finally!

aaaaand, am back! :D
but the extended, forced leave has left me with too much, and nothing, to say. this was something i wrote a couple of months earlier. i called it THE GIFT, being the unimaginative doof i am :D
would catch up with you all, soon. cheerio!


She came back early from work only for this. After a quick shampoo and shower, she wore a beautiful red sari, faintly reminiscent of her bridal Banarasi. Pulling the long wet hair back from her face, she scanned the chocolate cake recipe again. It ought not be difficult. She'd bought everything in advance.
She'd never been a careful cook. Sometimes, the dishes would be delicious and inventive, and sometimes, it would be a trifle overdone, or maybe a little salty. It was one of those things that always bothered her husband. Oh well, she gave herself a little shrug, all that was past. Today, the cake would be perfect. She would make sure of that.
Setting the oven to preheat, she swiftly mixed the requisite amounts of flour, baking powder, cocoa, and some other things in a heart shaped baking tray. Had she been too generous with anything? It could make the cake taste strange. At any rate, she'd been careful with the amount of grease. He didn't like too much of fattening things. She'd learnt that in the seven years of matrimony.
Following the recipe to the letter, she added the milk and eggs, and whisked it all together carefully, making sure none of it spilled out. The raw cake had a satisfying, almost appetising, chocolate colour to it. But looks could be deceiving. She laughed softly. If she tried tasting it now, she'd only get the disgusting, mixed up taste of raw eggs and sweet cocoa. Ugh.
She spent an inordinate amount of time whisking, long after the heterogeneous ingredients smoothed into brown liquid. Something about the repetitive, uncomplicated step was deeply soothing. But a casual glance at the clock startled her into action. He would be back in an hour and a half. It had to be done before that.
The oven was hot and ready. The sudden awareness of time flurried her a bit, and while sliding the tray in, the portion of her right arm just above the mittens got singed. She yelped at the suddenness of it, but the pain wasn't anything much. A quick splash of cold water set it right. And anyway, when she was cooking for him, how did such little things matter? Ah, the things one does for love!
While the cake got baked, she set to making the frosting. Cream and sugar and chocolate made for such a divine mixture. She'd always been a bit chocolate-crazy. Chocolate got her through exam results, heartbreaks, her father's crippling accident. And everything else life had thrown at her. She didn't waste time worrying about the calories. Fast metabolism was a blessing! A chocolate cake was really wasted on him, for whom it was nothing more than a carefully regimented indulgence, but then, how else could she celebrate such a special day?
Soon, it was all ready and waiting to be assembled. Slicing neatly through the freshly baked cake, she generously applied frosting between the two layers, and on top. After allowing it to cool awhile, she used the cream cone to write, in beautifully printed letters,
For my Dear Husband,
Happy Anniversary!
She put the delicious looking confection into the fridge for cooling and firming. She cleared the table of the various documents and magazines. The long glass vase was got out, and filled with roses of many colours. It was his favourite flower. She preferred sweeter, subtler flowers like jasmine and tuberose. Roses were too obscenely beautiful. Oh well. She lit two fat candles, one red, one white. Switching off the lights, she waited.
She didn't know when she fell asleep. Or was that even a dream? She remembered all the good times of the marriage, the loving, the laughter. The short but sweet courtship. Of course, it hadn't been all smooth. But she wouldn't remember the bad times. Especially not today. Restless, she stirred, as though warding away memories she had no wish to relive.
She heard the car pull into the garage. Smiling, she got up, and got the cake out. Put it on the table, and went to open the door.
He looked tired. And a bit guilty. She smiled a dazzling smile at him and took his briefcase and coat.
"Go and freshen up. Dinner's waiting. And an extra special something!"
"Honey, about last night. Look, I..."
Putting her finger on his lips, she whispered, "No talks about what's happened in the past. Today is a day of celebrations. Or is it," she continued, half amused, half exasperated, "that you have forgotten our anniversary again?"
"Uh, of course not. Happy Anniversary darling."
"Thanks, sweetheart. Now go, change. Hurry up"
He came back wearing a starched kurta pyajama. The years had been kind to him. He still retained that boyish charm. And his physique wasn't too bad, either. Stretching, he took the seat opposite her. And gaped at the cake.
"You made this? For me? Wow, this looks amazing."
Laughing, she said, "I hope it tastes half as amazing. Now go on, cut it, taste it and tell me. And not one of those tiny bites, mind. I've slogged over this."
He smiled at her, and cut a generous slice of the cake. And popped it whole into his mouth. She was delighted.
It was pretty quick. Barely twenty seconds perhaps. A couple of unpleasant seizures, and a lot of shock in those captivating brown eyes, and it was over.
She waited for about an hour. She needed him to be past all medical help, needed him to be irrevocably dead. She sat still and watched the candles burn lower. And smelt those obscene roses.
An hour later, she got up. Touched his already cooling hand. Looked into those brown blank eyes. It reminded her of chocolate. Like it had, when they met for the first time, and it had been love at first sight for her.
Suddenly, with no warning, the thought permeated her rather blank consciousness. He was dead. She killed him. Killed the man who she'd loved so completely. Surrendered her whole life to. Quick, couldn't she undo it somehow? Wake up! Wake up Avinash! Am sorry. Am so damnably sorry.
Hot, pointless tears clouded her vision, and as she walked away from her folly, she stumbled on the hem of her sari. She fell headlong, and the sari moved away, bringing the cold floor into direct contact with her stomach.
The pain blinded her. The bruises from last night were still fresh, and they hurt. Hurt enough to remind her, enrage her all over again.
Sorry? She was free. It was just as it should be. The day of imprisonment, and the day of independence, were one and the same.