chai, baatein aur tum [kabir-anaisha au]✔

chai, baatein aur tum, pt.1

the breezy night of november, is quieter than anaisha envisaged. in the bridal fancies of a luxury hotel in udaipur, she presumed to have at least a hundred thousand noises that would drive her to the clutches of isolation she accepted like a boon and a bane. but the glittery silence of the night, is all there to welcome her as she finds a shy corner of a pool unattended by the intrigued eyes of social bees who have flown here for the wedding of the year. or maybe two. none she hardly can care for.

she has a marriage proposal of her own, to take care of. to say no.

"your father has been acquainted to them for years i've lost the count. their son will be a perfect husband for you."

he'll be a perfect husband, because her parents have known his parents. but does she know him to take this leap of faith that can be both a reward and a punishment? no.

she leans over the cold marble pillar, her mind has been heavy with worries of the future she hasn't chosen still. there remains a handful of thousand wishes on her to-do list, she has to tick. the ones she checked cross, were just a fistful of dreams she hasn't seen alone. a perfect score on tenth boards; another star on twelfth boards; an honour's degree at an elite institution; a master's degree at another prestigious university; a master of philosophy has been attained, too; a decent paying job, and a doctorate degree on the way – the ones she checked cross, were just a fistful dreams she hasn't seen alone. she has done well, she is doing well – professionally. the checklist of her personal life - still blank, untouched.

friends, she made a dozen. only a couple stayed.
lovers, she met a few tens. none has dared to stay.
cats, she brought home two. now they are a family of six.
love, she—error 404.

"pyaar toh...saath rehte-rehte ho hi jayega."

"par agar nahi hua toh?"

her mother did not have an answer for the question, anaisha fears fiercely.
if she wouldn't love the man she chooses to spend her life with, then what?

"hum ek hafte hain yahan, mil lena usse. jo bhi pucchna ho, pucch lena. aur fir hume, apna jawab bata dena. bas ek baat yaad rakhna – kitni bhi koshish karlo, zindagi akele nahi ji jaati. you'll need a partner to survive through the hard times and smile at the joys."

a picture tagged along with her mother's message. anaisha turns off her phone.

the sound of the leaves rustling, soothes her troubled soul like the lullabies sang to a frightened baby. her heart is heavy, it has been for a while. she knows, if not this man, there would be another, waiting to hear a yes; a nod to a relationship of lifetime she cannot predict she would last if it would never have love.

"can i sit here...if you don't mind?"

the shadow of his existence breaks her trance before his voice can. anaisha finds a pair of silent eyes awaiting her response. as if her response would change his life. as if the man in the unseen photograph is him.

"ji jaroor."

he settles besides her, a little three feet apart.

"yahan raat mein baithna allowed toh haina? hum dono ke alawa, koi aur hain nahi yahan pe."

"humne puccha tha, if they catch us, we'll have to pay a hefty fine of ten thousand."

"toh aap yahan kyun hai fir?"

"hmm...avant-garde."

"matlab?"

"mazak tha."