Why not?

“Dr. Seth will call you Ms. Anjali as the reports come out” said a delicate voice with usual consideration of the matter. Anjali moves towards the exit gate, however determined and carefree. Stepping inside her car she was certain that she would not be troubled by what the reports will be like. She needed solace, which medicines wouldn’t provide.  The car was directed towards the shopping mall and the evening was spent with self, followed by a tumbler of cold coffee. As the sound of the tyres screeched as it was parked at the garage, it was an indication that Anjali had again arrived home with a bad day at the hospital and must be distraught. Mother stood alarmed and the trembling fingers opened the latch of the main gate with anticipation and the countenance encountered across was rather lit up and lively for a change. As she pounced upon the stuffy bean bag she possessed a different spirit that evening. She gulped down a glass of fresh lime and talked on for the following hour about the footwear and kurtis she splurged on that evening. Mom had no other thought but was glued to her daughter’s eventful monologue. She offered her another glass of the drink which she heartily welcomed.

That night was starry and the sky was chockfull in an altered hue. Anjali decided to open an unfinished book of Sheldon. She had resolved to get lost in its depth and sought to come out of the long lost pondering over her own un-culminated story of life. This night she wanted to read and re-read the cluster of words under the dim light and had a longing to be melted in the emotional strings in the novel and wished to never be back to the bitter part that her own destiny had exposed her to. She tasted joy after many days and had plans to baton on it. Flipping on the fourth page of the novel, an unwanted thought started to fence her, she had crossed-brows for a while as she thought about the medical reports but shunned the idea of being taken away by it and favored a fictional zone she had set for herself and camped in.

Next morning the corn flakes were being poured in the blue milk bowl for her, she paused by the table and clicked at her mother’s hands she demanded aloo paranthas instead. This was enough to hint at the U-turn she was taking to her previous ways of living life. Papa winked at mom and passed a satisfying smile. The sizzling paranthas were served flouting the monotony of the past eight months. Eating the belly-full she laid back on the couch to spend another afternoon dating the romance in Sheldon. Like a phoenix she rose upwards as her curious journey of skipping the pages endured on. “Here are some photographs you should have a look at” said papa while strolling through the drawing room on the lazy Sunday afternoon. No reply was made. She continued reading, as she pretended to have been lost in the core of Sheldon’s love story while her mind was back to the pain given by the things which fell apart, and vanished a year ago. The nerves of her mind were contracting and the head ached. The tears trailed down helplessly, but the book held tight in her hands was the only escape. Krish had gone in the last winters, leaving her amidst the mist of January; she was subjected to solitude, expected or may be forced to withstand the chill of silence and face the foggy life. Her conscience asked her to stop lamenting over the loss so unbearable. Having spent the last year in vertical depression she was conscious enough to not go back to that phase again. It was only with difficulty that she had decided to not pay attention to what the medical reports had to say.

The conscience told her to fly and look high above the stars than treating herself with a cruel number of tablets throwing herself in sedation for hours. The tickets were booked and the plans were made. She, mom and papa were flying for a holiday. “But these photographs Anjali? I need to answer them by this week, please choose one to fix up a meeting this evening” Papa pleaded this time. She held his hand and promised a wonderful life they both could give her during the vacation she had planned for three of them. Why not?  “I need a break, from the languor of this life, I need to breathe before I could think anything” as Anjali copped a plea out of the situation while stroking Papa’s shoulders convincingly. He embraced her sentiments while the white envelope containing the photographs breathed in silence, unattended.

Love that ends!

“The sugar pot is empty” cried Mahi, the anger echoed as she threw away the spoon. With the hair unmade, she hobbled exhausted as she moved across the bedroom. She blabbers and nags while dropping a tear or two, while Daksh remains occupied fiddling through his old files. His fluttering fingers over the pale yellow papers of that mustard file hinted at the tautness of the situation. The afternoon was as dull as the monotony of a gothic arc and the sunset was no longer a romantic scape of the evening. No more did Mahi and Daksh sat opposite each other in the courtyard to share a warm drink together, there were mere two opposite human beings living together with a little hope.

That night there was no whistle of the cooker, no rattling of the cutlery in the kitchen. Mahi had gone to sleep. Daksh peeped through the worn-out net of the kitchen window, he was sure no dinner was there tonight. Entering the kitchen he could get hold of a stale piece of bread that smelt and a quarter of undercooked beans, it was all that he relished and hunted for more. He failed and walked towards the bedroom. His hand had swiftly pulled the handle and he could hear the sniffing sound from the sheets. So, he knew Mahi had not been sleeping. He knew “How could she have slept, she was broken, tensed and was going hopeless”. He had no courage to go and face Mahi, he did not know what to say and how to answer her queries. He had no words of condolences which he anymore could render her. He deserts the idea of entering the bedroom and settles himself in the sofa and broods over a thousand thoughts.

Mahi had quit her job, after her miscarriage she had never been keeping well. The loss was irrevocable and she wasn’t able to overcome the fear of failing once again. The time had taken over them, and the times were bad. He finds solace in reminiscing the gone by days. He surely smiles back to the times when both of them used to hang-around, watch a movie, shop and laugh. He remembers how he met Mahi seven years back at a friend’s house. He cherishes how they ended up becoming best friends to man and wife. After these seven years life had been changed. It wasn’t at all about hanging-around but attending to the daily chores, it wasn’t about watching a movie but was about capturing the mix of good and not-so-good moments, it was not shopping that was frequent but saving was all that mattered. It was not a laugh that filled the ether of the house anymore but a silence conquered the four walls, a stillness that had come between the two souls who once were one.

It was love that was once binding them together and now it was money that had fragmented them apart.  Where Daksh was busy finding the ways to put love crystals together; Mahi got ever anxious about the sugar-pot that could never be filled for numberless nights. She had her set of longings and wishes. She dreamt of a house full of luxury and love, but the present was only bitter and harsh on her. Again with a thousand thoughts he slept that night against the peach sofa cover which Mahi had tailored as a naïve. The next morning he wakes up by the same cover which she had left behind along with the whole apartment. This morning was drab without her. He could do nothing but cry and sit in a corner of the apartment and meditated on the note she left.

Why did she go?

Daddy’s princess she was, she was just three when god had sent for mommy. She had hardly grown the bond with her, when she had to let her go to reach up to the heaven. The heaven, daddy told her, was beautiful than the house they were living in. Thus, Anya was happy that mommy had gone to a better place to spend the rest of her life. She was however unhappy that she won’t come back to live with her and daddy, as heaven would be her only abode now. Daddy would take the little Anya in his strong arms and would drive her through swift swings, singing her a lullaby which Richa would sing for their angel. The moon was up high, and Arsh was missing Richa, he was robust  enough to render uninterrupted sleep to Anya while carefully wavering her in his arms; still had his eyes filled with saline droplets which obstructed the vision to the moon making the sweetness of it blurred. Arsh was broken inside but had courage to hold his angel to face the toughness of life as a daddy ahead. Every night would come and Anya would be told the story of a fairy. The fairy who came to their house and took his hand into hers, she showed him how beautiful life was, she taught him how to take care of Anya, she blessed the family and went back to heaven. Anya would listen to the story and asked why did she go and how she looked? The same question at the end of this story every-night had nothing to offer to Anya in return. The little angel would remain unanswered when she asked daddy about the fairy, “Daddy, what is the name of the fairy, how she looked and why did she go back”?

 Days had gone, and now months were passing by, the ritual of mourning over the loss had to be broken as another rule of life and the time had come to attend to the routine. Anya would go to a preparatory school, and Arsh would leave for office while dropping the kid to the Montessori. Lunch hour at the office would let Arsh overhear the husbands discussing over the expertise of their wife’s hands at Aloo Parantha or Biryani. It happened daily, Arsh would be reminded of the noise invaded by the steam of the cooker when Richa would cook lunch for him. He smiled as the flashback started of the times she would be worried unnecessarily over petty matters of sharing his lunch with office mates and never having enough himself; or worrying  whether he liked Shahi Paneer in the lunch or not? Who thought this would be a memory in the present, and would be so important to him a matter unlike its pettiness before. He munched over his piece of bread-butter, had his cup of tea and was back to work.

Anya was at the baby-center as usual in the late afternoons and would be having children of her age around and thus was happy. She would be cranky at times and cry for daddy and would ask the mistress to call him. Time was passing this way. Sharp at six thirty daddy would come to his angel and she would run, with an amazing speed and cling to the tough shoulders of her daddy, as if this air she inhaled of daddy’s scent had saved her life. Arsh would kiss her forehead and observe her dark brown eyes sparkling and the beautiful curls of hair she was getting as her mother had. Arsh would take Anya to the park, would be one among her friends and laugh with her till she got tired of it. The months were passing by and she was growing up to senses. She was being sensitive to her surroundings as she would see her other mates being fed by their moms, being scolded and pampered at the same time, being dressed in their best of Barbie’s and Dora’s collections, while poor daddy would collect the heaps of the same but never had expertise of accessorising the angel as a feminine hand would craft it. Anya was now getting bored of the same fairy story and was disappointed with daddy as she never got an answer to her question as a routine. Richa existed in the collection of the photographs Arsh had put all over the house on all the peach colour walls, both of them had done. Anya would now observe daddy caressing the beautiful hair of mommy every time the peach wall would be passed by. She would smile when daddy would kiss the pink flush on mommy’s cheek and then would pull on his angel’s chin and wink at her. Life was not easy, there were dreams to be fulfilled for the future with this kid, but it were mere memories they were living in.

Days changed to months, and time passed by. Today was 20^th of March it was Anya’s day, the day when Richa had given birth to this angel 12 years back. Richa was nowhere to be found but kept looking at her family, saw them grow together, it were the peach coloured walls in the house on which her photos hung. The peach walls were their garden, the orchid of the father and the daughter, which was most fragrant in the house. Her friends came, and the table got flooded with the gifts. The girl didn’t open any of the gift wraps; all she wanted was to unfold what she could never get hold of. She was not going to demand of anything as a birthday gift even after Arsh’s constant asking. All she wanted was the answer to the fairy-tale she had been listening to for years. However, she had grown up enough to know that how the fairy had looked but ‘why did she go’ still remained a mystery…..

The Eye-liner!!

“She prefers it in black! Ok, the dark shade of the brown would also do. No, let’s go for dark tinge of magnificent purple, it goes strikingly well with her laced mauve lingerie. Crazy, isn’t it?” Yes, to match your eye-liner with your slip-ins. But, let it be, as she thinks once the former is on, and the latter is in, he is going to die in her arms. “Hush me!!” these were some wild thoughts she just devoured upon, a wild reverie. She leaves for office and think about the heap of assigns she has for the day and a huddle of emails she had to reply to. Just before saying goodbye to the room, she flashes her eyes in the mirror, they look amazing in black….she adores and would gently kiss them if she had the capacity to do so. Heights of narcissism; move on!

The day had been spent, somehow all goofed up and upside down, some unmanaged thoughts make their way through her mind, but his thoughts makes her grip her palm even harder. She dreams about him, even day-dream, gosh he is lovely! She makes it sure at 5:00 pm to visit the mirror and check upon the expression of her face. The blush is all gone, but the eye-liner stays there, the deepest black, the shimmer well defined and it comes out sharp from the edge of her dark brown eyes. She is contented; she is happy to see that smile that reaches her eyes and makes it even more classy.

He is meeting her for coffee this evening, they will decide mutually whether Barista would make it smooth or Starbucks would help them feel all the way more starry! All set, with her off-white shirt tucked in her black colored pants, a thin black belt with a dull gold buckle hangs around her waist erotically. He comes wearing a white shirt too! She loves the shade of the blue color denims that hang upon him, and that ethnic pair of chappals which she had gifted him. She loves him so. His mood is switched off, and she can make that out as she has not been complimented as yet, even with the echoing shade of black which defines her eyes. Oh lord, men!! She flutters her long lashes, helplessly.

She keeps his right hand in her lap, and hold his fingers so as to pass on an amusing tickle, just to alleviate his mood. He is numb. She finally initiates the conversation, “how do I look?" he says "you look sexy as always!” she blushes red. This time her smile reaches even a higher distance than just eyes. She feels high at her head. It was difficult to determine the rationale behind that numbness or say the dumbness surrounding him that evening. Being quiet and saying nothing, why men do that? Why would some men want to just hold your hand and sit quiet and let you bear the consistent urge of your mind? The mind which was yelling at her, that why you had to waste this elegant pair of pants and a sleek-cut off-white shirt if he was sad today?? He kissed her forehead and they parted ways, for the day!

After dinner, she sat relaxing in the balcony, under the splendid moon-light, as she sips on a king size cup of coffee. She wonders, “Why is that so? why is there a need to feel appreciated? Why did so desperately I want him to compliment the profound black eye-liner I had on my eyes.” She was answer-less, she went to see herself in the mirror. Her reflected version was ready to admire her untouched dark-brown eyes, and the shimmer of the black was as loyal and brightly labeled. She goes to bed, and sleeps with a gratifying thought at least my eye-liner speaks!!

Shree and the memories of him..

(It is continuation to the prior written short story "The Written Note". Soon, to be called a collection of chapters from Shree's life.)

                                                                      ii

Memories hang around in her mind. Can she ever get out of her past? Does she even want to? The questions go unanswered while she swings in the armchair. Yet she found music in every sound and sight. She desperately waited for the evenings to come as they ensured the noises of the children playing outside in the colony park. While she shuffles through her wedding album 11^th time that day, the bell rang; Shree gets up and is surprised to have her childhood friend at the door. She stood speechless and tears rolled down her eyes. Anisha came closer to embrace Shree. She needed this; the minutes which denied the passing on. Time was running out of her grip at once, she didn’t wish to lose this moment ever. Anisha’s arrival had made Shree smiled, her heartbeat grew fast and summer seemed spring. Some 15 years back, Shree and friend, had shared their tiffins daily, had helped each other in completing their school assignments, had known each others likes and dislikes and had been together through thick and thins. But this time they met, it was different. They were neither school going girls nor some aspiring youth, but life had been tough to Shree.

He had gone ending all the things in a note, a note that was written to amaze her, to shake her out of her comfort zone and then putting her in a lifetime of trauma. It was Anisha in whose company Shree could sip that evening coffee in relaxation. Shree missed him and wished his soul sat near her, watching her face talk, and her eyes seeking him. Anisha talked about her homely stuff, the mother-in-law who was affectionate and the children who were the apple of her eye.  Shree wished he was there to look at her countenance and caress her hair which fell on her forehead. She was listening to what Anisha spoke, but was deep down missing him.

Anisha stayed that night with Shree. They both talked about Shree’s life with him, how happy Shree was, and how she had met him at their first date. The eyes were full of tears, they remembered him. The thought of the written note had been scorching her nerves. Shree wished he was there again, wiping away her tears and hugging her across, and the thought brought a sudden urge to be loved. Again, she slept with his memories holding her bosom tight; she could hear her own heartbeat. Anisha went back that afternoon. It was five in the evening, the sun had set. Now, the children did not play in the park outside. It was quiet and gloomy. She opens her wedding album for the twelfth time. She missed him yet again!     

Villagers, silence and Vidaya..

Rains had been pouring daily. It had been blissful to the farmers as they danced and sang. They were getting good crop that year, the sun though wasn’t out of the clouds yet it was shining at its peak for the peasants. Rains had not been taking a single day for resting. They had been hammering hard on the grounds. One day there was even hail and a hail- storm for some. Vidaya in her little room was lying down. It was not a room in the premises of the house. It was only a shelter she had formed by collecting vulnerable thatches and some artistically crafted palm leaves. The shelter looked small but an elegant piece of stay to the world but it was endlessly wet from inside. Vidaya was shivering, while the peasants with their families enjoyed a warm drink of milk back in their cemented homes.

Vidaya was a woman of silence; she never spoke to many; no not even to some. She was believed to have many many faces. The peasants and the families commanded their wives to stay back and away, they demanded a life but too far from the elegant shelter in which Vidaya had been staying. She was shivering inside, certainly not because of the fear of the people who had been ignoring her to death and were ready to drag her out of the Chandrabhan village.

There might have been endless reasons to explore behind the distance that existed between the villagers and herself. Nobody cared. She ate wild fruits when she was hungry while coconut water was enough to quench her thirst. She never ran out for help, not once in the past eight years she had come to that small elegant shelter. She wasn’t living a normal life, but then it was only a belief. Nobody ever thought probably it was a life which she chose to live. But, it was only an apparent thought. The villagers who ever crossed her shelter heard her sing at times, the song was sung in Bengali, and had its own pauses and ended at sad notes. The villagers got to see her seldom, whenever she chose to leave her elegant shelter to catch some palm leaves. They said she was strong built, tall and fair. She wore a cotton sari in off-white color and wrapped around it in a city-lie fashion. They said she held her face up that stood out vivid with her beauty. She had long black hair which were sometimes tied like a bun or were open when it meant she just took a bath.

But, nobody ever approached her or asked why she was so or why she never spoke to them for help. Perhaps, silence was weaving the relationships in its own manner. There was a silence of eight long years between Vidaya and the villagers. She was living in her enigmatic zone, in which villagers were restricted and the cheerful lives of the peasants never was meant to serve her as well. Until the day, Vidaya’s body was found numb and senseless in her elegant shelter on a rainy day. Until that day, there was no connection between her and the villagers. The villagers who still went across the thatched shelter in which she lived now do not hear any sad notes. Chandrabhan never blended itself into malady, the elegance of the shelter had almost gone, no art was ever there before in the village to call it beautiful. Vidaya held the power to make it so. But, now she was gone in silence.  

A wish..

The table was set clean in the garden and the tea was being poured in the saucer from an off-white sparkling tea-pot, it was smoking and smelling of the herbs. The tea-pot, which Shivam had got for her; from Calcutta some four years back and it was as stainless and special as ever. They both had a routine of having the morning tea together while they watch the beautiful backyard of their house. This morning was a little different, besides her and Shivam, Anuj’s share of tea also was being made today, she puts one and a half spoonful of sugar in his cup and he continuously kept looking at the glowing  skin of her hands wearing red bangles on her wrists but quivering fingers making tea, putting milk at one moment and stirring the sugar as it gradually sweetened the warm drink. She threw a quick glance at him and placed the saucer there in front of him. She goes into the kitchen on account of preparing breakfast for the three of them. Anuj had a tiring journey from Delhi last night. The breakfast table was bigger than the one in their backyard, the table cloth was flawlessly drawn today and Shivam was very particular about the same, after all Anuj and he could be together today after a wide gap of seven years. The memorable year of 1995, their farewell day at college in Delhi, they had last met; all of them Shivam, Arpita and Anuj. Since then, they had no news of Anuj besides, that he moved to States at his uncle’s to continue his further studies. The present was the day they all had to talk about it. What happened and how it happened, and finally why it happened. This anxiety was dominantly present in Arpita’s heart, a woman’s heart. A woman’s heart which once had loved and was mistaken for the same.

While the mixie in the kitchen is roaring to its pitch, and Arpita works endlessly, it is almost 1:30 noon, Anuj and Shivam unable to find time for anything else than talking and revisiting the good old college days. Little Anaya, two, is sleeping in her cradle peacefully, probably dreaming, dreaming a girl’s dream, weaving some naïve understanding of her own little world, the world of pure thoughts and babbling words, though broken yet contained a flow of her sentiments, who knows none beyond mummy’s care and  daddy’s love.

Her wish still lingers on, even to this day to fetch a moment out of her own life so that she may clarify the necessary matter with Anuj. The chapter which unfortunately, could not be completed in her case. Anuj has perhaps acquired the famous American air in his sense, probably he is ignoring her; she felt. She tried to be judgemental of his behaviour almost each day even in these long seven years, but it was unanswered. She had been questioning tirelessly but who knew the pain she underwent through each passing day. Shivam was a loving husband, a caring one; but a husband. It was going complex, she didn’t want to miss this chance that life had finally given her, to talk to Anuj before he again flies off to America, a strange land of dreamers.

“Let’s have coffee together, it would be a great idea before I take a short leave of you to settle some account of business and be back before dinner Anuj” informed Shivam. The idea brought discomfort at Anuj’s disposition. Arpita listened; and like a dedicated wife went in the kitchen to brew coffee for them, followed by the time when Anuj and Arpita are alone, at one place, at one time. “ I do not want to be any inconvenience to you by staying in front of your eyes, I am sorry for..” Anuj could not take it further. Arpita held tray in her hands and restlessly cleared the table, her body was speaking for her suppressed emotion, a lingering wish and an innocent confession. She was puzzled. How to begin a talk, with a man who is not a friend to her since long, not even a little more than a friend.

An hour had been already spent, a futile span which couldn’t decide anything for Arpita. It was childish of her to break in front if him suddenly. She was broken to the core of her senses. Her red bangles still retained the music when she placed both her hands on her face and wept. It was painful to Anuj, but as always he was out of speech. He,a man, an intelligent one believed not in prophesying his acts as ever before. He moved and held her in his. “I am sorry that is all I can say to you Arpita” and she melted in his mortal embrace, but it was yet bitter to hear that sorry, which never moved beyond its very denotation. She was quiet and still was being caressed by him, the same old warmth, as if it had been perfectly matured between these two bodies only, without knowing any gap of unfortunate seven years. “You could have told me about States Anuj, and I had been really foolish to create a world for us, in my imagination” she choked. They stood still, speechless. It was this breakdown which was bringing inside her heart a gradual sensation of peace, more than anything else, more than his embrace which was now diminishing in its effect over her. The chapter of Anuj was completed now, an urge of sharing was fulfilled inside that woman’s heart.

The next morning was fragrant with purer thoughts. It was more satisfying a dawn in her life, with Shivam and Anaya, a completed vision, a desired life as never before. She looked at sleeping Anaya’s face, and gives her daughter a silent blessing; so that again a woman’s heart never suppresses in itself, a lingering wish.

The Life, lived Together

She had been crying all night. Last night too, had been no different. Another sleepless night. The puffiness under her eyes had been observed by almost all colleagues in the office today, but she changed the conversation each time by adding “Oh, just the workload”. This night was sole, this night was a particular night. Yet, the night was really dark, she wished it had not been so. This night for Maya was painful. The clock struck two, the tears also rushed through her eyes as fast as the hands of the clock moved, and just the life was still. The breeze outside lacked its fundamental nature, the murmur of the wind -swept leaves on the bush was blank, the knock on the window by the flowing air didn’t bring good news anymore, as it did three years back. Her fists tightened naturally, she was crying, lying on her bed pushing her hard in the padding. The wind chime irritated her, she paid no regard to its tinkle any further, as she wanted to block all amusing sounds around her...for to surrender herself to her past..the past in which she is alive, the past in which she had been happy, the past which talks to her by making most pleasant sounds, the past which has Arun.

 She smiled abruptly, she is reminded of the day they had first met. They had met because they were destined to, as they were destined to part. Arun had parked his car right in front of the coffee shop, he knew from their friendship days in school, she loves the grande coffee cuppa at Costa. The 19 February, their first date. Her pressed lips and she avoided looking right into his eyes; she had to be shy, following the basic code of conduct, at the first date of her life. She wore a pink color salwar kameez, with white chiffon dupatta that complimented her milky white complexion very well, while Arun notices the silver colored, big and round earrings that kissed her face, each time she talked and moved. She notices that he had turned fair, more handsome and keeps neat and clean, so unlike his adolescence years in school. He had worn green and white striped shirt with denims, and stood reasonably tall, she was impressed. It was the first time they were to  converse as grown ups! It was the first time, they were looking at the same life, together. “ I never knew, you would turn so beautiful like this” says Arun teasingly, “and you seem to talk more intelligent now”. Maya, had only one answer to it, a giggle. They talked as never before, two hours had been spent sharing their views, ideas and lifestyles. The date had been close to perfect, a practical one. Maya could see a bright future; then.

The tear dropped on the pillow, she came back to the present dark night. Again her room filled up with oddity, the things seemed to torment her, and it was agonizing. The bliss could be found only in the midst of the memories, the memories of Arun. She wanted to run to mama, to put her head in her lap, and craved to go to sleep which was inaccessible tonight. Yet, she wished to see his face, she longed for his arms to embrace her. Maya had been helpless, she could not see any end to this night. She had to complete a heap of assignments the next day in the office, the job would require her mind and physical exercise both, but how can she be equipped enough to take such a burden, if she doesn’t take ample sleep a night before. This had bothered her, but she consciously left herself to pain. The link between Maya and this hurting had become almost natural, as the link between her and Arun had been; three years back. She moves with the flow and misses him.

They met often, while she came back from her college, as he did too. They met at Costa or went for not-so-long drives, because she had been responsible enough to not be late for home. Maya is reminded of one such time, when she and Arun planned a day out for a long drive. The weather had been somewhat cloudy when they left, later it turned into a dark blue colored sky as if painted with sparkling blue shade. The windows were freed down, the wind was moving in, across the car glasses. Arun had played her favorite collection of some old hits plus ghazals. This was Life! She says “Arun, this is it, this is what I had always desired.” Arun and Maya are cheerful today, what better they could have asked for. It starts raining, the weather is incredible and is bringing them closer. Maya wraps her arm around his, and slants sideways on his shoulder, she doesn’t want to go back home and have the routine dinner of dal and chapatti that mama would make. So, they plan to stop by the highway to have their share of hot tea. Its like a dream for her, she realizes she is on the top of the world! Arun orders tea and sandwiches, which Maya finds quite satisfying an evening meal shared with Arun. It is 4:30 pm, they have to return now, and be home by 6:00.Arun is a guy of few words, he smiles more and replies less, and this is what Maya finds ‘cute’ in him. “He is the one”, her heart says to her every time he looks at her. The roads had been jammed past highway because of such heavy rain, she is tensed and restless, that she may be questioned on being late. There is noise, loud horns, brawls among drivers and their car, moving only for the sake of it! This was unwanted, she goes depressed!

But not worse than the way she is miserable presently, there is no one around, at least in such a crazy atmosphere, Arun was there, who gave her strength in such spiteful situations. Now, no one is there, mama and papa had been sleeping without having any idea of what she is going through, perhaps so is Arun . The tears had stopped rolling down for a while, she tries to get up, and decides to meditate and feel strong. Failing to do so, she approaches the cupboard, possibly the only comfort at this moment was to have a look at that beautiful dress Arun had gifted her on her birthday a few years back, and she keeps the dress tightly close to herself and is reminded of that day….

“And, here comes the princess!”, exclaims Arun, the dress really suited her, she was glowing more fair in that blue churidaar and light-green colored kameez, as she comes out of the trial room, to him her face had never looked so glowing, her unmade  hair as charming, her body as  voluptuous  and her style more vivacious! She was looking purely adorable in this dress. They leave Shopper’s and head off to Priya’s to catch up a movie, it was a part of the big treat today, after having the lunch at the Chinese restaurant close by. It was no less than a perfect time spent together. They walked hand-in-hand through the complex, and shopped unnecessarily, as Maya liked collecting superfluous stuff, and Arun found it ‘cute’. Similarly, they accepted one another’s plus(s) and minus(s).So they complimented each other, they had many equivalent habits, they never had unnecessary arguments other than debating on current issues or the news of the day! Yes, they were not one of those living-for-love kinds of material, they both were living-for-life, living ‘together’. What had happened to this life? Why Maya’s and Arun’s love is a history? Maya had been crushed by this thought, that their life which they lived together, was a history.

Soon after Maya was dropped safely by Arun at her place after the not-so-long drive date. Arun was delighted and keyed up, that it was a wonderful day. He was feeling contented. It was something he had not felt before in his life. Maya was the one, the one girl who could bring that charisma to his life. He decided that time, to rush home as soon as possible and unveil their association to family. He drove fast, and thought fast. He decided he would tell mummy first. The rain didn’t stop, and Arun didn’t slow down. Life seemed easy, so easy. He was absent minded, he was smiling. Maya laments tonight, their love would have been culminated, if that evening would not have been awful. If he had been conscious, he would not have collapsed on the road with that tree, which had crushed him to death. So, he would have been there with her, with his people, with himself. This night had been as appalling as that night. This night, was the unfortunate one, which made her feel incomplete, without Arun. The loss can never be compensated. The rains only brought tears along , the traffic noise was a bad omen, and the whispering air brought the scorching pain. Maya was changed. This Maya, didn’t know what life is. How to live this life, if it can be called so.  This Maya, is waiting for Arun to come, yet to come.

Maya stood helplessly with her dress in her hands. She kissed the dress, and could smell the touch of his hands on it, when he had circled his arms around her waist. She had kept Arun alive, in her reminiscences, through the days and nights. She could see Arun walking along with her, with each step she takes. Arun pats her for the success she reaps and is a companion through the obstacles. Arun is alive in her soul, and now also they ‘live together’, they share the same breath. It is 4:30 am, tomorrow is office. “I have a lot to do, Arun would be unhappy, if I disrespect my work” she reassures herself. Maya had to live life somehow, doing things how he would have liked. She goes to her bed, and sleeps with some droplets of tears on her eye-lashes. She leaves home, at 8:30 and moves out of the car, thinking the day is going to be good, the way Arun would have liked it. She goes on.

The written note

 

                            

                               The written note

                                                                                                   

She draws the curtain away, the sun feeds the room with its warmth. He lays undisturbed in his bed, still dreaming of heaven. She approaches the newspaper, walking through the breadth of the room. She finds a written note by the side of the ash-tray; unable to hide the tears in her eyes, she swiftly turns towards the kitchen...the toast had been burnt, the tea over-brimmed the utensil. She pulls up the corner of her beige color dupatta, to clear away the inescapable saline droplets. She decides to calm down and leave for work to think about it once back in evening. The noise of the door when shut, made to a squeaky crash, audible to next two houses in their neighborhood, yet he stays asleep, dreaming ceaselessly.

The clock struck 5:00pm, he is out of the sheets. He puts the music on and surrenders himself to the armchair put next to his bed which he didn't wish to leave; ever. Sipping down his coffee, watching a beautiful 6 inches wide silver bordered photo-frame, perhaps he is reminded of the historical date of 5th December 1998, the fateful night that eventually had gifted him this photograph, where he stood happily close to Shree. His heart is filled with the feelings undefined, he dials the ten digits that made him reach her at the earliest, in a crackling voice, he manages to say, “I love you Shree”. Its 6:30 pm, as usual she is back home, without catching his eye, she moves towards the stained kitchen- slab, which she couldn't clean up in the morning. She makes two cups of tea, and is off to the now cold bedroom, that has the curtains placed, where they should be. He sits in front of her, utter silence fills the room. She gets up, her bangles making noise to break this stifling stillness, walking towards the dressing board, she finds a written note by the side of the ash-tray..she smiles to face him; and his eyes are glowing wet.

Five years have been spent without him, Shree lives alone in the house, she wakes up every morning and moves the curtain away, where the sun now brings the light only, she makes her breakfast without staining the kitchen. The door crashes no more. She sits in the armchair every evening, with the music turned on and wishes that the first written note shouldn't have said "Start living for yourself, I may leave you forever; very soon, promise to keep smiling always"