appeared like a royal species.
The highway lanes were wide and there was almost no traffic. After every five to eight miles we would find a gas station. From a distance, we noticed one which also had a coffee shop symbol on its billboard. We stopped there.
We loaded the vehicle with gas and got ourselves some coffee. Then we came out and stood near our car. The miles and miles that stretched before us were all green. Just about two or three trucks in the far distance made up our vision of the road ahead. The limited number of people we could see were at the gas station itself.
Simar and I walked to the front of the car and perched on the bonnet with steaming cappuccinos in our hands. It was quite pleasant to be in the countryside. The sun hung low in the western skies. The birds chirping high above our heads were probably returning to their nests. It was a beautiful evening. The countryside air smelled nice and refreshing. There was greenery all around us. The tall trees stood firm on both sides of the highway. They looked old, probably more than hundred or even two hundred years. It was different and amusing for us to not talk but simply enjoy being in that moment.
A cool breeze kept entertaining us. Time and again strands of Simar’s hair would fall over her face and she would keep moving them back. One moment, while she was sipping coffee, I moved the strands of her hair behind her ear, and the touch of my finger behind her ear seemed to arouse her. She kept looking at me with expectation. I too looked deep into her eyes, which seemed to suddenly pull me towards them. I looked at her for a few seconds. Then, when I couldn’t resist myself, I brought my face closer to hers and tasted her cappuccino-coated lips. That tasted far better than my own cappuccino. Simar held my face in her palms and kissed me harder. We didn’t have to worry about kissing each other in the open. It is quite common to express your love this way not only in Belgium but in other parts of the West too. I love Belgium for its openness. We were still on the bonnet of Anthony’s Volkswagen and it made a creaky sound under our weight as we got busy in shuffling our positions while kissing each other. Suddenly I recalled Anthony’s last instructions on the phone—
Take care of it more than you take care of your girl
—and I withdrew.
Soon the weather got windy and black clouds hovered on the Belgian sky. Simar locked both her arms across my left arm and paddled her legs in the air. She said something. When I looked at her, she laughed. She had remembered a few words from the song I recited to her the night before. ‘
Jaana suno
… La la laaaa la laa … Hahaha,’ she laughed then and said, ‘
Ravz, kitne funny ho tum, yaar
.’ And then she laughed again. It was lovely to see her so carefree and joyful.
Then it started drizzling and we rushed inside the car. All of a sudden we inhaled the fresh revitalizing scent of the wet soil. I ignited the engine and we drove back to the city. Everything around us was breathtaking—the rain, the wind and the greenery outside the car and the melodious music, the hot cappuccino and my beautiful Simar inside the car. Each time the car’s wiper would mop the windscreen, sending splashes of rainwater off the side, everything in front of us would appear clean and clear for a split second and then it would all get blurred yet again. It was going to be one of the most memorable evenings.
After a drive of fifty-odd kilometres we were back at my place. It was still raining and Simar opted to stay back. We were hungry. We stretched out for some time on the living-room couch before getting up to prepare dinner for ourselves.
We cooked jeera rice and some egg curry. Simar cut some salad and arranged the table. To celebrate the evening further we had picked up a bottle of champagne on our way back. For Simar, who had never boozed, we had bought the champagne which barely had any alcohol content. I got the bottle
The highway lanes were wide and there was almost no traffic. After every five to eight miles we would find a gas station. From a distance, we noticed one which also had a coffee shop symbol on its billboard. We stopped there.
We loaded the vehicle with gas and got ourselves some coffee. Then we came out and stood near our car. The miles and miles that stretched before us were all green. Just about two or three trucks in the far distance made up our vision of the road ahead. The limited number of people we could see were at the gas station itself.
Simar and I walked to the front of the car and perched on the bonnet with steaming cappuccinos in our hands. It was quite pleasant to be in the countryside. The sun hung low in the western skies. The birds chirping high above our heads were probably returning to their nests. It was a beautiful evening. The countryside air smelled nice and refreshing. There was greenery all around us. The tall trees stood firm on both sides of the highway. They looked old, probably more than hundred or even two hundred years. It was different and amusing for us to not talk but simply enjoy being in that moment.
A cool breeze kept entertaining us. Time and again strands of Simar’s hair would fall over her face and she would keep moving them back. One moment, while she was sipping coffee, I moved the strands of her hair behind her ear, and the touch of my finger behind her ear seemed to arouse her. She kept looking at me with expectation. I too looked deep into her eyes, which seemed to suddenly pull me towards them. I looked at her for a few seconds. Then, when I couldn’t resist myself, I brought my face closer to hers and tasted her cappuccino-coated lips. That tasted far better than my own cappuccino. Simar held my face in her palms and kissed me harder. We didn’t have to worry about kissing each other in the open. It is quite common to express your love this way not only in Belgium but in other parts of the West too. I love Belgium for its openness. We were still on the bonnet of Anthony’s Volkswagen and it made a creaky sound under our weight as we got busy in shuffling our positions while kissing each other. Suddenly I recalled Anthony’s last instructions on the phone—
Take care of it more than you take care of your girl
—and I withdrew.
Soon the weather got windy and black clouds hovered on the Belgian sky. Simar locked both her arms across my left arm and paddled her legs in the air. She said something. When I looked at her, she laughed. She had remembered a few words from the song I recited to her the night before. ‘
Jaana suno
… La la laaaa la laa … Hahaha,’ she laughed then and said, ‘
Ravz, kitne funny ho tum, yaar
.’ And then she laughed again. It was lovely to see her so carefree and joyful.
Then it started drizzling and we rushed inside the car. All of a sudden we inhaled the fresh revitalizing scent of the wet soil. I ignited the engine and we drove back to the city. Everything around us was breathtaking—the rain, the wind and the greenery outside the car and the melodious music, the hot cappuccino and my beautiful Simar inside the car. Each time the car’s wiper would mop the windscreen, sending splashes of rainwater off the side, everything in front of us would appear clean and clear for a split second and then it would all get blurred yet again. It was going to be one of the most memorable evenings.
After a drive of fifty-odd kilometres we were back at my place. It was still raining and Simar opted to stay back. We were hungry. We stretched out for some time on the living-room couch before getting up to prepare dinner for ourselves.
We cooked jeera rice and some egg curry. Simar cut some salad and arranged the table. To celebrate the evening further we had picked up a bottle of champagne on our way back. For Simar, who had never boozed, we had bought the champagne which barely had any alcohol content. I got the bottle
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