AN ENVISION

The day is finally here and the crossings on this aberrant paper made my packing easier. The checklists are indeed fun, as she said. Now, it’s time for me to look presentable. After all, I am going to witness that beautiful smile after 7 months. It’s half past 6 in the morning and these 4 lazy bums are still sticking to their bedsheets. Well, I don’t care because it’s my day. I am all prepared in my pale white shirt and black pants, gleaming black sandals that were hidden in the trunk since ages and a gold ring waiting to be on her finger. “Where are you going?”, a sound from the floor came with a morning sneeze on a dozy roommate’s face out of curiosity. “To meet my love,” I told him and left blushing.

It took 6 hours in reaching the road that leads to our home. From those travel journey with a crying baby in a honking bus to the fields that crossed along in the train, from the hustling crowd in the railway station to the friendly auto drive from the station, all the memories we carried took a tour in my heart. Suddenly, the loud howls at the lane end tensed me and I began to run with a pounding heartbeat to confirm few things. I was twenty seconds late, again. It’s you.

It’s you on the road with a bruised forehead in a torn cotton green saree. You are on the ground, in poor health crying out loud for the help. The mess around you is evident that the luggage is thrown out. A scream from inside came out in the form of our 45-year-old son holding a slipper in his hand, pointing towards my wife.

As the slipper was flying towards her, it hit me while I rushed to catch it. My woman was lying helpless and feeling guilt from nowhere. I felt a slap on my cheek before I could react to what I saw. The entire lane, the colony members and my wife froze for a second to realize that happened. Before my son took a stick to hit me, my wife stood and stopped him. We looked around, waiting for someone to open their mouth but understood it as not the solution. I packed all the dirtied-clothes that were thrown, held her hand and left our 20-year-old home without looking behind.

The blooming moon was on top of us and we are sitting on a footpath, having no penny left in our hands. 'A gift from a husband can bring a smile on the wife’s face', they say. So, I felt no difference between gifting her the ring or filling her hungry stomach. I chose the second one. I took the gold ring from the wrapped box and sold it. After a space of silence between us, she lied on my shoulder, held my hand tighter and asked, “Is it because we are old?”. “It’s because they grew,” I told wiping her tears.