It was a Sunday morning and Mandi House looked like a freshly brewed cup of Nescafe. It was just me and Suhas walking on the vacant streets with a stray cat in company. The small suburban houses on the sidewalk flashed by like the pages of a book as we walked. The sky looked broken with scarce rain clouds just like our poor souls.
‘Don’t you think if we live together in a same house, love will decline?‘ I asked Suhas.
‘Yes it would be’ He replied.
Yesterday I went out for a solitary walk post sunset. I never bring my phone along when I go for my night time walk. It is just me. As I walked I saw pairs of couples, of families with children, marching in cohesion. Different colors of dresses, trousers, salwar suits, frocks, and ponytails, short hair. Garrulous, routine conversations! I find it all claustrophobic.
I want as much detachment as attachment!
I imagined that how would it be if I were to live with Suhas. I would perhaps be contend and not look around? He is a poet, a writer, a mathematician, an intellectual, and a liberal. We match like a house of cards. I imagined that its a beautiful morning and I’m wearing a saree and serving him a cup of tea as he writes couplets on a notebook. I then lean on a pillow and listen to him reading verses of Mir and Ghalib on our comfortable bed. Life felt blissful!
The food has to be made in the kitchen on the gas. The servant hasn’t come yet to clean the house. The bed is crumpled after a night of passionate lovemaking. Dirty clothes -the underwear, socks, and boxers wait to be washed in the washing machine. Oh! there is leftover food on the windowsill on which flies have lined up. And the dustbin is overflowing. The milkman is banging on the door. The flour is finished and how will I knead the dough now? The kitchen platform has to be scrubbed clean after the cooking. Then there are 24 hours in a day. How long can I listen to the poetry, and how long can he write. What after that? What will we talk?
Eros gasps for breath in the domestic life. Suhas is right!