Most men love to impress and pamper their women on Valentine's Day. I am a bit old school, you see. Men like me are fond of love-notes. So, I am going to write about her.
That girl, the light of my life... my soul. (Sorry Nabokov!)
It was dark and stormy, as Snoopy would say. I lit my last cigarette for the day. Hosanna was on my lips, along with the cigarette. When I was about to drop the cigarette butt, I heard a girl wail. She was standing at the threshold of my neighbour's house, drenched and tired. Maybe, even famished.
Her eyes looked extraordinary, despite her deplorable state. They were like black grapes. Particularly like the fresh ones that're just sprinkled with water. My heart plummeted. I knew I had fallen in love.
I stamped the stub with unnecessary vehemence, and stifled a yawn. I could hear her cry again. I turned around to find her looking for a dry spot, where she could rest for a while. I hadn't seen her before. She was alone and scared. I could have offered her help. But, sometimes, for reasons that you can't comprehend, you hesitate to act, and wait for someone to lead. It was that kind of a strange, yet warm moment. She wasn't aware of my presence. Man, she was really sad... and ravishing.
I couldn't see tears rolling down her cheeks, but she continued to whimper. It was too late, and it was still dark and stormy. So, I left her to her fate, and locked the door. I know! Bastard!
Two days went without her beautiful countenance crossing my mind. Now, you must hate me more. I found a damsel in distress (hello PG Wodehouse!), she seemed sad, hungry, and pathetic, and a man with a wee bit of humanity left in him would have helped. But I behaved like an ass, and proved that I'm worse than that by not thinking of the girl... and her beautiful eyes.
Three days after our first encounter, I sauntered down the market road. What did I want to buy? I didn't know. I was gloomy for reasons that had escaped my mind, and I needed to walk. As I walked past a fruit shop, my glance fell on a pair of eyes. They were like black grapes and they seemed familiar.
Perched on a bench, she was longingly looking at a hawker downing a glass of tea. I tiptoed to the stall, and knelt down, as I extended my hands to carry her. Carry her? Yes, it dawned on me that she always belonged to me, and that I had gone to bring her home.
Startled by my intrusion, she jumped into an empty carton and shut her eyes tight. A bright smile spreading over my lips, I let her be ensconced in the box, and brought her home before an afterthought could challenge my decision.
It's been more than one year since I found my furry-friend. Her mere presence lights up my life.
Happy Valentine's Day, folks!
This piece is dedicated to the man and the fur-babies, whom I adore.