I turn
the pages of the album in a desultory manner. Photographs are memories of days
filled with either too much pain or too much happiness. Involuntarily my
fingers stop moving at a page. It shows a henna dyed hand resting ever so
trustingly in another hand. In my husband’s hand. In Sumit’s hand. I close my
eyes before the tears can escape. Oh ! those were the days of love and laughter which we both lived with a song .
Ten years of togetherness and then the abrupt separation….
The
shrill ring of the telephone brings me back to the present. It is Roohi,
my childhood friend. “ Come over to our place for the weekend”, she says. I
start to nod my head but the word that escapes from my mouth is a ,”sorry-
can’t make it”. “Why” she asks with the possessive ease of thirty years of
friendship. “Have invited someone for dinner this weekend”, I lie glibly. She
keeps the phone but leaves me thinking. A weekend dinner?
Not a bad idea. But dinner for
whom? And then it comes to me- dinner for Sumit – for a husband
who used to be….
Two hours
of intense planning later my menu is ready.
For
the entrée
The
evening definitely had to start with Sumit’s favourite
drink in summers- chilled aam
ka panna. With this I would serve a platter of freshly pressed cottage
cheese cubes, cucumber sticks and nachos with Pineapple and
green pepper chutney.
The
main course
Sumit had
turned strictly vegetarian just before leaving me. Serving vegetarian would be
the best bet. The main course would be :
Paneer
Darbari
Mirchi Ka
Salan
Dal
Bukhara
Vegetable
Biryani
Missi
rotis and laccha paranthas
Dessert
Kesar
kulfi
Jodhpuri
Moong ki dal halwa
And , ofcourse
there would be paan , fresh betel nut leaves from Benaras, to round off the evening.
The
weekend
It is
Saturday evening. The terrace of my house is looking lovely. The
fragrance of the flowering champa tree wafts over the evening. The white rajnigandha blend with the marigold to provide both color and light. The
full moon of June casts its magic . The candles on the table illuminate Sumit’s face. He looks just the
same. I want to ask him- “ Why did you leave me?” But I don’t. There is no one
else on the terrace. I have given the servants an off.
I serve
him dinner on plates from my new dinner set collection. Everything is going so
well. Just then the doorbell rings . I ignore it. The ring is more insistent.
The door bursts open .It is Roohi. She looks at the table and then at me. Tears
are streaming down her cheeks. She hugs
me tightly . “ Priya, Sumit died five
years back. You have to accept this fact. Stop living life with a
photograph”. I look at Sumit in the
photograph. He seems to be saying, “ she is right .” A dam
bursts . I cry for the first time in five years.
My weekend dinner is over. It has
brought me back to reality.
