23 July 2014


He entered the drawing room while she was talking on the phone. He mimed to explain her, "Where is my brown envelope?" She gave him an 'I don't know!' look with a soft lift of shoulders.
He went back to searching, the room, the study and then the drawing room. He checked all the drawers and cabinets, but it wasn't there. Finally giving up, he stood in front of her and asked again. "I can't find my envelope, where have you kept it?"

She whispered into the phone, 'Something's come up, can I call you back.' She kept the phone and her voice turned loud 'How do I know, where you keep your things? I am not supposed to be tracking your stuff.'
'You are in the habit of stashing away my things and I never find them when I need them." He argued.

"I am not in the habit of stashing, but cleaning. You leave your things all around and expect me to clean after you. If it is so important, why don't you just keep it, where you can find it?'
His patience was running out, and was in no mood to get a lecture on cleanliness and organising skills. Probably this was her way of getting back at him, for eating out past two nights with friends and skipping the home cooked dinner with her. That's such a childish behaviour he thought. 'Listen, don't waste my time and get my envelope.'
'I told you, I don't know. Figure out on our own.'
He was fuming but went back to searching. The first search was tame compared to the second which left the room in a post storm state. She entered and found all the things from the drawers on the table and clothes from the cupboard on the bed. She screamed, 'Have you gone mad, what are you doing?' She moved forward and started putting things back.
'Don't touch anything.' He warned.
She shouted, "You have no idea, how much work you are creating for me, for that stupid envelope of yours." Amit retorted "Excuse me, what work do you have except talking on the phone!"
She had, had it by then. Raging she threw her phone at him, regretting, as soon as it left her hand, multiple thoughts crossing her head. 'It's a new phone, how could I throw it. Oh my God, what if it hits him. No, possibly it will miss him. I am such a bad aim.' The phone thrown in a random manner actually hit the target on his face.
He removed his spectacles and his hand covered his face and forehead. 'What's wrong with you? You have broken my specs.' She confused, tried to check for marks or injury to his face.  He has had bigger fights before and just a peck from a phone possibly can't be so hurtful. Probably he is overreacting, but the question is how she should react.  If she shows sympathy that means the fight is over and technically she lost. If she doesn't she would be such an insensitive wife. So probably no reaction is the best action.
'How dare you hit me? Don't ever hit me again.' He was hollering. 'Enough is enough. I am warning you, next time I will not control!'
She bent to pick her phone which made him even angrier. She was not even concerned about him. He can't take this. First she hits him and he can't even hit her back. Actually he can hit her back, but it won't be nice. He has never hit her. But then why is she hitting him. This is so insulting and demeaning. She thinks I am a coward she can walk over anytime she wants. She is not even concerned. What the hell!
'I can't take this anymore. You can't just hit me and expect me to take it. I am telling you if I hit you, you will remember it for the rest of your life.' He felt like throwing something. The spectacles he was holding were already flying mid-air and landed on the floor - frame cracked and glass pieces scattered. He covered his face with both hands.
She knew this has gone too far but her body was frozen and her mind was blank. She saw his eyes had turned red but why were they wet. Were they tears?
Even he didn't know what was happening. Was he crying? No he was not. It was probably a mix of anger and frustration pouring out. But why did it sound like crying. Men don't cry - and especially not after being hit by women. She didn't even hit me that hard actually. Then why am I crying. How could she hit me, and I can't even hit her back. It's so frustrating. What is wrong with me? But she did intend to hit me. That means she is taking me for guaranteed. I can't let her do that. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. She needs to be taught a lesson and he raised his hand to hit her.
She squirmed closing her eyes. She didn't expect this to get so ugly. What happened to them?
His hand was raised. But he could not hit her. How could he? He loved her. He loved her too much. He had wanted her so badly. He fought with everyone to be with her. He vowed to look after her, to take care of her and to keep her happy. They had built a home and a life together. How could he hurt her? How could he push her away? He imagined how she would feel if he hit him. Her delicate face will turn red and her eyes will become teary. He will regret it all his life. He can't do that. He will hate the hand which hit her. He will curse himself all his life. What if she left him? What if he lost her forever? He can't lose her. He can't imagine a life without her.
His knees felt weak and he crumbled on the floor. She opened her eyes brimming with tears. She found him crestfallen and slumped on the ground.  She sat down and held his hand. They both looked at each other. Their faces so ugly only sometime back were now sloppy with tears and pain. They were scared, not of each other but of the moment that passed, which could trigger the series of events parting them forever. A life without him is impossible. A life without her is impossible.


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