MB visited our new house for the first time yesterday after I moved in last week. By our new house, I mean the place we have rented recently. And by moved in, I mean shifted all our things into. I continue to spend the nights with him at his hostel as his shifts continue to be erratic and it’s near-impossible to drive down to the new place even though it’s less than twenty minutes away. But it’s closer to my workplace, so I can come home for lunch and hang out here till late in the evening, and probably even make dinner before heading to the hostel for the night.
There were no urgent calls from the Intensive Care Unit, so I suggested we go for a small ride, and maybe have coffee at the new house. I expected him to say no as usual, but he agreed. We grabbed coffee and bonda from a restaurant on the way, and I put two chairs out onto our terrace-balcony. It’s my favourite part in the whole house. There was a cool breeze, and we watched trees swaying around us. I pointed out a squirrel to him on a coconut tree across the road; its tail kept twitching in rhythm with every shrill squeak. We sat in silence, sipping the coffee.
He searched for an old book in the shelf I had decked with our collection; the other place had hardly any space and all the books had still been in the boxes that came from Pondicherry an year ago, till I finally let them out now. He picked one and went back to the terrace, reading. I bent down to put my chin against the top of his head, my arms loosely across the chest. I pressed my cheek to his and smiled as he absentmindedly kneaded my arm as he read. The world seemed to shrink within the terrace parapet – all that existed were the breeze, the quiet, the neem leaves, the squirrels, and us.
Ten, perhaps fifteen minutes, and it was time to leave for his evening ward rounds. A quick kiss on his cheek and I got up to clear the cups and lock up.
I suppose perfect evenings look a little different out here. Sometimes all it takes to create one is two cups of coffee and a home.