The Wait

A few minutes after his phone call, she sat at the corner of her bed fighting the tears in her eyes and the lump in her parched throat. With shivering hands, she began her letter.

That’s the last thing I wanted to hear. That’s the last thing I wanted to imagine happening to us. It wasn’t a very tight rope that I was clinging onto. It took Herculean effort on my part not to have expectations. I feigned that I was merely hoping that it would happen as soon as you promised. I admit.

Wasn’t it you who said that ‘if something has to happen, then the whole world would conspire.’ Now, it’s the same damn world that is conspiring against those small dreams which we secretly dreamt. Why should God who brought two souls together, enjoy the forlorn show of watching them shed tears as they long for each other from two parts of the world?

If this separation is the price I need to pay to be with you, so shall it be. For, sometimes, it’s all about giving up something you really want now for something you want for your entire life.

The last time you left me with your words of assurance that you would be back as soon as possible, I knew how much you meant it. I still know how hard you are struggling to make it. This is just to let you know that I’m with you through this rough patch.

Today, when that little hope we were hanging onto came trashing down, you so casually ask me if I would wait for you, very well knowing the obvious reply you would hear from me. If hearing it from me all over again makes you feel better, here I repeat myself,

“If not for you, the wait wouldn’t be any worth.”

Without wax,

Anjali

As she was folding the letter, a restless drop of tear inevitably fell upon the white sheet; blotting into a bigger dot and making the word ‘hope’ appear wriggly. She rewrote the word, folded the letter and mechanically scribbled his address on the envelope.

“This is just the beginning…” she thought, as she was making her way back from the post office, “The beginning of our struggle to be together, forever.”

P.S. 1: Loved the use of the phrase ‘without wax’ in Dan Brown’s Digital Fortress. Been waiting to use it in somewhere.

P. S. 2: Btw, it means – Sincerely (derived from the Spanish word – sin cera).

Reality

1991

Today was yet another hot day. Nonetheless, an eventful Friday it has been.

I was waiting outside the school gate, trying to spot my little daughter in the sea of excited kids. During the last 15 minutes of her final period, she would frequently look out of her classroom window to check if I am waiting outside to pick her up. Tears would well up in her eyes, if I fail to make my presence before the last bell rings.

Finally, I saw her waving out as she ran up to me. She was just as neat and fresh as she was when I dressed her up in the morning – a few fringes falling on her forehead and her ponytail dangling behind her back. A white handkerchief with light pink flowers, neatly folded into a quadrant, hung from the right side of her shirt. A white badge bearing her name, class and section was pinned up on her left. She walked with a lot more energy and enthusiasm than any other Friday usually instilled in her.

Handing over her lunch bag to me, she exclaimed, “Amma!!! Know what? Sharadha miss gave me one extra star for the chart we did yesterday.”

“Wow! That’s good!” I said, holding her tiny palm with my free hand and making my way out through the swarm of parents, grandparents, maids, autowallas and school kids.

“So, are we going to the beach today evening?” She asked, looking up at me and meddling with the bangle on my hand. The dark kajal in her eyes were just beginning to show up beneath her lower eyelids. I simply nodded, trying to draw my attention to the busy road and carefully get across.

She completed her weekend homework well ahead of time, in anxious anticipation of going to the beach, only to be spoilt by Rajeev’s late arrival from office. Time was a quarter past seven. My father-in-law insists that we do not go out to return late in the night. The beach plan had to be dropped.

“We can be there for just half an hour and get back. We shall go. Pleasssseee!” She pleaded. Her tone and request was too sweet to be ignored or rejected.

“We are not going today Roshni. Its late already and the beach gates close at 7pm.” I lied, with no other choice. I knew it was a funny thing to say. Rajeev was laughing behind my back.

Roshni’s face instantly withered. She has been sitting with the new copy of ‘Gokulam’ that Rajeev got for her on his way back. She’ll be fine when I tell her what I’ve made for dinner today.

2007

While having my late night shower after our return from the beach party, I remembered a strange incident that happened when I was in nursery. I wanted to talk to my mom and find out if she remembered it as well.

As she picked up my call, she started off with her usual, “Where are you?” question as against the general “How are you?” As I went on ranting about the day’s highlights, I told her about the beach party and bang came her autoreply, “So late!!”

This was my chance! “Apparently, beaches no longer close as early as 7pm like they used to 16 years ago.” I said sarcastically. Bang! I could imagine her hitting me on my head with her knuckle. We both burst out laughing.

Shakespeare in love?

There it was, at last! That which she had been expecting for nearly weeks now. Incessantly had she been taking care of them and here they were, bright and beautiful. Just like a new-born, fresh out of a shower.

The first blossom of the season. The first rose in their small garden.

She gently pressed her nose against its gentle features and let the fragrance flow into the depth of her rather old lungs. She ran her fingers through the perfectly knitted petals of the rose. The morning sun rays blazed between them and shone on her wrinkled palms. She could sense the tender, wet surface brush against the tip of her nose. She felt a drop of dew blot the corner of her lips as she kissed one of the petals.

A man in his late 50’s walked from behind her, his shadow throwing a cool shade upon the old lady and her new found attraction. She slowly turned around to look at him. Her twinkling divine eyes and finely curled lips echoed a zillion unspoken words, which only he could decipher.

He looked at her ardently for a while, establishing a lovely connection with her mesmerizing eyes that were hidden behind a pair of thick, foggy spectacles.

Just then, they heard a voice from their neighbour’s television-

“Her eyes – I was born to look into them and know myself.”

His focus slowly moved down to her rosy lips.

The dialog from the neighbour’s television continued -

“Her lips – the morning rose could wither on the branch if it could feel envy.”

Back in the garden, a beautiful voice emerged from within the effortlessly moving lips, as she whispered in his ears – “Happy Anniversary!”

The voice from the neighbour’s house spoke out in the background –

“Her voice – Deep. Soft. From her twittering lungs. I could banish nightingales in the garden before they interrupt her song.”

Far away, stood a young man, with a video camera, shooting the lovely scene of his grandparents falling in love, all over again! Kodak moment!

P.S.: Inspired by the movie – Shakespeare in Love. Damn good!