Serenity - A collection of short stories

Mehenga Tohfa - Part 3

Song : 'Anyone' by Justin Beiber 

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First Person P.O.V. (Male)

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Sometimes I felt , she did it due to sympathy. I don't know. I tend to make easy going talks strained with my remarks as above. It looks as if I am often searching for validation in her replies. I am thankful to the phone call we got 3 days ago , for this space to think about my messed up thoughts.

3 days ago

It was the midday of the week , Wednesday which meant a hectic day at office. Reaching home , I took off my shoes besides the shoe rack and made a beeline for the washroom to change out of my sweaty work clothes. But on not seeing Mishti in the living room, I halted. I heard voices in the kitchen. Going there, I found my wife doughing the flour, dressed in casual clothes, a sight different from other days when she was dressed freshly and usually seated on the sofa at this time. 

There was her phone perched atop the counter. My mother's  voice filtered through the speaker. "Haan Ma , vo aaye nahi hai abhi. Me kaam kar rahi thi. Aaj late hu thoda. Vo aate hai to me baat karti hu unse." ("Yes Ma , he has not come yet. I was working. I'm a little late today. When he comes, I'll talk to him.") She said to my mother , who replied back by saying , "Haan haan koi nahi. Bas use samjhana zaroor. Mera phone hi nahi uthaya usne aaj. Shayad busy hoga." ("Yes, that's okay. Just make sure to explain it to him. He didn't pick up my phone today. Maybe he is busy.")

Listening to them talking about me, I interrupted. "Ma, agar aap office hours me call karoge to kaise uthaunga. Message aap dekhte nahi ho mere." ("Ma, if you call in office hours, how will I pick up? Don't you see my messages?") My wife jumped hearing my voice and the water container slipped on the counter. I gave her a sheepish smile. "Chhotu tu aa gaya. Vo to mujhe is naye iPhone me message-vessage dekhne nahi aate. Alag hi siyappa hai in phono ka." ("Chhotu , you came. I don't understand how to see messages in this new iPhone. The phones these days are a headache.") Ma replied. I chuckled hearing her , my luddite mother. 

"Kya baat karni thi aapko?" ("What did you want to talk about?") I asked her. "Haan vo ... Aaram se sunna pehle hi mat bhadak jana." ("Right, that ... listen calmly don't get angry in advance.") Ma replied with hesitation and I rolled my eyes hearing her which got me a glare from my wife. "Bolo to." ("At least tell me first.") I uttered, requesting her to continue. "Vo Holi aa Rahi hai. Bahu ki pehli Holi hai sasural me. Vo yahan nahi reh sakti. Nayi naveli ki holi maike me hoti hai." ("That Holi is coming. It is daughter-in-law's first Holi at her in-laws' house. She can't stay here. Newlyweds celebrate Holi at their parents' home.") She said back hesitantly.

"Ma, vo sasural me nahi hai. Mere paas hai." ("Ma , she is not at her in-laws house. She's with me.") I replied back to avoid this unnecessary predicament. 'It's our first Holi and she'll be away? Not happening.' My inner self backed me. "Aree chhotu, vahi baat hoti hai. Ye rivaaz hai. Manne me burai thodi hai." ("Chhotu , it's the same thing. It's a custom. There's no harm in following them.") She replied back. My mother, though an independent woman , was timid self in front of her family. Her assertive tone was always used on me only and being my only beloved human in that house, I could never disrespect her.

But I didn't want to give into this. "Par ma--" ("But Ma--") I was swiftly cut off by Mishti's voce , who took the phone from my hands and replied to my mother , "Ma , me karti hu baat. Aap aaram karlo." ("Ma , I'll talk to him. You please take rest.") I looked at her baffled but shut on seeing her pleading glance. She didn't want us to be miffed. She clearly understood our dynamics and acted as a mayo in between two sandwich slices , gluing us together.