Dr Namzie Ahuja, Dehradoon
Childhood memories often occupy cosy corners in one’s brain. Life in the hills, fragrant wild roses, ferns, balsams, dripping dew and early morning fog.
‘Beboo’ he called his wife affectionately. She was Mrs. Deepshikha for the world. Mr. Sudhir, her husband was a tall gentleman, handsome, with deep set scorpion eyes. Sometimes the depth of love is easy to underestimate, theirs was a story like that.
Her smile reached her eyes, beautiful she was. Her forehead decorated with her noodle tresses. Big soulful kajal laden eyes and a short frame. Her liquid red bindi added that missing jewellery.
His voice, the tenderness, love and melody it echoed was for her ears only.
Nostalgia …. my childhood memories go way back to the eighties, where kids were welcome at friends place without invitation or formalities. Their sunny home was always open to us, we being a gang of frivolous, giggly and adventurous kids.
‘Beta’ he addressed all of us.
Their lobby was an open space with a big metal trunk in a corner, near the window. This was probably a piece of dowry, which women kept preciously in those days. This old antique trunk was our entertainment platform. Songs were sung, and short skits enacted excitedly on this sturdy trunk. The couple sat smiling as we all displayed our so called hidden talents along with their little bundle of joy, Ela. This little one had a peaches and cream complexion along with the same noodle tresses, except the colour. They were golden, like that of Goldilocks.
As morning and noon walked passed the sky, evening came. She could be seen waiting for her husband to be back, her restlessness visible. If this situation existed nowadays… then one could see Mr. Deepshikha do a quick Google check with her curious mind and idle fingers, but it was the eighties.
Love was patience, not graded with Facebook likes, twitter tattle or fancy Insta updates.
The silence was broken by noise of his grumpy bullet, which was music to her ears, her face lighted up and eyes shone. The couple now sat on cane chairs, opposite the big trunk near the window, sipping tea and eating re-heated parantha with pickle.
He once again looked at her, familiar warm smile ‘Beboo’…. he echoed. Her comfort and, happiness was crystal clear. Her name never sounded so melodious by anyone else.
This simple love story signifies that joy needn’t come with fancy tags…. those simple days were good too. Hundred bells chimed, setting sun winked and love filled the air. The ring of his sweet voice for her ears only.
