My Husband | ✓

20. Cleaning spree

I Slenderly chopped the coriander and added it to the curd. I made a swift dash into our small kitchen garden through the kitchen door for some mint leaves. After a nice wash, I added these leaves to the curd along with some salt and cumin powder. Finally pouring some water, I stirred the contents of buttermilk.

"Vivek," I called him and poured the buttermilk into the glasses.

"What?" he came in to the kitchen a moment later. A sheen of sweat covered his face and neck.

"Why are you sweating and you are still in your work clothes? What were you doing all this time?" I asked him and passed the glass of buttermilk.

The sweat trickled down his neck, free-flowing like condensation on a windowpane, it beaded on his forehead and dripped from his chin. He rubbed the sweat on his forehead with his sleeve and took the glass from me.

"I moved the dressing table to another corner of the room. I watched you bump into it few times in your sleepy self, on your way to the bathroom in the mornings. God! It was awfully heavy." he answered.

When did he observe? He generally wakes up after me. I cupped his left cheek and soundly kissed his right cheek. These little gestures of his make me go all lovey dovey on him.

"It is will be heavy, it is made of teak. You should have called me. I would have offered you a helping hand." I spoke and boasted about my choice of selection in furniture.

"Where is your glass?" he asked when he looked at me cleaning the kitchen platform.

I pointed at my glass and asked him to continue with his drink.

He drank like a child who hadn't seen water for a week. With each gulp, his adam's apple bobbed violently.

"Now, I believe you. It might be pretty heavy." I chuckled looking at him.

A thin frothy mustache formed over his upper lip. I moved closer and rubbed it off with my pallu. He caged me in his arms, holding my bare waist.

"I booked movie tickets for the second show. It had been so long since we went out together. Get ready by eight-thirty," he spoke.

He was busy with the exam preparation and I with paper correction and all. It felt like ages since we stepped out together.

"Okay. Now go freshen up," I tried to move away from his embrace. But he wasn't ready to let go of me.

"Vivek," I warned him playfully.

"Fine," he slackened his arms around me.

"Freshen up quickly and chop this bhindi if you wish us to be on time for the movie," I told, grabbed bhindi from the refrigerator.

Freshly bathed, Vivek walked into the kitchen and chopped the vegetables while I made roti.

My scooty became our vehicle of choice for our movie night. Vivek rode while I relaxed back and enjoyed the not-so-chilled night breeze of the city.

We sat, engrossed, barely noticing the popcorn that failed to make it to our mouths. When the screen fell to black, I became excited and my hand flailed for Vivek's. Silences never lasted long at the movies, merely tools to heighten the drama, ploys of stylistic effect–depriving the senses of light and sound for just long enough to speak our fear. The next moment was the maximum intensity: loud, bright, fast, shocking.

I was back in my seat, eyes open wide. Vivek's hand had moved like clockwork the whole time, with most of the popcorn making it to his stomach. He grinned. This wasn't one of those artsy, enigmatic films I dragged him to every time. This was action, thriller, horror, and he couldn't be happier. Even though it wasn't my favourite genre movie it made me hook till the end. Clearing the residuals of the popcorn off my clothes, I got up from my seat and held his hand.