Password.

Note- Password is short story(It is kind of long). So it will come out in parts. Also,this story doesn’t include a maid.

Biju had been twenty nine when he’d first met Rama. Dressed in a peacock blue salwar suit she had emerged out with a tray. She started serving him and his parents tea. This was the custom. Arranged marriages were the norm then. Anyone who had done a love marriage in that era was looked at with bewilderment today for having taken such a bold step.

Rama wasn’t the first girl Biju had wanted to marry. During his engineering days, Biju, a young boy of twenty had dreamt of marrying Shreya. Shreya was the most popular girl in class. Dark hair, hazel brown eyes and her laugh would paralyze the entire lot of boys in the class. Biju had started liking her in the 2nd semester. In the 4th semester he managed to gather up some courage and tell her about his feelings. It didn’t go well. She ran out of the room and pretended it never happened. Biju told no one about this. In the 8th semester,Biju found out that Shreya was set to marry a guy. He was older than her, had a job in reputed bank. The girls in the class would endlessly tease her and she’d blush. Biju felt angry. He was not the kind of guy who kept grudges but this,hurt. Biju forgave Shreya on her wedding day when he saw her husband to be. He chuckled in his head. “This is the guy she chose?”, he wanted to say out loud.

He remembered this when he saw Rama. She was exactly opposite of Shreya. She had curly hair. He couldn’t wrap his head around the directions it flew in. She had long curled eyelashes and she looked at him softly but with confidence. Rama wasn’t an engineer. She had finished her M.A in sociology. There wasn’t much age gap between them. They were allowed some time alone to decide if they liked each other. They said yes.

Their marriage in it’s initial run was fun. Like any newly wed they would look forward for their day to end,so they could be with each other. Rama would go to the office in the morning after she had cooked for both of them. She would return by 5pm. Biju would come home soon after that. They’d go for a walk together and talk about their favourite Jagjit Singh and the books they had read before they had met. Sometimes dinner was followed by a round of ice-cream that Rama would make and freeze in the fridge from a store bought pack. They would take trips to Khandala and stay there for the entire weekend. They’d go by train as they couldn’t afford a car yet. Occasionally both of their parents would come to visit. On such days, they would give the bedroom to their parents and sleep on the living room floor¬† by arranging an extra mattress. The flat they were living in was bought by pitching in money from both the sides so there were no fights about money as such.

Life was going faster than they had planned when Rama found out she was pregnant. She was already a month in. Rama was excited. She hoped Biju would be excited too. That night Rama waited in bed for Biju. There was a different vibe in the house. It seemed so full of memories. Memories they had made in a short span of two years. She looked around their bedroom. Suddenly, she imagined a toddler walking around the house. The walls dirty with random sketches. Wondering what her son would grow up to be. An IAS she thought. Then she decided that she would let her son be whatever he wanted to. “What if he wants to be a rock band player with long hair?”, she said out loud. She realized she was all alone and patiently waited. Biju came home. Rama was blushing.

“What?”, he asked.

“Nothing.”, she blushed.

Biju climbed into the bed and approached her. “Something funny Mrs. Biju?”

Before she could reply, Biju had started tickling her. The house was full of happy screams. “Stop it Biju!” As the laughter died down slowly they both chuckled sporadically for a few minutes. They both lay side by side.

“I’m pregnant”,Rama whispered.


To read part 2- click here.

 

 

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1999.

Waiting for your letter,
Expectant eyes;
heavy hopes,
hasty goodbyes.

Blotches of Ink,
Know you cried when you wrote;
I cried reading it,
A lump in my throat.

Missing your touch,
My heart aches;
Searching you in corridors,
My body rakes.

Pregnant womb,
Eyes red;
In a warstruck nation,
You lie dead.

Abortion.

She waited for your smile

to appear thinking

it was on it’s way.

But you touched her womb

without even touching it

and muttered,

“You have to kill it today.”

So she did as you said,

For five years her body had been your bed.

The child came out

but there were no cries

and yet she didn’t realize

that your I love you’s

were all lies.

You left

at an amazing pace.

Left her shame

and walked with grace.

She looks down at the marks

on her skin

thinking maybe

she had two little sons

akin.

Says your name,

forty-nine times a day

and there you are

with another girl now

far far away.