Susil Pun Magar
I am a government employee. Usually, my day starts in a rush. I have a quick breakfast and jump into the vehicle to reach the office at ten in the morning. I have lunch at the office canteen. I meet a wide range of people and dignitaries and return home at six p.m.
Today is Saturday. It is a relief. I have just woken up and strolled towards the little garden in the backyard. The sun is shining brightly. The sky is clear, with some clouds that look like cotton candies. It was pouring at 4 a.m. The Wind is chilly. There is a newspaper pressed by an ashtray. My wife Sneha is hushing here and there, in and out on errands. The flowers look beautiful in those little pots. The birds are chirping.
I sit on a chair next to the table. Across the narrow road from my garden stands an old building, its facade bearing the scars of time like lines etched on an aged face. Windows, now stare vacantly, their panes shattered or missing altogether. Nobody lives there. There is a pink house beside it. However, the building gives off a palpable loneliness. Its presence is a silent reminder of the inevitable march of time, and I see myself as that house.
Sneha stood in front of me with a tray. She set down a cup of black coffee. A blue-colored ceramic plate, toast, and omelette on it. I reciprocated with a smile and lit a cigarette.
“Why do you have to smoke in the morning?”, Sneha said.
I tapped on the cigarette and laughed.
Sneha frowned, waved her palms near her face, and went inside. She doesn’t like me smoking and I don’t like myself not smoking.
She always asks me to quit slowly. Although it has been a difficult task for me. My mother, father, friends everyone wants me to get rid of my chain smoking.
I and Cigarettes have a very long relationship. It sounds absurd to iterate what kind of relationship we are tied in. It has been a mediator in different phases of my life. I have shared cigarettes with many people, who have turned into friends and have uncountable memories attached to them. One of the closest memories is of my first wife, Sunita.
Sunita and I were very fond of cigarettes and smoking. We used to run out of cigarettes at midnight while discussing books, movies, and politics.
It has been 5 years since Sunita’s demise and every drag I inhale resonates with Sunita’s presence. Her hair, dark and lustrous, frames her face gracefully, Her skin had a rich golden undertone. I was fond of Her eyes, body, and her little tantrums.
She is very alive in my memory lane. But I must admit that the innate feelings seem to fade. I long for the touch of our skin, the softness of her lips, warm hugs, and her smell. I have forgotten how it used to be. It feels like I have stored them in a box somewhere and cannot find them anymore.
The arrival of Sneha has indeed fulfilled my physical needs. But I still seek the relics of Sunita in Rama which is impossible. Every human connection differs from others.
That’s why some people hold a larger significance. Every human connection and interaction is unique. This is why chemistry is so rare. I have come to accept that you cannot develop the same feelings for two different people. To be precise, truly falling in love happens only once in a lifetime. The aftermath is filled with adjustments and compromise.
With all being said, I do not want to put Sneha’s role in my life as a burden. Her arrival in my life has become a huge support. She was a divorcee and I was a grief-stricken drunkard. It was one of the Ministerial events. It started with Rain, two cups of coffee, and a conversation on BP Koirala’s “Teen Ghumti”.
After a short span of dating, we tied the marital knot. I am grateful that Sneha, a 33-years beautiful, independent, young woman accepted to align with a 49-year-old man like me.
I respect her a lot. We are compatible mentally and sexually. But have I reciprocated to her emotionally? How should I?
I am caught up in this whirlwind. I look at her, and I see beauty, I see desire, but do I see love?
I gaze at the old building across the narrow road from my garden contemplating whether am I merely holding on to her, clinging to this relationship out of the fear of being alone.
