Beyond the loves of adolescence and early youth, subsequent loves seem to be like this. One can, at will, bring it out from the secret chamber of one’s heart and worship it; or, if necessary, carefully wrap it in fragrant silk and, with delight, store it in a jewelry box for many days. This love can no longer escape. It remains, waiting. The lover, now, is no longer as immature, careless, or whimsical as in the love of youth. One must balance home, work, responsibilities, society, and children before finding time for love.
Mimi often thinks of Naim. All the time. On sunny days, rainy days, on days filled with sorrow, and moments of joy, always. But Naim is so busy. Where is his time? Of course, Naim loves Mimi deeply, very deeply. It’s a different kind of love. A weekend love. A love that’s beyond the first flush of youth, a love that cares for the final hours. This love is full of care, of affection. Unlike the first youth, in this love, the body doesn’t come into the picture every moment, there’s no time or opportunity for meetings or closeness, or perhaps attraction? Yet, the attraction does exist, somewhere, deeply. It’s just that it can’t be caught, touched, or enjoyed by just sitting side by side whenever one wants, or going on a long drive, or sharing an ice cream together. This love, compared to the love of eating fuchka-chatpati, ice cream, or going to the movies, is quite different. In this love, everything is measured, every step is taken with great care. But, Mimi smiles inwardly and thinks, ‘The key to my heart is with me! I can lock my heart whenever I want, and unlock it whenever I want! No one cares, I don’t have to answer anyone’s questions, or get into any pointless trouble.
It was raining heavily today. Mimi sat on a chair on her balcony, gazing at the sky, watching the rain. She imagined Nayim in the empty chair beside her. She could talk endlessly to herself. She asked questions, answered them as if Nayim was there, then argued against her own answers, just like she used to do in her childhood for the sake of debate. Mimi had participated in many national-level debate competitions organized by her school, and she had even been the best speaker. Since then, this habit of hers had developed. Whenever a new thought came to her mind, she would talk to herself endlessly, stand in front of a mirror and talk to herself, argue, counter-argue, refute arguments. She would only be satisfied when she finally got an answer she liked, and she found great joy in it.
Nevertheless, sitting on the balcony, she pondered silently, asking Naim, ‘What’s your take on the rain? Are you a rain enthusiast or someone who dislikes it?’
She mentally prepared two opposing viewpoints as if she were a debater. She wondered, ‘If Naim is a rain lover, what would he say? How would he defend his love for rain?’ And conversely, ‘If he’s someone who dislikes rain, what would be his arguments?’ Initially, she thought, ‘Well, would Naim, even in his fifties, say something youthful like, “I feel so romantic in the rain. I want to hold your waist and get drenched with you”? Then, after a shower, we could cook khichuri together and enjoy a meal?
Then Mimi thinks, no, Naim will probably say the opposite. He’ll probably scoff and say, ‘Oh, come on! How can rain be romantic? Whenever I see rain, I think of how such a huge sky can cry like a big, whiny kid! It sounds just like five-year-old Rini sobbing. And besides, with all this rain, traffic gets worse, and all my meetings get delayed. Everything takes so long – getting work done, getting home. It’s not like the old zamindari days where we could stay home during the rain, watch it fall, read poetry, listen to sweet love songs, and have our wives cook us khichuri and meat curry with pickles. And there would be a plate of fulko and hot egg fry, and a slice of fragrant lemon on the side?
Mimi was taken aback this time. No, she wasn’t sure if Nayim would understand her if she tried to mold his mind with this kind of answer, and she couldn’t impose her own thoughts on Nayim like that. What a hassle! She decided to text Nayim to find out. But that’s another story. She asked him something, but hours passed without a reply. However, her heart told her, no, Nayim isn’t a pleasure-seeker, he must be a rebel against the norm.
Mimi now pondered a question to herself: which path had she truly chosen? She thought, before diving into a detailed analysis of her relationship with Naim, she should truly understand herself. Her entire life had passed by, always trying to understand the other person’s desires, shaping herself accordingly. Now she was free, now she could steer her life’s boat according to her own wishes. She wanted to think, what did she actually want? What did she enjoy? Her whole life, she had thought about his desires, his preferences, and shaped herself accordingly, but she had never looked at what she wanted. She remembered her first love. How romantic it was to skip classes and go for a taxi ride with her lover on a rainy day! And why wouldn’t it be? At that age, at the beginning of warm and pulsating youth, those rainy days were perfect opportunities to draw the curtains of a taxi or rickshaw, for people of opposite sexes to come a little closer, to feel warmth, and to become ecstatic. But today? Oh, there’s another phase to it. When Mimi first became a housewife, after the phase of love ended, the days of love in rickshaws and taxis also ended! Mimi started searching for that time in the depths of her memory. How were those days? Mimi quickly remembered. Mimi’s husband was then Sajin. Once, after their marriage, on a rainy afternoon, Mimi, wearing a blue sari with heavy kohl in her eyes, was looking out the window at the heavy rain. It was almost two o’clock. It was time for Sajin to return home. She thought, today, when Sajin returns home drenched, instead of handing him a towel as usual, she herself would jump into the rain and hold Sajin’s hand. But what happened! As soon as she heard the sign of Sajin’s arrival and the door opened, Sajin rushed into the house and said, ‘Give me something to eat! I’m very hungry.’ As if he didn’t notice Mimi had dressed up so much waiting for him! Mimi’s throat choked with sobs. She wanted to say, ‘I really want to get wet in the rain with you.’ But before Mimi could finish her sentence, Sajin said, ‘What’s for dinner? Whatever is from yesterday, just give me that. I don’t want to cook now.’ With no other choice, Mimi served the leftover rice from the previous night instead of cooking the khichuri that she had prepared for a rainy day. Her throat choked. Sitting down to eat, Sajin said, ‘Why aren’t you eating? Still, not getting a reply from Mimi, he said, –
Sajin: “Well, is it nice to see such a sullen face after coming home from work? Can’t you be a little cheerful?”
Mimi: “Oh, but I am cheerful.”
Sajin: “Cheerful? Look at you, you seem so serious. And why are you wearing a sari? I came home early today to take a nap with my wife, and you’re getting ready to go somewhere?”
Mimi is still silent. This time, Sajin came a little closer and said, ‘Let me eat.’ Without further delay, he stuffed the cooked rice into Mimi’s mouth. Although it was difficult to swallow, Mimi ate. After eating, as Mimi prepared to wash the dishes, Sajin removed them from her hands and pulled Mimi onto the bed with a tug. Next? Extinguishing the lamp, he busied himself with Mimi’s body, and only tears rolled down Mimi’s eyes in the darkness. After a while, Sajin fell back asleep. Without further ado. Mimi sat down with her notebook, the only place to express her thoughts, that diary only silently knows what Mimi wants, where her pain is, what she wants to get. The rest of the flesh and blood people are very busy!
Scarborough, Canada
