Look, I do understand you’ve been there and had my back since I wasn’t able to turn it sideways. You’ve taken care of me when mom assigned you the esteemed task of handling the most precious thing of her life for a period of 15 seconds while she carried out the task of going to the kitchen and turning off the regulator.
You’ve supported me throughout like our Laxmibai supports the importance of bank holidays and always stands by them when she needs a leave, no matter what.
From tolerating the body odour to hearing the uncontrollable cries to cajoling me to sleep while mom ran out of lullabies and dad was too busy with prime time.
The picture of a panda on my bedroom wall in the growing years always inspired to cuddle through the sundowner and laze around all Sunday.
Let’s talk about Mondays. The day when our love would overflow. You and I would be like that inseparable couple in love who would irritate folks around with an overdose of public display of affection.
My mother and father would then become the purists and treat me the same way one would treat their daughter for marrying outside of the caste. After a whole episode of love-jihad, I would finally gather courage and leave you with the hope of meeting again in the afternoon.
Sometimes I like to flash back to the teen times, where those adult torrents, the undercover agents of my fantasy world and the horny sounds coming out of my headphones were regulars. There were occasions when I’d end up performing a starch on a bed sheet that rested on you. The next day, I’d cling on to you like a homeless fakir under the banyan tree.
With each passing day, I got addicted to you like dad to his imported bottle of Glenfiddich.
The difference. Their romance would start in the evening and continue till the wee hours whereas ours would sustain the daylight.
With each passing day, I became like a poor, clingy girlfriend who couldn’t leave her boyfriend, not because of the fact that he was ‘the one’ but due to the fear of fragility, the fear of stepping down into the waters without a life jacket on the shoulders. Slowly, he made her believe like she couldn’t live without him and you made me believe the same at the onset of winter.
And to add to the toppings, the blanket, she hugged me like a creeper hugs the tree it climbs on. The 20 feet journey from the bed to the coffee machine looked like fetching water from the Himalayas.
Talk about another topping? Netflix! Who said it’s Netflix and chill? With every now and then, the latest webisodes, the fear of avoiding spoiler has left me with no time to chill. The only chill it’s given me are the chills running down the spine.
What if I miss the next webisode? How do I get out of home and stay safe from spoilers? Oh, wait! I don’t get out of home, do I? My weekends are the times when I’m bonded, rather I’d say caged to my bed.
What did you do to me? Why do I prefer being on the bed instead of going out with the guy to whom I finally said yes for the movie? I know you want me with him ‘in’ you but for that, I gotta go ‘out’ first, right?
Crafted with brevity for select stories to make certain you see what others don't; Page One is delivered every Sunday
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