Memory of a Gift

[Excerpt from a recording]

It’s my birthday and I am stuck in a traffic-jam. Damn! (…vulgar words…)

Thank God, I got this recorder for myself, my own birthday gift.

Look at the fools in those cars. They think I am crazy, talking to myself. Most people talk to themselves, right – even in a dialogue?

It shouldn’t be like this…I mean, today. Come on, move man, move (…horn…)

My wife and I should be sitting in that restaurant now. Cool and clean, with food and drink. Before or after the first drink, she would give me my gift.

I wonder what it is this year.

How many years have we been doing this? It’s still like the first time. You know, the whole year seems to be a wait for that moment. To know what she has got for me. It kind of defines everything, you know.

I remember the first year. (…moans…) She woke me up at midnight and made me cut a cake. First time cutting a cake, at midnight or whenever… I don’t think she got anything else for me. For her birthday, I did the same midnight stuff. But, I got her something – salwar?

The second year or was it the third…when we got creative. She gave me her own painting. And, I gave her my poetry. (…chuckles…) Hey, painting is like writing…there is good writing and other writing. No point classifying the other as bad, average or improving, right? Copy of a copy of Van Gogh…it is the thought that counts, huh?!

We tried a year without gifts; another with only cards. The thought is sufficient. Crap! That O. Henry and his Gift of the Magi can go and hang!

The cloth-gifts were the tough ones. She got me a pink shirt once. Pink! With my colour! Well, I got her a Binny silk sari. That’s what I get for my mother. She told me that she wanted a sari – Chanderi silk or whatever…I told her that it won’t suit her. She did not like that. I like to speak plainly, you know.

Oh yes! The year before the first kid, she wore sexy red lingerie for my birthday. I felt like asking her how that is supposed to be a gift; especially, when I prefer black!  I felt like wearing men’s thongs or g-strings for her birthday. (…laughs…) I did not know where I could get one. I gave her a watch instead. She wanted an eco-friendly Citizen. I got her a sleek Titan.

I wonder what she has got for me this year.

Could barely sit in office the whole day...

And, when I was expecting her call that she had left her office for the restaurant…she calls to say that she got hit…what was it? Just a bike…why did she have to call me and spoil my day? It must be just a scrape…why does she have to go hospital?

That’s it, move man, move (…blaring horn…) damn you…finally…hurrah! What were these useless policemen doing? Look at his paunch…

(…long pause punctuated by horn…music horn while reversing and parking at the Hospital…)

Finally here…I hate these hospitals…where is she? Must be in the waiting area…

(…muffled queries at Enquiry, quick breathing…)

Nurse, my wife was admitted…in the operation theatre, why? Why should I talk to that policeman?

(…stern authoritative voice…)

…your wife was hit by a motorcycle…she seemed ok at first…I saw her talking on her cell-phone…was it you? Then, she collapsed…I am extremely sorry…

(…breathless wheezing…)

Sir, was she carrying a gift?