Secret Admirer

by Swati Moheet Agrawal

mint tea

 

15^th April, 6.30 a.m.

 

I unlock the door to fetch the milk pouch only to tread on a nosegay of white roses. Still puffy from sleep, I knit my brows, as I press it to my nostrils wondering how the bouquet landed up at my doorstep!

 

I ponder the matter before concluding it’s for my neighbour who is single and enchantingly attractive.

 

“These flowers from your secret admirer got accidently delivered to my doorstep.”

 

I hand it over to the beautiful woman who looks resplendent in the morning light.

 

“Well, eh, would you like some hibiscus tea, Mrs. Bajaj?” she asks deferentially.

 

“Some other time,” I wink at her.

 

She colours up to the ears.

 

16^th April, 6.30 a.m.

 

I unlock the door to fetch the milk pouch only to tread on a nosegay of yellow roses. I half smile, press it to my nostrils before heading next door.

 

“Yesterday’s were white,

 Today’s are yellow,

 Tomorrow’s would be crimson,

 roses from the endearing fellow!”

 

I give a hearty guffaw as I tease her.

 

“Bulbul aunty, you’re too much,” she squirms. “I can’t figure out this secret admirer. Are you sure the roses are for me?” she sheepishly glances around.

 

“Duh, obviously you. Who would care to rouse a crotchety menopausal housewife?”

 

17^th April, 6.30 a.m.

 

I unlock the door to fetch the milk pouch and expectedly discover the nosegay of red roses. I look at it disconsolately, press it to my nostrils before barging into my neighbour’s home.

 

“I have more reverence for flowers than anything else. Getting pampered with flowers is one of the little joys of life. I don’t think there is a more intimate way to tell someone you love them. I’d rather have flowers on my table than diamonds dangling from my neck. It is the small things in life that keep us from going crazy. Savour the small joys and find beauty in the mundane,” I preach priggishly to her about cherishing life’s small joys and pleasures.

 

“Well, they are magnificent,” she caresses the red roses affectionately.

 

18^th April, 6.30 a.m.

 

I unlock the door to fetch the milk pouch only to find a massive bouquet of hippy psychedelic roses. Today a lovely handwritten note accompanies the flowers. I cannot help my curiosity:

 

“Happy birthday to my ever-gracious, ever-charming wife, Bulbul. Thank you for all you do. You have exactly one hour to pack up for Keukenhof. Yours, Badri.”

  

Truly, love has a way of blossoming at the most unpredictable hour.

 

I bawl my eyes out. 

About the author

Swati Moheet Agrawal is a poet and writer whose work has appeared in Sledgehammer Lit, Modern Literature and Thimble Lit Mag among other journals. When not buried in books, she dabbles in decoupage art. 

 

 

 

 

Empathy

 

by Swati Moheet Agrawal

Ristretto

 

Every Sunday my wife rises from bed like someone with purpose. Her energy levels are alarmingly phenomenal that day of the week. However, as the day begins to wane, her enthusiasm takes a nosedive faster than it surges through every cell in her being.

 

Her mother promises to come over for dinner every Sunday but fails to show up.

 

My wife washes the linen herself. Never mind that the sheets are freshly laundered, reeking of detergent, soft and warm. She spends half the day sprucing up the house: she runs a rag along every corner, painstakingly and diligently, rearranges furniture with great gusto, changes cushion covers, strings marigold to make a bright garland for the front door, burns incense, puts out her best china, lays out the block printed set of 6 Kalamkari placemats her mother specially fetched for her from Jaipur, and so and so forth.

 

Get a dozen rajbhogs, she orders Raju to get her mother’s favourite sweet dish from the bazaar. Raju, our man Friday, indulges her just the same. We know the drill.

 

The dinner table is laden with hors d’oeuvres like achari paneer and aalo chaat. Main course comprises of her mother’s favourite black dal and steamed rice, naan, and mixed vegetable among other delicacies.

 

The blue goes out of the sky, the green slips away from the trees, everything dwindles away into darkness and the day finally fades away.

 

It is half past eleven. We are still waiting at the dinner table.

 

My wife retreats to a corner to call her mother. She hangs up after a few minutes.

 

Mummy has promised to come home next Sunday, she tells me rather sheepishly.

 

Raju dutifully winds up the kitchen. I lovingly put my wife to sleep.

 

My mother-in-law died of a cardiac arrest last year. She was really on her way home for dinner that Sunday.

 

Glossary:

Aloo chaat – An Indian savoury snack served with potatoes, sauces and spices.

 

Achari paneer – Tangy, flavorful cottage cheese appetizer.

 

Dal – Lentils, a staple ingredient in Indian cuisines.

 

Kalamkari – A traditional Indian art form involving block printing or hand painting, usually done on cotton fabrics.

 

Naan – Flatbread.

 

Rajbhog – Saffron-flavored cottage cheese dumplings, an Indian dessert, stuffed with exotic dry fruits.