NUCLEAR NIGHTS

Some evenings, her fingers would hesitantly find mine on the couch
Some nights, less bashful, she would snuggle closer
Touching my hip with hers
Lean forward when speaking
Her voice would get a trifle more, shrill
She would scratch my neck with her cat like nails
She would snatch my magazine and throw it away
Or doodle on my forearms
Or softly hit me on the head with the pillow from the couch

There were days when he would get me white tulips on the way home
When he would sulk after every game Chelsea won (and they won quite a few)
When he would have an argument with AD in the afternoon
When he would take a half hour hot shower in the middle of an April evening
When he would wake up crying at three having just remembered his mother
When he would sit around and do nothing but re-watch Notting Hill on HBO
When he would have that third screwdriver
And without fail on every New Year's Eve

Some days were like this
Some days were not
Today, after nine years
Whenever Shrilekha sees white tulips in a garden,
She thinks of the sex on the balcony
And whenever Dhritimaan sees a doodle on a newspaper,
He can't help but be reminded of Shri

She carries the memories of that night with him
All her life after that
She's never had the kind of bliss
That one night seemed to promise

Someplace else, when he switches off the TV after every Chelsea win
He half expects to see Shrilekha
Seductively beckoning him to bed
With her mischievous smile, no bra, husky voice and broken Bengali
"Kaachey Esho
Come
C....l....o.....s....e.....r"