Warm Soup

 She was warm. Her warm breathe caressed his cajoling touch, asking her to wake up. But she adamantly refused to shake an eyelid. In deep slumber, she lay with the tubes moving liquids in and out of her. The monitor beeped loudly echoing her beating heart. Nothing disturbed her. Nothing breached her deep reverie. 

Vishwas kept moving his arthritic fingers now through her grey but smooth hair. Each lock had a story to tell. Each frayed strand spoke of the sacrifices she made. But she didn't utter a word. At the window sill, a mynah screeched, fluffing her wings to allow the wind filter through her wingspan. Was she calling out to her mate, like he sitting by Surekha's bedside?

--///-----

"Oh come on Dadu, you are just faking a tale." Chided Sparsh to his grandfather. 

"Believe me, I'm not. I, too, wooed your Dadi on a Yamaha as she stood drying her silky tresses in the balcony."

"Why would you? You had her so easily. Your parents married you off at the first go. It was so easy!" Sparsh slammed against the coach.

"Our parents tied us in a knot, does that mean she was in love with me? Though we never went against the wishes of our parents that didn't mean we never had our own to nuture. I could sense her cold looks and colder glares piercing me. I needed to win her heart."

"Still Dadu, after all, she was yours. Not like me who has to drumroll his love and get dumped in return." Sighed Sparsh.

"What made you think she was mine? Never did I consider her my marital property. Her consent though legally granted, emotionally was suspended in the air. The more I tried vigorously to grab it, the more it went out of my reach."

"Nah, nah...still you could just rope in your parents and seal the deal." Sparsh was as adamant as his grandma.

"You mean to say, prove that I was still a baby who was gifted a doll and when the doll didn't relent, go about crying and alarming the whole house? Big boss, these are the qualities which turn off a woman. If a man can't make his ladylove melt in his arms amicably, then he isn't worth her time and persuasion."

"Fine, as you say. So what did the Macho Man do to entice his Macho Lady." With a hint of ridicule, Sparsh relented.

"Ahaaa.... yes she indeed was a Macho Woman. I tried to catch her attention with stunts on Yamaha, only to realize she was a better biker than me. Falling flat on the ground and in her eyes, I had to try something different."

"Hmmm....interesting!" Sparsh rested his head held high on his bare palm.

"New day, new hopes. I took her for a mushy romantic movie wearing the best aftershave and denim jacket. The hero had rescued the heroine from the claws of the monstrous villain and there was going to be The Scene of subtle kissing when, when.."

"When what? Stop drinking water at the climax!" Sparsh's irritability was heightened.

"Ya,ya....when, when I heard some obnoxious snores."

"Shhhiii...which heroine snores in a romantic movie. Bad picture." Sparsh's disgust was visible.

"Darling, my personal heroine was snoring. This attempt to impress her, too, had failed like the movie on the charts. All she wanted to go for a murder mystery or action thriller..... though there was no dishoom dishoom back home, yet I knew she was bored."

"Chill Dadu it happens!" Sparsh empathized with the oldie.

"But I was not to give up. After all, she was all I wanted. I desired that the bakula falls gently on my lap. I could never pluck her off her inhibitions. Again, I was set for a different move. This time I gifted her a gajra made of bakula flowers to adorn her long mane."

"That's like a seventies hero!" Sparsh cheered him.

"What hero? This time I landed up being the villain. She was allergic to scents and strong fragrances and landed up cursing me the whole day with aanchoooo and sniff, sniff."

"Leave it Dadu, maybe your parents knew, you just didn't have the trait to make her fall in love with you, so they intervened very early." Empathy to sympathy, Sparsh felt sorry for his only grandfather and his only struggle in life.

"No, no.... I wasn't the one to give up. After all the ideas mentioned by Chitralekha magazine collapsed, I cooked my own."

"Oh, not one more stunt."

"Arey listen, I just cooked a warm soup for her running nose, that day when the scents failed to deliver their magic. The soup didn't put me in a soup. In fact, it got my hen out of the coop. That day, she spoke her heart out, how she wished her husband to be her equal and not above or below her. She wanted someone to join hands and not hold her back in life. The era we lived in was hostile to such associations but we had build our own warm world away from the preying eyes of commentators. Late at night, she took me on Yamaha rides and I enjoyed clutching tightly to her grit and determination. Action movies replaced romantic ones, only to fuel romance in our married life. Finally, we found each other after a year of ups and downs, bitter and sour servings. Indeed, a warm soup relaxed us."

"Must say, my Bavarchi, you cooked up this story quite well."

"Dumbo, take it with a pinch of salt that it is we-men who require pampering, not women who look for space and equality. Don't be He-Man instead try being Her-Man! Gosh, I'm getting late for the hospital."

Sparsh just contendedly smiled at the proud, receding, hunched figure of his grandfather. 

-----/////------

The aroma of warm soup wafted in the ICU.

"Uncle, how many times to tell you not to bring food items here. The hospital management doesn't allow it." The nurse barked at Vishwas.

Without caring a damn, he opened the lid of the thermos and gently allowed the soul's aroma to tickle Surekha's stupefied nostrils. The mynah, again screeched as if approving his act. Hemorrhage, stroke, brain dead were all terminologies of a different Era. He just knew he had to coax her into talking like he had done years ago. 

Otherwise, Sparsh would again tease him, "Leave it Dadu, you just don't have it, to make her fall for you."