The clock struck midnight. There was victory in his eyes. On the bed were remnants of his night’s hunt – the Scrabble letters I scattered after he had defeated me yet again! The man who can beat me at Scrabble is a man I respect.
On weekday nights, R and I whip up (not so) simple dinners so we are all sorted for making our way through the bedside books. They have been taking longer to get through, I have noticed. I swear this is because of how beautiful Pune night rain looks from our bedroom window. Golden, quiet and melodious! It looks different over the weekend though – more intrusive than beautiful, more irritating than romantic. We still trudge out, braving the mighty raindrops and squealing over the puddles.
“How does it feel to be married?” This question always leaves me wondering. Do I feel more responsible, more organised, more stressed out? NO! I will admit we have to endeavour to stick to a routine and cook dinner after a long day at work. But, if anything, the daily grind makes me await with even more longing whatever time we get to spend together. I love opening the door to R when I am home early. I love waking him up in person (and NOT over the phone!) and giggling at the overwhelmed look in his eyes when he says – “I still can’t believe we are married!”
Over the years, R has grown to be my closest friend, so much that he sometimes feel like an imaginary extension I made of myself. I can be as grumpy as I please, my hair can be wild, my face unwashed or oily. And no, he may not tell me I am the prettiest then, but he feels as comfortable and “home” as my old night pyajamas, fried groundnuts in the Delhi winter and Mom’s favourite blue night spread.
Today, we complete five glorious years of togetherness. And this year, we are husband and wife. As spectacular as spectacular gets!
Happy Fifth, R. (27.6.15)