Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Morning Dew


As she came down for breakfast the hall was already full. The lanky man with brown eyes and unshaven cheeks as she had anticipated was sitting alone in a corner, facing the entrance obliquely shoveling a chunk of boiled carrot into his mouth. Not every morning one gets those jumping butterflies in the tummy, she thought. Deepa picked her serving and headed for the only empty chair in the dining hall. Metaphorically, she owned that seat.

Deepa: (Looking at that man) Hi... I thought you would knock me once before...

The Man: Excuse me... Why would I?

Deepa: I get it... Your sense of humor is really scary! That's what I thought last night...

The Man: Thanks, I thought people do the eating with breakfast stuffs.

Deepa: Hey, you were damn good... we had one of our best nights yesterday (keeping her palm on his resting left hand).

The Man: (Quickly withdrawing his hand) Ouch... you caught me baby, I forgot to wash my afterglow!

Deepa: Was it just like that... you don't want to talk about it? I'm ok with that... you got to let me know... clearly... no playing around.

The Man: (Wrinkling face pretending to sob) I'm so sorry honey... I was cheating on you... I never meant to do with her but she drugged me you see...

Deepa: Ah stop screwing with me... I don't give a damn how you feel... now it seems that I was being friendly to someone who doesn't deserve it!

The Man: Thank God, to be honest we started it wrongly and now I take half of the blame. Sorry again.

Deepa: You don't have to pretend to be nice just because you want to leave the table.

The Man: Sincere apologies Diana... I was such a fool to assume that you have followed me for the bank cheque (he winks).

Deepa: Are you always this ass?

The Man: Not really... may be once in a month when I get to do with a needy woman. All subtle sentiments you know...

Deepa: Son of a bitch... did you just call me needy?

The Man: Shall I get the privilege to whine for a while, cut-throat bitch?

Deepa: (Throwing her cranberry juice in his face she left the chair) Go to hell...


She came out of the obnoxious air and walked to the elevator. The man with his apparently blood stained shirt followed her into the lift. “No, we've to end it here baby... I am done”, he said in a single breath.

Deepa: Few more days bunny. We've come a long way... we can't afford to waste so many thousands of words for our momentary blues.

The Man: Sorry honey, I can't take it any longer... I'm tired of being your novel's Armenian jerk. I am fed up pretending to be the one with dormant miseries and pushing you away every time you long for me...

Deepa: Chris, didn't we agree on this exactly six months back? Didn't I warn you of possible nightmares? It was you who stopped me from hiring an actor. Although you tried to bring possessiveness in the whole thing, I could very well see the naked insecurity in your disapproval. Till then I bought your reason because you're my husband and we love each other!

Christopher: I kind of agreed... because you never asked me, you just said what was to be done. You're the author... I'm you bloody character... even once in a 'six month' if I get to hear the 'love' thing I should be content, I know... I get it!

Deepa: Baby, you're taking it out of the universe...

Christopher: So, how does this end?

Deepa: I put a flame of remorse to the manuscript... right now... and it'll be like before. No role-play, no allegation (lost in her thoughts she strokes his neck with two fingers)...

Christopher: (After a moment of stillness) That'll be pretty dramatic... but what will happen to those maniacs standing in a queue outside your hotdog counter (he pulls her closer)?

'Hotdog' and the brief moment of closeness strikes some old chord in their joint memory. They laugh out uninhibited like school-goers, tickling one another whenever one of them paused, for a long time in the 23rd floor gallery, till their stomach ached and they got actually tired.

Deepa: Tweetu, what if the Armenian jerk is not a jerk... what if he has hots for the Irish widow?

Nibbling her ear he whispers, “I am all game for it... let's do it”

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