Woman in Love

Pawan Verma

SHE WAS undoubtedly in love. There was an unmistakable wistfulness in her eyes and passion in her face as she talked of him. Her voice was full of emotion and she seemed to be completely possessed by the intensity of her feelings. And as I saw her skin glow with radiance, for a moment I thought it was ‘Dove’. But no, my wife said, it was decidedly love.

I knew that there is a certain madness in love and that it makes a deewana of an otherwise normal human being. But that it could happen to her at this stage in life, was difficult to believe. The mother of two school-going children, she looked far from the picture of a lady torn between love and life. She could beat any teenager in the depth and display of her passions. As she came to our house, introduced by a common friend, she kept on talking of her new-found love, his likes and dislikes, how sweetly he sings and how beautifully he dances with her and, above all, how lovingly he calls her ‘Suzie’, an endearment for Suzata.

Her husband, a renowned surgeon, is too busy a person healing others to take care of the loneliness in her life. He is blissfully unaware that there is someone else demanding her attention and that he is no longer at the centre-stage in her life. Her daughters are also too busy with their own studies to take note of the emotional upheaval in their mother’s life.

Out to cultivate a relationship with the family, my wife called on her one winter afternoon. Our lady was knitting a sweater for the new hero in her life. She had attempted at least half-a-dozen patterns from the design-book, but was far from being contented with the outcome. Over a cup of tea, she kept on talking about her new experience in love – her passion for him, his daily routine, his food habits and preferences, and so on. My wife came back home more amused and enlightened than ever before about the futility of cultivating our lady-in-live.

As days passed by, we almost forgot about Suzata and her love, till the day I saw her in the supermarket. She was buying a pullover for her darling love.

I was amused at the heap of pullovers stocked on the counter and the frustration writ large on the face of the salesgirl. Our lady was rejecting one sweater after the other. In some she didn’t like the design, in others she didn’t approve of the colour or pattern.

Finally, she selected one which could meet her taste in colour and shade, pattern and design. But as she continued to be doubtful about the correct size, the frustrated salesgirl suggested to her:

“Madam, why don’t you bring your dog here? We will give him the size that exactly fits him.”

“Oh, no, dear! Try to understand”, she said persuasively, “I want to give him a surprise.”

(First Published in Hindustan Times, Edit page, dated 29.06.1999)

My First Love

Pawan Verma

It was undoubtedly love at first sight. I fell for her at the very first glimpse. Draped in crimson red with a black top, she looked to be a thing of beauty, graceful enough to stir neighbors’ envy and owner’s pride. For a moment she made me intensely feel that she and I were made for each other.

And so there she was, at the very day at my house ending my six month search for her in the tiny little foreign island.

My neighbors lived up to their reputation. For, they would not approve of her. They said I had gone more for looks rather than for intrinsic worth. But as days rolled into months my love for her grew in exact proportion to my neighbors’ disapproval. She would faithfully accompany me to the office every day, would reduce my boredom on the 25-km stretch by singing melodious old hits. Off and on she would also tell me the weather forecast and read out the morning news. In the evenings she would accompany me to the innumerable cocktails and dinners till late in the night.

She made good friends with my wife Neelima as well, who learnt and perfected her driving in her company. My wife often remembers the afternoon when, on a driving lesson both of them chased a solitary middle-aged man on his moped, who, finding both of them uncontrollably behind him, plunged into the nearby field , got up and without looking back for a second, drove away in the reverse direction.

She was equally friendly with my two children, Shweta and Harsh. With her arrival their visits to the beach had increased as also trips to the ice-cream parlors. On the bumpy curvy road to the beach, while I would concentrate on the steering wheel, she would sing in chorus with my children.

But as months changed into years, age finally started telling upon her health. She could no longer take the strenuous routine of accompanying me to the office. So she would stay home and accompany my wife on smaller trips to beauty parlors etc. But, in spite of her failing health we loved her.

Finally came the time to part company. My three-year tenure on the beautiful island of Mauritius came to an end. Local laws would not permit me to stay there while Indian customs would not allow her to come to India. I spoke to my friends and neighbors, but they were unhelpful. However, with my wife’s tactful planning she got a place at another house.

Before parting, she gave me a beautiful gift. A tape deck-cum-tuner which now decorates my new car back home in India. But whenever I listen to its music, I travel down the memory lane, fondly remembering my first car – the lovely little Austin Allegro. Naturally so, she was my first love outside my marriage.

(First published in Times of India, Edit Page dated 08.03.1995)