Making a house, a home

With the humans of the house at work

They thought no one could hear their chatter.

Roared the fridge with indulgent laughter

‘They make a house, a home.

The plants in the balcony swish about in glee

To the rhythm of their romance over cups of coffee and tea.

The doors stand witness in complete silence as they hurry past

 Stealing a quick kiss before their journey to work starts.

The ‘them’ from the past, framed in photographs

Smile as ‘they’ make new memories to forever last.

The sofa eagerly waits to cup their bottoms as the sun sets down

While the TV holds their attention with its one-sided conversations.

The Uzbeki plates take her side, while the bowls from the land defend him

During heated arguments about food, politics, movies, families and friends. 

Ensconced in the creases of the unfolded quilt on the bed

Are the secrets of last night and several past months.’

Hearing this, the mirror blushed

The toilet couldn’t do much to control itself, it just flushed.

I wish you bliss!

I remember days when my colleagues/well-wishers would pester me to get married. The sessions would start as a joke, escalate to levels which could be easily sample cases of sexual harassment by co-workers, and would invariably end in one of them wise ladies saying, ‘Jokes apart. I want to see you happy. Don’t get married if you don’t want to but be in a relationship with a wonderful guy.’ The hysteria would die and others would sober up and nod in chorus. The conversations would keep me thinking long afterwards. Somethings that were spoken about, I would share with my mother; doubts I would clear up with one of best friends—P; and the parts that I understood but was too embarrassed to share with anyone I would try to forget. Even though I laughed with everyone during the late afternoon sessions when all of us would be taking a break, to the horror of our male colleagues, these talks left me feeling a little lonely and thinking that I was missing something vital. There would be days when I would be busy in some social engagement or the other and would not have enough time to brood over what was said. Those were good days. However, days when time was a plenty, I would start by laughing to myself remembering something that was said. Invariably I would then move on to being depressed thinking that maybe such bliss was not my cup of tea.

There were many, who, through my twenties told me I was old enough to be married. Others warned, ‘If you pass the marriageable age, all the good guys will be off the market.’ I responded with nervous laughter sometimes. On other occasions I would cheekily quip, ‘Achi cheez banne mein time lagta hai. The boy is getting ready to match up to my expectations.’ I believed in the statement only 5% of the time. I hated everyone who told me to lower my expectations and to not be too choosy. Some would think that telling me that my mother was a cancer patient and might not be around long enough to see me tie the knot was the best way to convince me to cross the threshold. As if that thought did not haunt me every minute of every day.

Now, I live with a man. The world and I call him my husband. He takes care of me. Loves me to the point of cherishing me. I understand the bliss that my colleagues and friends so oft spoke about. Having pop-corn while watching a movie in our house, tucked in the cushions of the sofa, suddenly I get transported in time and I think about what L had said or V had remarked. A smile spreads across my face as I realize all that they wished for me has come true. And how!

I wish the same bliss for my unmarried/single friends. I wish that they find someone they can bully into buying a chocolate for them at the end of the day. Someone they can ask to cook for them on a lazy Saturday. I wish they find someone who makes them laugh and whose eyes well up when he sees them cry. I wish them bliss.

But I want them to wait for the guy who makes the world go round for them. I don’t want anyone to lower their standards or expectations. Finding love in your thirties is better. You can share all the mischief and misfortune of your twenties with your partner. They weren’t there so the bag of stories remains sufficiently full to entertain each other on long, never-ending drives. Since you missed each other during the troubling twenties, you end up valuing each other much more. Doing silly things doesn’t seem too silly if it makes the other smile. I want my closest friends to experience all this and more.

I might sound full of mush. Some might be squiggling their noses at what I have written. Some might agree to what I say and others might define love and marriage based on their experiences. To each his/her own. But for my closest friends I wish bliss. The kind of bliss where you fight bitterly with a person and then rest your head on their shoulder while your tears soak their favourite t-shirt.

Stalker

The nightmare leaves me breathless. It is as if I have been punched, punched hard in the gut. I somehow manage to stealthily leave the comfort of the bed without disturbing my friends. As if, of their own accord, my feet take me outside of the house and towards the terrace.

I stand on the terrace of the eight-storey building. It is past mid-night. Surprisingly, the moon is rather bright tonight. It is surprising because the moon has successfully managed to dodge the dense cloud cover. On their part, the clouds provide ambient light to the night sky. I am alone. I stare at the other tall towers of the complex. All the houses in all the surrounding towers are shrouded in darkness. Only one window, as if a spotlight is being directed at it, catches my attention. I forget my manners and stare at the window. Then, squinting a little I take in the details of the room’s furnishing. I can see a bed covered with a clean, white bed sheet. At least it looks clean from where I am standing. My gaze travels a little and my eyes rest on a table adjacent to the huge window. There is a laptop sitting on it. It looks like a MacBook and I smile to myself remembering the machine that sits in my room. From this distance it looks as if the owner is working. Not Facebooking or Twittering for sure. A flickering on the wall on the extreme right hints at the TV. There is a bottle of water next to the laptop. And suddenly the human angle in the story intrigues me. I turn my head left and see a man’s legs. He is wearing a pair of blue check shorts. He is sitting on a chair, which I imagine is very comfortable. A mosquito bites me on the curve behind my knee and I bend down to give it a scratch.

In that split second I am afraid that all that I had seen and for the most part liked might vanish. I could just be sleepwalking or it could be an elaborate dream. After all, I live on the ground floor of a building in which access to the terrace is restricted to CPWD workers. What am I doing on the terrace of a building in the east of the city? I suddenly straighten up. The movement is so violent that I am almost certain that I have inflicted myself with a spine injury. Fortunately, I have no time to ponder over my injury. As soon as I get up my eyes rest on the open, large, window. And a fraction of a second later, I see the man.

He has a receding hairline. He is multi-tasking. He is talking to someone on the phone and working on the document open in front of him and he looks up at the TV at regular intervals. I realize I have not moved at all in the last 10 minutes. I feel like a stalker so I start strolling on the terrace enjoying the cool night breeze and the promise of rain in the air. Walking from one corner of the terrace to the other I have a clear view of his room. I walk to the starting point with my back to his room. I notice on the third round that I walk a little slowly when I can still see his room but my pace increases when my back is towards him.

It is a refreshing exercise I realise. I could get used to walking on the terrace past midnight looking at the man who multi-tasks. Away from the daylight when I feel burdened by the responsibilities I shoulder, night, it seems, envelops me in a much needed hug. His presence, albeit just a shadow at a distance, is comforting. I start talking to myself. I imagine a conversation between us. At the start, the conversation is light and casual, maybe, even a little flirtatious in nature. Then we connect while I continue to have this imaginary conversation. I tell him about my favourite books, actors I cannot stand and tales of my travel. He continues to sit on his comfortable chair. He fidgets a little and then reaches for the bottle of water. Meanwhile, in my mind, our conversation progresses. He tells me about life in another city away from his home, his love for his car and how he still misses pulling his sister’s long hair just to tease her. I smile. I increase my pace. My back has turned towards his window. I glance quickly at my watch. It is close to two o’clock now.

He is irritated with the attention I am giving to my watch. I look at him indulgently. He realises we don’t have much time so he forgives me quickly. He regales me with stories about college, the music he loves and the fictional characters he loves to hate. He makes me laugh. On my part, I tell him about my bad singing and how I sing despite everyone, really everyone, I know discouraging me to even hum. He laughs loudly at this and promises to never stop me from singling. I tell him I’ll hold him to his promise one day.

I turn, looking forward to resting my eyes on his window and his bed with the clean sheets. I see he has stood up now. I stop on my tracks. Concentrating all my energies in mentally willing him to look my way I realize belatedly that I was holding my breath. I start coughing a little as I take deep breaths to compensate. He clearly has no idea that I exist. He yawns and stretches his arms. Then I see him slowly walk towards the wall. He switches the lights off. He hasn’t closed the window or drawn the curtains. So, I can still see him thanks to the ambient light. He walks to his bed. Picks up the remote control and switches off the TV. I see him take off his slippers and he lies on the bed and rests his head on the pillow.

I wish him a goodnight and hope from the deepest centre of my heart that he has a restful sleep. Even though I know that I won’t be able to recognise him if I saw him the next morning, I am grateful to him for his company after the nightmare.

I call it a night myself. I climb down the stairs to my friend’s house where I am a guest for the weekend. I open the door, almost stealthily, and chuckle to myself as at past three it dawns on me that I was a creepy stalker for nearly three hours.

Ghost

The January air was cold as ice but she was surrounded by friends and the warmth of their laughter. With every sip and every bite her jokes got funnier and their laughter louder. She thought she had forgotten him forever. Just then, she saw his ghost in the face of a stranger. The stranger’s dimpled laughter reminded her cruelly of the time last winter when he had smiled and promised her the most beautiful sunset. She took a pledge to never miss him ever again. The next second she confessed to herself she wouldn’t miss him until next January.