This Time

I watched her while she did the customary round – enter; first, to the dead one; to the live relatives next; a minute or two of respectful gloom; exit. She retraced her path with oh-so-reluctant tiny steps. She kept her head down as she crossed the lawn. It is possible she would have changed her route if she had realized that she was heading towards me. She raised her head too late, five meters from the tree I was leaning against. She still looked appropriately sad.

I winked at her.

Blame that on the funeral. The occasion was begging for a display of joie de vivre.

She could have ignored me. Maybe, she came towards me to confirm that I had winked at her.

‘Hi,’ I said.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Archana, right…?’ I said.

‘Aswathy,’ she corrected.

‘Of course...’ I did get the A-part right. ‘I am…’

‘I know,’ she interrupted.

‘Ah…’ Such moments deserve a pregnant pause, full of inner meaning.

She shrugged.

It was a cul-de-sac and time to head back to square one.

‘Knew him well?’ I asked.

‘The dead one…? Not really. You…?’ she said.

I shrugged.

It was another cul-de-sac and this time, I charged at the wall.

‘Did you marry?’ I asked.

‘What…?’ Clearly, that surprised her more than the wink.

‘Are you married?’ I rephrased.

‘No.’

I smiled.

‘Will you marry me?’

That is how I charged head-first at the wall.

This is the ideal moment for a flashback. Or the title rolls in, ‘Return of the Weddings and the Funeral ’?

From the original movie, I gleaned that it takes many weddings and funerals to get married. How true.

The first time we tried, we were young and dreamy. It would have worked well if we had got past the first obstacle. But then, life stumbled. The arranged marriage fell apart even before we met. A post-mortem is pointless. Maybe, the stars did not align well. Or, the families did not gel. Maybe, I seemed a tad bit useless. My dreams, or hers, made her nervous. Or, her base seemed too broad, her lips too thin. As if I would complain.  

The second time, I tried to make it happen. I was not young or dreamy. I was battle-weary, in fact. I do not know if she was keen. I let the demons within trip me again. If I had met her then, I would have told her, ‘I can’t love you because I love you too much.’ If love is technically impossible between strangers, make it need. It might be wishful thinking but I really believed that I knew her well, and that I would do her more harm than good. Such were the times, full of destructive self-pity.

This time, the third time, it was the worst time. There was no doubt I would seem totally useless this time. I was sure that she would be better off without me.

It was our first meeting. I had to wink. I was involuntarily selfish. Or, blame it on death. It begs one to live, it does.