picture.
She is wearing a kanjivaram sari that suits her wheatish complexion. I send her a friend request and wait for many days before she replies. I read the message that gives me her phone number and I feel like calling immediately but I hesitate. I can’t really say why I feel that hesitation. It takes me a week to get over my reluctance to call her. I had sent her my number too but she hasn’t called. Maybe, she’s as hesitant. My loneliness gives me the courage to call her.
There was so much in common between us in school, yet, we are now so far away, so distant. The void of the years leaves us as strangers. The conversation helps us bridge the divide of the years. I invite her over and she agrees to make a trip the following weekend.
As I learn, Shipra now lives in Delhi for about two years. She is married to a Colonel in the Indian Army – Karambir Singh Sidhu. The phone conversation ends with only an introduction to him and I wait eagerly to host someone at my dingy home. I haven’t yet been able to find a contractor who is willing to help me renovate.
The days pass by in preparing for company. I don’t sit on the porch so often. I have been shopping for cups and plates and saucers. I want to impress them because they are my only hope of finding company. It was my birthday two weeks ago and I was alone. There was no birthday party. Not even one that had four children come with plastic helicopters. There were no phone calls to wish me and that’s when I knew that it’s time to change. I am thirty-two now and maybe, a little wiser. I want people around me and Shipra and her husband are the only ones who can keep me away from the porch. Laxman shares my eagerness; he is as perplexed at seeing my forlorn face on the porch, as I am making it.
The weekend arrives and the couple does too; Colonel Singh is dressed in a tweed coat that is so becoming of an Army officer. Around his neck, he wears a silk scarf that has stripes running across it. He’s almost as tall as Aditya. It makes him look handsome and I’m happy that Shipra found him.
Shipra is dressed in another one of her south silk saris. It’s a red and black silk sari wh ich has a golden border running the length of her pallu. I don’t know why I didn’t ask her and she never told me on the phone but she has kids. In fact, she has two of them – twins, a boy and a girl. They are so alike that it’s difficult to make out if they actually have a different gender. I wasn’t expecting the kids, so I panic a little. I am not sure how I can entertain them. Laxman is a saviour; he takes charge of the kids immediately. He’s converted a wooden plank into a bat and borrows a ball from the neighbours. He and the kids play cricket on the front lawn which leaves us alone to have a conversation.
Shipra is still the same. Her hair is still as short as she used to wear them in school. She’s matured like a good wine. The kajal that she wears in her eyes makes her look beautiful. I don’t know what it is about South Indians that they have the most beautiful eyes. I turn on the heater. As November’s turned to December, it’s become wretchedly cold. I can’t help feeling jealous that Shipra doesn’t feel cold in her sari while I sit huddled in layers of cloth. I can’t help feeling fifty years old in the company of these young people. The last few days have made me age.
She introduces me to the Colonel and tells me how they met in college. Her father was posted in Chennai as was his. They fell in love and the affair lasted many years before they were married. They both came from an Army background and had travelled India, as most Army children do and that is where the similarities ended. They were from different religions, regions, cultures and traditions. Somehow, their magnetism and love kept them together. As they recounted, they had had a difficult time convincing each other’s parents until they had eloped. It was ten years ago that they married.
She is wearing a kanjivaram sari that suits her wheatish complexion. I send her a friend request and wait for many days before she replies. I read the message that gives me her phone number and I feel like calling immediately but I hesitate. I can’t really say why I feel that hesitation. It takes me a week to get over my reluctance to call her. I had sent her my number too but she hasn’t called. Maybe, she’s as hesitant. My loneliness gives me the courage to call her.
There was so much in common between us in school, yet, we are now so far away, so distant. The void of the years leaves us as strangers. The conversation helps us bridge the divide of the years. I invite her over and she agrees to make a trip the following weekend.
As I learn, Shipra now lives in Delhi for about two years. She is married to a Colonel in the Indian Army – Karambir Singh Sidhu. The phone conversation ends with only an introduction to him and I wait eagerly to host someone at my dingy home. I haven’t yet been able to find a contractor who is willing to help me renovate.
The days pass by in preparing for company. I don’t sit on the porch so often. I have been shopping for cups and plates and saucers. I want to impress them because they are my only hope of finding company. It was my birthday two weeks ago and I was alone. There was no birthday party. Not even one that had four children come with plastic helicopters. There were no phone calls to wish me and that’s when I knew that it’s time to change. I am thirty-two now and maybe, a little wiser. I want people around me and Shipra and her husband are the only ones who can keep me away from the porch. Laxman shares my eagerness; he is as perplexed at seeing my forlorn face on the porch, as I am making it.
The weekend arrives and the couple does too; Colonel Singh is dressed in a tweed coat that is so becoming of an Army officer. Around his neck, he wears a silk scarf that has stripes running across it. He’s almost as tall as Aditya. It makes him look handsome and I’m happy that Shipra found him.
Shipra is dressed in another one of her south silk saris. It’s a red and black silk sari wh ich has a golden border running the length of her pallu. I don’t know why I didn’t ask her and she never told me on the phone but she has kids. In fact, she has two of them – twins, a boy and a girl. They are so alike that it’s difficult to make out if they actually have a different gender. I wasn’t expecting the kids, so I panic a little. I am not sure how I can entertain them. Laxman is a saviour; he takes charge of the kids immediately. He’s converted a wooden plank into a bat and borrows a ball from the neighbours. He and the kids play cricket on the front lawn which leaves us alone to have a conversation.
Shipra is still the same. Her hair is still as short as she used to wear them in school. She’s matured like a good wine. The kajal that she wears in her eyes makes her look beautiful. I don’t know what it is about South Indians that they have the most beautiful eyes. I turn on the heater. As November’s turned to December, it’s become wretchedly cold. I can’t help feeling jealous that Shipra doesn’t feel cold in her sari while I sit huddled in layers of cloth. I can’t help feeling fifty years old in the company of these young people. The last few days have made me age.
She introduces me to the Colonel and tells me how they met in college. Her father was posted in Chennai as was his. They fell in love and the affair lasted many years before they were married. They both came from an Army background and had travelled India, as most Army children do and that is where the similarities ended. They were from different religions, regions, cultures and traditions. Somehow, their magnetism and love kept them together. As they recounted, they had had a difficult time convincing each other’s parents until they had eloped. It was ten years ago that they married.
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