My Best Friend's Wedding

***********
Two friends meet after a long interval of ten years. One of them is getting married. After the function they bid each other bye through smiles. They suspect if it would take them another ten years to meet again.
*************

I saw him the last day,
Last day as bachelor,
Smiling at those horizons,
Of the happy days to come.
He tends to future,
To his life, to his love,
Happy yesterdays are forgotten
For happier tomorrows.

Forgotten pasts ne’er meant
Me, so came a phone call,
He called; I came, for a long
Unforgotten promise-to meet,
To smile, to share, to cheer,
To bluff, to tease, to dream,
And to leave unconditionally.

*****

A cup of tea, snacks tasting homely,
Just like always he demanded
Three-fourth of all toffees.
Certain things are ne’er forgotten.
Ten years since I’ve seen
Him, His laughter just
Caused me to think that
Yesterdays can’t be tomorrows.

He spoke of his silly little girl,
His ‘would-be’, and of his
‘How to deal her?’ worries,
Enquiries, of what women like,
Dislike, tastes and preferences.
Now it’s my turn to speak of
Nail polishes, jewelry, park, theatre,
New wear, party, everything I know.

He doubtfully enquires of books,
I doubt it-I say, I cannot be sure.
He smiles. But why? Did
He compare? Me and her,
Or friend and love, or
Yesterday and tomorrow.
I don’t know. And
I don’t want to.

*****

Leading me back into decorations,
He points at a familiar doll,
Peeping out of the shelf,
Driving me into those school days
Of sinless fights and thoughtless talks.
His birthday, the doll, the gift, me
Sharing a common bond-a sense
Of belonging-a warmth.

Now that tomorrow I’ll meet them,
The bride and her groom, my friend.
He would smile, she would stare, all
At the ease by which I shake her hand,
Only to say “Wish you a happy
Married life”. Then I’ll leave,
Turning once around to tell him,
“See you again”. Smiling unconditionally.

Love,Life n Trauma

I
“I request your permission to grant me leave for three weeks…”

She finished off the letter and signed with an ease. But this time she did it happily. Ignoring her dominant head’s pleading face, the ‘master-brain’ leaves her office room.
In the car, she thought about him. She tried to recollect how his remarks had caused her to bring about a change in her lifestyle. A year of uneventful married life has led to a sudden debate in her home, with her guy and within herself.

*****
There were no unwanted relationships that bound them. And there was no unreciprocated love.
The girl, so dedicated to work that the workaholic in her had overshadowed the beauty within her….
The boy, so loving, that his senses had found the hidden love in her dedication…
The girl, torn between love and duty, home and office, health and responsibility…
The boy, who loved her for what she was….
He, who failed to tell her of love…,
She, who failed to ask for it…,

*******
She comes late at night, perhaps after twelve. The hectic office work has diminished the glow of her face. She rings the bell, he opens the door.
He gives a sweet smile, but a fainter one, as if to accept the “sorry” that she would give. Now he would enquire, “Did you have anything?” And she would reply-Yes. Yes means “it’s ok”
Next morning, perhaps at five, the smell of the curry, from her kitchen would reach his nose. It reminded him that she was in a hurry. He speeds to her kitchen. In a soft voice, he would ask, “Should I help you?” And she would reply-No. No means “it’s ok”. In her mysterious home of untold and hidden love, this cycle of events repeated each day, each week, and each month, since the very first day after their wedding. She made bread and butter for breakfast, dal and rice for supper, salad and papad and pickle. It was the same everyday. She had no time. Neither to make another dish nor to think about making it…
He wanted to help his ‘pale-faced’ and ‘dark-eyed’ wife, but never offered to do it. Perhaps, traditions have caused him into believing that she ought to live a life torn between kitchen and office room (neither of those were so pleasing).At six, his wife would be running out of her ‘workplace’ to another ‘workplace’ shouting, “Food kept on table…gas cylinder switched off, right??...take care. Bye” At seven he would leave this house. At seven he would return.
But everything can change in a day…..

II
The first time she was blamed, the last time he blamed….
As usual, she knocked the door of her home, her face paler than before, due to overtime work. She was in a hurry to get to sleep. He opened the door and raised his voice, “You forgot it. Don’t you?” Her pale face gave a blank look.
She replies, “Oh! I just…sorry…you had asked to come earlier…right? Shopping…. I suppose. Anyway let it be tomorrow…I had an urgent conference…”
“Don’t be so stupid. What do you think I called you for? Shopping? Should I need reminding you that it is our wedding anniversary? None of your schedule had it…?”
She is unable to speak. She hates herself for being so ignorant.
“Rethink…if you can. I understand what work and office can mean. But it spoils your health, your mind, yourself and thereby me”
She hadn’t thought that it would turn up like this. She found it difficult to face him. His boyish face now displayed anger. Yet his eyes told her about his calmness and perseverance. It yearned for a change.

III
So she decided….
She stopped her car at ‘Westside’ and bought a blue shirt-the color he loved and a gift she never gave before. It was evening at seven. The gate was opened. So he has come. She rung the bell, and knocked the door. No reply. She turned the door knob. It opened. She entered the house. She kept her bag on the files (that lay like piles of garbage) on the dressing table. The dressing table would surprise anyone. It was incredible that a lady like her could ignore such a pretty dressing table.
******
In the bed, she found him asleep. A sleep so profound, as if in a fairy tale. Yes. She is going to give him a pleasant surprise. She had taken leave from tiring work. Her schedule now contains picnics, movie, and park, everything except office. She has changed. She touched his forehead with her long skinny fingers. A terror had flashed over her face. She withdrew her hand. He was ice-cold.

IV
Return to life, return to work….
Next week she has to return to that dark, noisy place that had pulled her from him. She was inflamed by his sudden withdrawal. He had left her alone in his house, made to live in his memories, feeling guilty every time for being so unjust, cursing herself for what she had failed to realise.
For a moment she felt that no one had ever loved her as much as he did. He died one day, unable to tell her how much did he love her, how much he liked the way she loved him.
She was right. He was right.
She was given time to think. By the time she thought, he ran out of time.
She thought of her classmate, an old crush, who had come with his wife, for her guy’s funeral. She thought of how, years before she had gathered all her strength to tell him of her interest yet couldn’t do it. She thought of the time when she had led a life so beautiful, awaiting her prince charming. Everything has become so soar, so dry.
She has realized the trauma behind hidden feelings. But this time it would cost her life.
*****
When she opened the cupboard, she felt his presence. Something between his shirts has caught her attention. She pulled it out. It was a nice, small card that read, ‘For My Love, My Life’
She opened it. A song was heard…
“Every night in my dreams…”
He has written ‘Take care. I love you’
“Near...Far...Wherever you are…”
She was sweating…she fell…unconscious…perhaps dead….
“Love was when I loved you….” The song dies away.