It was around 10 or may be less in a
village in North Bihar, but who cared for the time in that part of the world
where nightfall coincided with nocturnal activities. The frenzied thrusting of
a love-starved couple was disturbed by equally frenzied knocking on the door. A
momentary hush fell upon the couple which was madly and badly engaged in making
love as they had met after more than a month and hadn’t even completed three
months of their marriage before they resumed their activity once again. The
thrusts became wilder and the knocks on the door became more insistent and
stronger. All that ‘soul’ on the other
end wanted was to retrieve the last pot of fish curry to feed the souls that
had already eaten a lot but were now keen to fill their esophagus too with
food. And all the couple inside wanted was just one climax…Now the ‘person’ on
the other end started shouting kholo
darwaza along with banging the door. With great effort the another woman
writhing beneath a moaning man, about to reach his release pushed him with all
his might, put on the nighty lying discarded at the floor and opened the door
for the person banging at the door,
without caring for the man, whether he was dressed or not. Akhil was absolutely shocked, completely at
loss of words, action and everything as he froze and his mother-in-law entered
the room to pick the pot of fish curry. With one swift stroke of his hands and
legs, he got inside the quilt to save his ijjat and was so mad with Ashmi that
he decided not to speak with her for a week. Correction, for a month, or a year
would be more appropriate. It’s a
different matter his week or month or year couldn’t last more than a night,
because the interrupted task of the night before had to be brought to the
logical end.
‘The very next evening,’ he left with his
beautiful bride. They didn’t have tickets, but they had friends who managed a
berth on which both of them kept hanging on, till they reach the Delhi station.
Physical pain hardly mattered when both of them were together. Whenever, they
shared a happy moment, Ashmi thanked her stars.
Somewhere
in his palm was her name written, otherwise how could they meet after an odd
train journey. Though, the folks didn’t want them to get married, destiny had
other plans.
Her
dad couldn’t come because of work in January to formalize their breakup. Not
that they didn’t like it, they loved it. Ashmi and Akhil continued to meet, as
often as they can now, but now none of them informed their parents about it
under any circumstance. When they went
home in March for Holi, Ashmi made it clear that they loved each other and they
had to get married. Ditto for Akhil.
In
the month of June, in a simple ceremony they got married. Akhil had just landed
a job after campus interview and had worked for a month. Ashmi’s results had
still not come. The marriage was simple, but they didn’t care. They were happy
that they could live together.
Post
marriage, Akhil and Ashmi moved in his sister’s home. They didn’t have enough
money to rent their own pad and Akhil’s new job demanded a lot of tour.
Naturally, she couldn’t stay alone at home, reasoned didi to Akhil and
magnanimously offered the tiniest room in her Punjabi Bagh three room house,
with a single bed for the couple. The bed was just perfect for them when they
acted lovey-dovey, but on the days they would fight, it was a different story. Ashmi
would put her dupatta lengthwise between the cot, which acted as an invisible
wall between them, so that they couldn’t
touch each other. Akhil would sleep
hanging down from the cot whereas Ashmi would be comfortable, as her side had
wall to support her.
Invariably, in the middle of night,
Akhil would reach out to her, hold her, hug tightly, and make love, fierce kind
of love, which would dissolve the anger completely. In one of those rocking
sessions of lovemaking, the bed collapsed, as the weathered wood wasn’t
supposed to bear such frenetic activity. The next day they rented their flat.
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