had to laugh.

"You are laughing? Did I miss something? I didn't say anything funny did I?"

"You made breakfast." she said trying to keep a straight face and acting overwhelmed.

" how did you guess? I changed my shirt. I haven't dribbled anything on my pants...how did you guess?" He asked baffled.

"Wifey instincts!!" she said smugly.

He stuck his tongue out at her. "Fine. Someday, even I'll discover something like husbandly instincts and then you'll see."

"hee hee....am eagerly awaiting the day"

"Well anyway. I made dosa. I couldn't figure out how to make sambar or chutney, so you'll have to do with ketchup. And don't make that face. Be grateful I dint kick you out from the bed to make breakfast. Do you even know the time woman? its nearly lunch time. No actually its brunch time-11.30. and...."

"Get the breakfast Sai...am hungry...and am not sure I cant resist dosa and ketchup....." she said, smiling an evil smile.

Not catching the sarcasm, his face brightened and he walked out of the room.

he came in with 2 plates of what looked like bits of dirt, painfully arranged in the form of a circle, and a Maggi ketchup bottle balanced on one of the plates.

"there you go. My best creation ever. They are slightly...erm...overdone...but they are tasty. I tried them." he looked at her sideways.

she hugged him and whispered into his ears. "I love burnt dosas"

"I knew you'd say that."he said smiling at her. "so you start attacking the dosa, while i get the paper."

She started picking on the brown remains of what was intented to be a dosa.
Surprising how the dosa could be burnt and yet not cooked properly on the inside. Probably that's why Sai called it his best creation so far. Nidhi chuckled.

The first bit of the dosa was slowly finding its way into her mouth when Nidhi screamed. The dosa wasn't brown because it was burnt. It was brown because it was made of cockroach wings. brown, shiny and plastic like.

Sai came rushing into the room and saw Nidhi screaming like she'd never screamed before. She jumped out of the bed as soon as she saw him and lunged at him wildly.

"You are the one. You put cockroaches in the dosa. you are the one who has been haunting me. You are trying to kill me" she said hitting Sai with all her strength.

"Nidhi! what are you saying? what about cockroaches? calm down. CALM DOWN!"

He was shaking her like a rat. Willing her to quieten down.

She looked at him wildly. She could see the cockroaches coming out from his hair. They were coming out from his finger nails. She could feel them climb over her. Shey were crawling on her. all over her. And he was laughing. He was standing there, throwing back his head in mirthful laughter.

She broke away from him and ran. She had to escape. She had to. This maniac was out there to kill her.

"Nidhi...what are you doing? Where are you running to? There is nothing here Nidhi. Its just me. please listen to me" His voice was frantic now.

The knife which was lying on the dining table slashed his fingers. it cut his chest. tore at his arms.

She sat on him and pared away the cockroaches. One by one. The ones coming out of his finger nails, his hair, his mouth. When she was done, she laughed.

"I cant die now. All the cockroaches are gone."



*********************

The cockroaches never left her.

They were in her little cell too. She could see them crawling all over the room. And she felt as many as twenty scrambling on her head. Running down her nose. Some sliding down strands of hair…she searched for a knife so that she could chop her hair off. Then perhaps they would stop crawling over her. But in that tiny room with bars there was nothing except a thread bare cot, a water jug and a blanket. She reached for the water jug and smashed it over her head.

being there III

Vikram helped them negotiate with publishing houses day after day, month after month. After 6 months of not hearing from anyone tempers were running high.

“It’s just been six months. People wait for eternity to have their works published. You should have patience.”
“And some things never get published, even after the people who wrote it is dead”
“Come on Nidhi. This is your first attempt. Give it time.”
“I never wanted to do this in the first place. You forced me into it.”
“I was trying to help you. I thought people needed to read you Nidhi.”
“Well I was doing better without anyone reading me.”

She walked out off the room and him out of the house.

“Mmmm...No. Not tonight.”
She pushed his arm away from her as he tried to caress her breasts.
“Sai, I think we should move to another home”
“Huh?” A confused voice responded
She turned around to face him. He took the opportunity to kiss her nose and snuggle into her.
“Yeah! We need to change homes. I don’t like it here. There is something wrong somewhere. I don’t like the feel of this home”
“You women and your feel” he chuckled and tried to kissed her neck.
“Am serious.” She said, pushing him away and sitting up on bed
“But Nidhi....., we’ve lived here for 2 years now. I love it here. This home is so...it’s so us....”
“Please Sai, listen to me. There is something wrong.”
“Nidhi, tell me what is wrong. You don’t seem yourselves these days. And I can’t imagine what is wrong with our home or you...” he leaned over and switched on the lights.
“Don’t switch on the lights. They will come.”
“Who will come? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I don’t know Sai...I don’t know...am scared....please let’s move out from here...Please....”

As she snuggled into him and slept off, her whimpers dying into the dark, Sai sat clueless...wondering what was wrong.

being there. part II

She took up journalism after her masters, and he went on to do his M.Arc. After 3 years of courtship, they decided to move in together. Within the olive green painted walls of their new home, she wrote for a newspaper, and he toiled under a demanding company.

“ I think you should really write a book. All those scribbling you do should be read by people.”
“ You read it right? I don’t think anyone else will want to read it”
“ You will never know that unless you publish some of you works”
“ Its too much work”
“ Its not. I will help you out. Proof reading and all”
“ I don’t now Sai. I don’t have the confidence”
“ Come on. I trust you. You can do it”

A lot of cajoling, and pressurising and boost ups later, Nidhi sat down to begin her first book.

Getting a publisher was one thing, and it didn’t help that Nidhi was still apprehensive about her work. Every rejection was hard and depressing.

“ They dint want it did they?”
“ No” he sighed “too simple a plot”
“ Its ok I guess. You loved it. Its more than enough”

He stood watching her. She was going around the room with a broom in hand.

“What are you doing? I see you with a broom at almost every other day. It’s not like you”
“Cockroaches. Everywhere. I am driving myself mad with trying to drive them out”
“ Buy Hit. Spray it all over. More effective than brooms”
“ Doesn’t work. Brooms are the best”

being there. Part I

And now they were here too. She could see them crawling all over the room. And she felt as many as twenty scrambling on her head. Running down her nose. Some sliding down strands of hair…she searched for a knife so that she could chop her hair off. Then perhaps they would stop crawling over her. But in that tiny room with bars there was nothing except a thread bare cot, a water jug and a blanket. She reached for the water jug and smashed it over her head.

****

He rushed into the room excitedly. “ You made it. You book is topping the charts now. Vikram just called me.” She was bending over something near her table, but as soon as she heard him, she squealed and rushed into his arms.

“ You are joking right? My book, I mean our book…”
“ I always told you it would work right. See now” He grinned
“ But I can ‘t believe it…I just cant”
“ Well I can. I would have not believed it if it hadn’t happened this way”
He smiled wickedly at her astounded face…
“ So…the treat then…are we going out now? Or….”

She screamed and rushed into her bedroom slamming the door after her.

Laughter rang loud.

He was an engineering student and she a student of literature when they first met at crosswords. She was immersed in reading from Daphne du Maurier and did not even hear her mobile ringing. He’d felt annoyed first. How can anyone be so oblivious as to the disturbance? Quite a lot of people had begun to stare at her trying to locate why she wasn’t picking the call.

“ Excuse me, but I think your cell is ringing.”
“ What? oh! Is that mine? I am so sorry. Oh my is everyone staring at me? God! Where is my cell now?”
she began searching her large jute bag with a minimum of hundred pockets frantically.
He took pity on her and snatched the cell from her fingers and gave it to her.
“To think I was holding it. How silly of me. Will you please catch my bag, while I attend the call?

Without waiting for an answer she thrust the bag into his unsuspecting arms and walked out of the store. He stood gaping after her. Feeling angry irritated and amused at her audacity, her silliness and her stupidity. She trooped in with a tear stained face something like half an hour, while he had almost gone to sleep hanging on to the bag.

“ Will you please drop me home? My fiancé just called off our engagement and am not sure I can find my way home alone”

Two strangers they were. But as it happens in all movies, they met by fate and were destined to be together. After about a year of casual calls and some infrequent messaging, they started going out together. She the scatterbrained and he the meticulous, she the effervescent and he the sober, a mix of Bollywood music and Beethoven’s symphonies, Shakespeare and T-square, they got on famously well.

He wanted to build homes for the poor, she wanted to write.

I love you

I could hear him in the garden, watering the plants. Its his morning ritual now— tending to the hundred or so flower pots in our garden. Ever since Anu started living in the U.S, he has taken it upon himself to keep her garden going. Watering, weeding, pruning, he has become a complete gardener is what I often feel. Every time that Anu calls, both of them have only time to talk about the plants. How the orchids have bloomed or how the jasmines haven’t been doing well…it amuses me to hear them talk. I still remember when Anu was in school and she suddenly took it into her head to start a garden. The times she had her father rush home from the hospital to go around the town getting new plants and the times she barged into his consulting room crying about some plant or the other which had wilted…

I’ve never been an outdoor person and except for helping anu with getting the pots decorated I’ vent done anything much. It has been father-daughter all the way. And now its just him. He says he is doing it so that he gets some exercise in the morning, but I know better. He misses Anu, and this is his way of staying close to her.

The tea’s growing cold. He’s taking a bit longer than usual. I keep my coffee mug and his teacup together. I should remember to get biscuits when we go for our evening walk. And yes dog food too. Hagrid, Our 5 yr old Labrador will go hungry if not.

“You done yet”? I shout out
“Almost”

5 minutes later, he comes in dragging all the dirt into our tiny living room. Now, I’ve never been much of a house keeper and I hate all the cleaning-washing routines. I open my mouth to ask him what exactly he is doing but before I can get a word in, he walks right past me, gets the broom from the kitchen and with a sly glance at me starts sweeping the floor. I close my mouth and stare at him, hands on hips.

He religiously sweeps the whole place, keeps the broom in its place, and sits down at the table with the tea and waits for me. I keep standing there looking at him. And then we both laugh-together. I cant help it. Nor can he. I sit down next to him and keep laughing and in my laughter fit, I knock down his tea right onto his lap. He jumps. I stop laughing and look at him, scared I’ve hurt him. And he still laughs, and I join in. I put my hands around his neck and continue laughing…

The laughter slowly dies out and we cuddle into each other more. He takes my hand and gently kisses it, and places it over his chest. I take the coffee mug and offer it to him. He takes a sip and then presses it to my lips. We finish the coffee together. Still in the half hug…

We have grown up and grown old together. We’ve seen good times and the bad. Tough moments and lighter ones…we’ve lived together for 28 years now…and it all seems like yesterday that he walked into into my life—a stranger. And now—I know how exactly he likes his tea, I know which side of the bed he usually likes, I know the way he hugs me at night, the way he drinks his coffee, the way he runs his hand through his hair, the way he looks, after he’s just woken up, the way he reads the newspaper…I’ve grown to love everything about him—the way he slurps juices, his funny little moustache, his way of forgetting to shut the main door every time he goes out, the way his t-shirts always have mud splotches on them, the way he smiles in that bemused way of his when I tend to scold him—everything…

Nothing matters to us than each other—I don’t care that we’ve grown old, and that the skin on my hands have lost their smoothness-I still feel the same way when he takes my hand in his. I don’t care that both of us need glasses now—we still see each other with ever growing affection. I don’t care that I’ve put on weight, all in the wrong areas, he still hugs me the same way he did when we were young…I don’t care a bit- I don’t need to…

I realize that he has been calling my name—his name for me…and I smile at the circumstances that had led him to call me that. I lift my head from his shoulders and I look up at him…he smiles that dimpled smile of his and gently tucks back a loose strand of hair from my face…

'I love you' says he…and I remember the night that he told me the words for the first time…it seems centuries ago…but I still feel that I am the 19yr old who cried with pure happiness, listening to him…