Sunset woman

The ink on the divorce paper had not even dried and he was ready to sign a marriage agreement. With the twenty two year old chic from his advertising firm. She was an intern and the late nights had turned into early mornings. She hadn’t realised that their marriage had surpassed the expiry date. The lack of charm akin to the age of marriage. 

Having no children only meant there was no reason to stay. But Imdid it mean that he could go ahead and marry one? She must be a gold digger, she wondered. The owner of a big advertising firm and the heir of a rich Sobo family. 

Anyways all the best to her. She was partly glad, not having to play the role of a daughter in law for his family anymore. Although she still had to play the role of a divorcee. Shunned from the common friend parties, the advertising wives group and the tennis wives group. Not that she would miss any of that. 

She couldn’t even go back to her parents’ place. They would bombard her with their worries and rattle on about what will people say. A divorced daughter in her 40s! This is the end of her life. How will she ever get settled again? Who will marry her now? She will die as an old cat lady. Bah! She hated pets. Who wants to spend rest of their life cleaning shit all day or planning walks to ensure it comes. 

Every dark cloud has a silver lining and hers is the sudden burst of freedom. A freedom to live on her own. Not making excuses to get out of social commitments. Not having to attend the family functions and obligations. And meet other men. Now that was something new. 

Her husband was the first man she ever, you know what! They had an arranged marriage. Long distance courtship and longer wedding festivities meant they only had a decent conversation much later. 

Her niece was setting her profile on Tinder. 

‘I am not looking for a marriage.’She told her. 

‘It’s not a match making site.’ the niece replied.  

‘What is it? Dating?’ She asked. 

‘You will find out.’ she replied. 

She put a picture of mine from the trip to the beach. I have received some messages from men in their 50s and 60s. I haven’t replied. Who wants to date such old men. But who am I kidding. The one in 40s are looking for 20 year old ones. 

The phone pings. Alert from Tinder. She clicks and looks at the sender. An interesting profile. The man has a nice bushy beard and intense eyes. Seems the arty types. Like the ones having Irani chai at Prithvi cafe. Should she reply? What’s the harm! She swipes back and they set a time to meet. It is really fast nowadays. 

The man is waiting for her at the seaside cafe. The picture didn’t do justice to his handsomeness. He is wearing a blue shirt with linen trousers. The curly hair falling in little lush circles on his forehead. The beard was gone revealing the sharp angular chin. His intense eyes hidden behind those black frame glasses. His prominent Adam’s apple complimented his thin long neck. 

There wasn’t a tinge of grey in his hair. He must be blessed with good genes, she wondered. She wasn’t confident her burgundy colored hair gave more of a fashion statement or a failed attempt to cover her almost grey head. She had seen his age on the tinder profile. He was younger than her. 

She patted the pleats of her Saree. It was more out of nervousness and an attempt to look busy. A sari, really? What was she thinking! As if she was not already an auntie that she decided to look like one. She could have worn the maroon dress, gifted by her niece after activating her tinder profile. 

She stood about ten steps away from the man engrossed in his book. She could easily turn away and avoid a potential rejection. Was she ready for the drama? Was she ready to put herself out there? As she contemplated leaving, the man looked up from his book. The gentle widening of his lips tugs at her heart. That smile was worth it. 

He got up and pulled the chair out for her to sit. Such chivalry and grace. The scene in the room turned black and white. The man seemingly a hero from the 60s and she the demure heroine. Probably Nargis and Raj Kapoor. Nah! Tthere was no rain or an umbrella to share. He was intense like Dilip Kumar. Could she be Saira Banu? That would be a true irony. 

‘Ma’am, what will you have?’ The question pulled her out of her reverie. She looked at the waiter standing next to him. 

‘A lemonade will be fine.’ A safe choice, she decided. 

‘And a lemon soda for me.’ He added. So different yet so same, she thought. 

‘I am glad we could meet up. You are even more beautiful in person.’ He said. 

‘Thank you.’ She replies coyly. 

‘How should we do it? Should we ask questions or is it better to just talk about ourselves a bit?’ He asks. 

‘I don’t have much to say. It is ok, if you want to ask.’ She volunteers involuntarily. Was she ready to bare herself? 

‘Ok then.’ His head turns to look at the sun in the horizon, getting ready to set for the day 

‘Do you prefer sunrise or sunset?’ He asks.

Her neck turns towards the sun too, in response to his. A culmination of a fading yellow and an emerging orange. The round ball of fire seemingly hot and cool at the same time darkening with the dropping temperatures. The  hues of bright colors swiped across a blue and grey sky. Shadows of birds flying across in brilliant formations, announcing the return to abode as their wings tire. 

‘I prefer sunsets. There is a certain melancholy to them. Simple and accepting. They don’t expect anything from you. Unlike the morning sun that expects you to get up and get ready for the day.’ She pauses realising how strange these words sound coming out of her mouth. She had never thought about sunrise or sunset. They were nothing more but the start and the end of the day. Until now! 

‘You put it so nicely. You must be reading poetry?’ He asks. 

‘I used to in college. That was a long time ago.’ She replies, her inhibitions loosening. 

‘Would you mind sharing something?’ he requests politely. 

Layers of dust wipe off as she renders her favourite poet. 

‘Beautiful words! Beautiful voice! I must say a beautiful soul.’ There eyes meet. 

Who is this man? How is he able to see her soul? No one has ever really looked at her this way. She feels nude yet beautiful. A shy smile passes on her lips as she tries to look away but fails to. 

‘Let’s finish our lemon drinks and head to the beach.’ He suggests. 

She nods and starts sipping the lemonade through the straw. The quintessential walk into the sunset. Holding hands with this wonderful man. This is what dreams are made of. 

She wakes up the next day. The man was gone. Leaving behind crumpled sheets and impressions of his beautiful body. She could smell him - on her body and her breath. She could feel his soft touch and gentle caresses. Their intertwining hands and fondling toes. The feel of his curly hair tickling her shoulders and ears. His finger tip moving up her waist to the rounds of her breast. His nuzzling at her neck, breathing her in, relishing her essence. 

She sits up. Curling herself to take it all in. She sees the sun rising from the french window. Nudging her to get ready, for the new life and a new adventure.