Relationships are like paper on which the golden rules are written, and I had mentioned that earlier to Shweta, it wasn't as if Arun had stopped loving her, but I thought she had evolved and he had stayed the same. What this meant is that Shweta had rewritten her Golden Rule book while had been tending to her baby, but as it transpired Arun had remained the same, expecting her to provide emotional support and all that he thought women were supposed to do once they got married. Shweta hated the idea of the baby, though she loved her daughter, she wasn't sure she had done the right thing by getting pregnant, she had compromised on what she wanted in life and got nothing for it. She was just that, a very self aware soul who saw life better than most individuals around her and had learnt that there was nothing in this world that was sacred to her now.
As we waited at the Ludhiana railway station, Shweta had driven us packed with food for the trip back to Delhi. The Sun was finally out, though the morning had looked bleak, it had turned around in the mid afternoon and now it was fabulously sunny. The platform was busy with vendors selling their stuff, kids running around and some of them wailing, we had our two suitcases waiting at the platform waiting for the C-2 coach to arrive at the platform.
"Doesn't it look clean for a change ?"
"It does," said Anjali looking around the platform. Normally the train platform is a very dirty place and Ludhiana though a model city in India was no exception.
"Do you think they did it for us ?"
"Ha ha ha, yeah we should do this trip more often," Anjali burst out.
"Remember the last time we were in Lucknow, they offered us flowers before we entered the train."
"Yeah," Anjali looked at me and wondered.
There are times in life when we are so emotionally challenged in our life that we see the world through the rose tinged glasses and see wonder even when nothing is working out. Shweta was still listening so I explained, "When I first met her," I said pointing to Anjali, "I think I must have been an emotional fool, I did things that didn't explain what the thought was in my head."
"Give me a for instance," said Shweta interestedly.
"He still is an emotional one," Anjali said with a wicked smile on her face.
"I'd agree to anything she says."
"You both have seen a lot together haven't you," she was more and more interested.
As a matter of fact, the relief that had mirrored Arun's face in their living room when I had told them that we were probably best friends, reflected again on Shweta's face. The morning cold dispelled with the first hint of Sun, Shweta's mind was free and soaring. Anjali poked me and pointed to the magazine stand, "lets get some magazines."
I walked away from the two of them and started to browse at the magazine stand, there was "Femina", "Cine Star" and all the magazines that gossipped about the life of film stars, I wasn't particularly fond of the movies but Anjali was, so I picked up a few of the best ones. Then in the backdrop I spotted an article headline in the "Times of India," it was a Sunday and the headline stared at me,
"Whats cooking Doc"
That would be interesting, so I paid extra for the newspaper, I loved cooking and I thought of what would be the agenda on the journey back, we would talk cooking, I often did this, discuss cooking with Anjali, it sparked a revival in my head. As I walked back to the two of them, they stood discussing something pretty serious and by the looks of it, Anjali was finally talking the way she normally did, straight and direct, I was sure she would get herself understood, so I decided to give them more time and walked to the tea vendor. I could see some hot brew, and asked him for a cup. He gave me one and I didn't like it too much, the way I liked it was with lots of water, a dash of milk, half a spoon of sugar and brewed to perfection when the flavour would sting your nostrils. I turned around to see Anjali waving to me, the train was just beginning to arrive at the platform, I quickly paid the vendor and walked over to them. It was time to say Goodbyes and how I hated them
If love is Stupid and then I should forever be in love.
As we waited at the Ludhiana railway station, Shweta had driven us packed with food for the trip back to Delhi. The Sun was finally out, though the morning had looked bleak, it had turned around in the mid afternoon and now it was fabulously sunny. The platform was busy with vendors selling their stuff, kids running around and some of them wailing, we had our two suitcases waiting at the platform waiting for the C-2 coach to arrive at the platform.
"Doesn't it look clean for a change ?"
"It does," said Anjali looking around the platform. Normally the train platform is a very dirty place and Ludhiana though a model city in India was no exception.
"Do you think they did it for us ?"
"Ha ha ha, yeah we should do this trip more often," Anjali burst out.
"Remember the last time we were in Lucknow, they offered us flowers before we entered the train."
"Yeah," Anjali looked at me and wondered.
There are times in life when we are so emotionally challenged in our life that we see the world through the rose tinged glasses and see wonder even when nothing is working out. Shweta was still listening so I explained, "When I first met her," I said pointing to Anjali, "I think I must have been an emotional fool, I did things that didn't explain what the thought was in my head."
"Give me a for instance," said Shweta interestedly.
"He still is an emotional one," Anjali said with a wicked smile on her face.
"I'd agree to anything she says."
"You both have seen a lot together haven't you," she was more and more interested.
As a matter of fact, the relief that had mirrored Arun's face in their living room when I had told them that we were probably best friends, reflected again on Shweta's face. The morning cold dispelled with the first hint of Sun, Shweta's mind was free and soaring. Anjali poked me and pointed to the magazine stand, "lets get some magazines."
I walked away from the two of them and started to browse at the magazine stand, there was "Femina", "Cine Star" and all the magazines that gossipped about the life of film stars, I wasn't particularly fond of the movies but Anjali was, so I picked up a few of the best ones. Then in the backdrop I spotted an article headline in the "Times of India," it was a Sunday and the headline stared at me,
"Whats cooking Doc"
That would be interesting, so I paid extra for the newspaper, I loved cooking and I thought of what would be the agenda on the journey back, we would talk cooking, I often did this, discuss cooking with Anjali, it sparked a revival in my head. As I walked back to the two of them, they stood discussing something pretty serious and by the looks of it, Anjali was finally talking the way she normally did, straight and direct, I was sure she would get herself understood, so I decided to give them more time and walked to the tea vendor. I could see some hot brew, and asked him for a cup. He gave me one and I didn't like it too much, the way I liked it was with lots of water, a dash of milk, half a spoon of sugar and brewed to perfection when the flavour would sting your nostrils. I turned around to see Anjali waving to me, the train was just beginning to arrive at the platform, I quickly paid the vendor and walked over to them. It was time to say Goodbyes and how I hated them
If love is Stupid and then I should forever be in love.
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