Skip to main content

Can I?

Today, I finally decided to wait for her outside the office. I’ve been preparing myself for this scene for ages but never could bring myself to say it all cut and dry at her face. But, TODAY was THE DAY. When she came near me, I asked her to get on the bike with me. As usual she tried her best not to. She was always afraid of bikes. I knew that. Still I wanted her to give her a ride – that was the first thing in the plan I had for today. At last, I won the war of words and she got beside me. I could feel her tension whenever a turn or a speedbreaker came. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling when she clutched my shoulder whenever I overtook another vehicle. The next surprise for her was when we reached our destination.



It was my favorite trekking place, not very far from town. As I expected, she didn’t want to climb down the small hill with me to the place I wanted to take her. Again, she had to agree. She was holding my hand too tight and was also shivering when I lead the way downhill. She was almost in tears and was cursing me for my stupid joke when we came back near my bike again. I was damn sure that if she had the option, she’d have left me there and taken a rick back home. Now, as the time had come for the Grande Finale, I knelt down before and took her hands in mine to ask “Look Shreya, I did all this just to show you that I’ll never let your fears rule you when you are with me. I want to keep you far away from ‘em for the rest of your life. Can I?”

Comments

Unknown said…
nice one... small but gud...
3:07 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

LIFE IN A PARSI COLONY

LIFE IN A PARSI COLONY Forget 'Life in a Metro'. 'Life in a Parsi Colony' should be made into a movie! In Mumbai, you will unarguably find the largest concentration of Parsis in the community's many 'baugs', or exclusive residential areas where despite the illusionary calm there is, very often, simmering strife, racy rumours are perennially rife, and there is many a shrieking wife… Parsi women of a certain vintage are blessed with a booming voice box that often entertains an entire block with its blasting blah-blah, and it is not unusual for family quibbles and complaints to be broadcast aloud - not so much by design as by default because, 'dikra', what do you do when manic 'mumma' loses volume control? Then, in the 'baugs', you also have any number of aunties in their nightgowns, regally rechristened as 'gowns', and worn throughout the day, often even on errands in and around the baug, expanding their ample lungs and expendin...
15 comments
Read more

To the wonderful kids who were born in India and survived the 60's,70's & 80’s.

First, we survived being born to mothers, some, whose husbands smoked and /or drank while they carried us. They took aspirin, ate whatever food was put on the table, and didn't get tested for diabetes. They were mothers who did not check their blood pressure every few minutes. Then after that trauma, our baby cribs and bassinets were covered with bright colored lead-based paints. We were put in prams and sent out with ayahs to meet other children with ayahs, whilst our parents were busy. We cried, were picked up and cuddled by the ayahs and were quiet again. We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets, and when we rode our bikes we had no helmets, not to mention, the risks we took hitchhiking or going out on our own. As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or airbags. We sat on each other's laps for God's sake. Riding in the back of a station wagon on a warm day was always a special treat. We drank water from the garden hose and NOT from a...
1 comment
Read more