Forbid that Love!
She was weeping. Silently, like what has become her habit.
She gets up, waits for the realization sink of having lived yet another day surviving the night and the need-to-live-yet-another-day-staring-her. Not to mention trying to control the bout of letting go of the tears she could barely hold back all the while.
Her chores might not interest anyone, but her denial to marriage is causing the gossipmongers their sleepless nights. And these “duniawaale” are influencing lives of her parents, and obviously her ultimately. After all, they are answerable to them, why their lovely daughter is aging herself: is it them not being able to marry her or is there a problem with her?
And she is called daily, sometimes twice a day, to coax a permission out of her: permission to start looking for a “suitable” groom for her.
And what she has in return to the tears, worries and care of her parents is an absolute denial. So she weeps…routinely and religiously.
And far from all this, he sits in Florence, trying to make sense of the age old sculptures and how meticulously the government takes care of the places and people in general, and green grass on the footpath in particular. This definitely is not India. Its population is far too suffocating to allow a moment of solace even in the most secluded of the corners if that could be found at the first place. Yes, he was in Florence, thousands of miles and hours away, 6669 KM and 3.30 hrs to be precise.
But if she is to be believed, he is missing her.
If I am to ask, yes he might be missing her, because how long can you scold someone sitting (and quietly weeping) in Delhi. So she must be present by his side to be constantly fought with for no-matter-what, as he can pick a fight when none such cue can possibly exist.
But he loves her… she says that he says so.
God forbid such a love to exist!