O is for... Old and Happy

‘But you promised me when I turned 30 in Goa, that you’ll take me to France when I turn 60,’ I told him in my sweet, mushy voice.

He always, always did as I said. He didn’t have to, but he did. Like last week – I was feeling too wobbly to step out, and he wanted to go to the club to play golf. I didn’t want to stay alone at home, so he changed his plan to go the next day. We stayed in, ordered vegetarian thali from Mrs. Heera’s kitchen and watched reruns of Game of Thrones. It seemed funny in 2042, but in 2019, it was the best show we had.

‘Babydoll, you feel exhausted just going to the club, France is 5 hours by plane, remember?’ he replied with a funny expression on his face.

‘So? We will just sit by the Seine and watch the Eiffel Tower light up multiple times. And this time, the lights will shine on your bald,’ I stated running my hand on his shiny head.

‘Get away from me, you old bitch!’

He hated it when I touched him before he took a bath. It was one of his many quirks. I thought all his little things were annoying yet adorable. He would never, never let me eat from his plate – a decision he had made when we got married 34 years back and ate from the same plate with two cameramen standing on our head. It was midnight and he had not eaten since 3 p.m. First the pandit ji got late for pooja at his place, and then the Baratis won’t stop dancing. He couldn’t stand the shenanigans. ‘We could have gone for a court marriage you know,’ he had said on the stage. ‘I was ready, your mom wouldn’t agree,’ I had replied pinching his butt from above the uncomfortable Sherwani.

‘Acha, what do you suggest pumpkin pie, can we go to Vegas?’ my eyes had widened with just the idea of that moronic destination.

‘Vegas!!! That is 14 hours away. You will not go to the plane’s loo and then curse me the whole time for not stopping you before embarking on a painful journey.’

‘Arre! I’ll carry that portable urination device with me. Don’t you worry about my bladder needs!’

‘We are not going to Vegas. Want to go to Shimla? We haven’t been to Wildflower for a while now.’

‘You mad man! Shimla is just 2 hours away - I’d go there for tea. Not for my once in a lifetime 60^th birthday!’

This conversation was going nowhere. I needed to divert his mind, give him good food, and then emotionally blackmail him the next morning.

‘Acha leave it. Want to play a game of Rummy?’ I questioned holding a deck of cards

‘Ok. Whoever wins gets to decide.’

‘Fine.’ I agreed without flinching because I knew that only I will get to decide.

We sat slouched on the sofa with oldies playing in the background. A cool summer breeze was blowing in through the balcony doors. I covered myself with a shawl and dealt thirteen cards. I took out the joker and we started with the game. Ten minutes later, he won.

‘Goa it is babydoll.’ He stated triumphantly.

‘You always do this. We always go where you want to go. What about my desires? It is my birthday. My father always did as I said, you can’t even do this much?’

‘Ok baba. We will go where you want.’

‘And what if I get sick and then feel tired?’

‘I’d push you around in a wheelchair. Or we’d just sit by the Seine every day and watch Eiffel Tower lights sparkle in your eyes.’

‘I love you sweet pea. Let’s go to Goa this year, we will consider France next summer when I am a year younger,’ I said jumping to his side, slathering his wrinkled face with a hundred wet kisses!

And that’s how we never, never found any reason to fight.

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This story is a part of AtoZ challenge by Blogchatter. For the 2020 challenge, I'll be writing some travel stories and some stories that originate in my life but find a way into this blog through fiction. Also, I am new at this ;)