Love Story – Sweet Memories at Sixties
Photo credit: hotblack from morguefile.com
My days at this phase of my life are very usual and yet they are more than beautiful and in fact they are very special. On this third day after my 65th birth day I still feel a lot willing and longing for living. Of course there is a reason to it; the love of my life.
I am now a Professor and Advisory Committee Member at the SV University with a decent honorarium even after having retired a five years ago. I am no first time grasper, it took so long time for me to earn money, power, and knowledge in the field of commerce, economics and literature. Now I am content with whatever I have achieved and whatever I do.
As usual before the Sun goes down behind the western hills I drive my car home with a minute not being wasted on the way, like a school kid running to play with his contemporaries after school hours. I ignore traffic and traffic rules at times. Of course I keep hearing from my colleagues that I am known for my agility in driving even at this juncture of my life.
Sooner I reach home I run to the kitchen, call my wife by her name and I continue calling her name; for I like her name more than any other word in this world, it is not just a set of vowels and consonants but a meaning for my life, my passion, my love and my compassion. Of course, at times I call her my Goddess for I see this word is a closer synonym to her name.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened had I not met her some thirty five years ago, doubtless, my life would have been meaningless and ever-regretful.
When I don’t find her in kitchen, I know where she is. I run through the flight of stairs and usually see her sitting on the terrace, cross-legged with “The Notebook” in her hands. The book we read at least a few hundred times, many times together too. This is one of the masterpieces of Nicholas Sparks, my favorite author.
She acknowledges my calling with a smile on her face, in no time I return with a grin. “How was the day, Mr. Handsome?” she asks.
“It was good Gorgeous, as usual I missed you so much!”
“Oh Oh, anything special?” she asks in a funny tone.
“Not really Goddess” I reply. She folds ‘The Notebook’ and keeps it aside, I take it in such a way that I am being welcomed. She is still seated cross-legged, her usual posture; she claims to have learnt this posture in her Yoga classes just after her college days, before our meeting though.
I rest my head in her lap, look to her face. For a moment I forget my age and hers. I continue seeing her smiles, no surprise to say I stare at her.
I look for her lush lips. I raise my head slowly up pulling her face closer to mine with my right hand gently, she is shy. “What, uummmmm!” she tries to speak but stops.
Her hesitance and shyness make me fly the sensual skies so high. We kiss each other on lips; we hold onto it until one of our necks aches and we relieve a sigh of pain.
I still rest my head in her lap for some more time, caressing her silky hair.
Glowing rays of the evening Sun reach their saturation by touching her face and her ever-shining hair.
Before the dawn of the night, we go down by the stairs. I still hold her by her waist as if I don’t want to leave her for a second and as if it is as natural as my breathing, stopping which I will die in no time.
I then make two cups of green tea. I see her sitting in the balcony. I keep the two cups filled with tea on the table.
She reaches to one of the cups, gulps a sip. She picks up the topic of our children, about whom we feel very proud of. We talk of them and a smile of pride our faces wear, only parents can feel. To stop her from being emotional and to listen to her voice, I ask her sing. While she sings I add my humming voice. For some reason I still don’t know, we fly with joy while we sing together. The joy that has no end, the joy that is nowhere else found and the joy only we two can ever build. Her voice melodious. It has grown beautiful and sweeter by her age.
Our supper these days are finished just with a few loafs of bread and butter, as advised by our family doctor.
We climb up to the terrace once again, needless to say the last time for the day, while I hold a flask filled with a sort of medicated water and two empty cups in my hands; medicated water is more or less like green tea, both of us are advised to have, by the Ayurveda doctor.
She loves looking to the stars and moon in the sky while we are seated on the terrace. For me, nothing seems beautiful than looking to her face and into her almond eyes in the dim light on the terrace. Who starts first we have never noticed, but we talk about the day we first met in the beach by the temple. All of the memories flood with no voluntary effort.
The sand grains I poured at her feet, our walks bare foot by the festoons made by the tides on the beach sand. The way I stood against the protruding morning Sun rays to protect her smooth and glorious face.
The day I fought with her brother and convinced her parents for our marriage, our marriage day, the day our children were given University Gold medals for their excellence in studies, and all of that.
Tears of delight, of infinite pleasure and of victory stroll down my cheeks while she is strong enough to hide them in her heart. We hug each other so tight as if we have met after few decades of time like in the 1990’s Hindi movie Veer Zaara.
We speak until we are tired for the day. We then slowly descend by the stairs to the hall and then to the bed room.
While we lay on the wide bed in the cozy room, I read to her a few poems, I wrote on her ever since I first met her.
Listening to the poems, she slowly is drowned into the sea of sleep. I dive into it as early as I can, not to disturb but to join her for I know I find no meaning in this world where she doesn’t exist.
Together we dream, swim and sing in the sea of sleep until our old bodies are relieved of fatigue and ailments caused by our old age…
–END–
