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Sixty-Five isn’t quite different from sixty-four, as Devendra discovers soon after his birthday. By the same vein, thirty-five isn’t vastly different from thirty-four. They celebrate both today, his sixty-fifth birthday and their thirty-fifth anniversary.
He sips his wine watching his wife and the sunset alternately from the beautiful sands of the ocean. Both the sights calm his heart, as they have been doing for the past many years. It is a miracle that they have made it together for thirty-five years. Everyone says they are a strong couple.
The soft breeze caresses her cheeks and blows her thin hair. She rubs her palms together in the gentle cold. She isn’t quite what she was when she had been twenty-five. She isn’t even what she was fifteen years back or five years back. But she thanks her stars and so does he, that she is still around despite the disease coming back after being in remission for more than five years.
Last year both of them had thought this would be their last visit together to this beach resort that they had visited every year on their anniversary for the past ten years.
“I sometimes wonder what is it that I really wanted,” Rupali says, sipping her coffee.
“Sometimes?” Devendra asks with a smile. “It implies that most times you didn’t wonder.”
The sound of the waves spreads a sense of calm. It suppresses the noise in the mind. A few metres away a family of three plays with the beach all to themselves. It is a pleasing sight. A lifeguard stands on a tall, vertical stand watching for potential danger. On the far horizon, a solitary boat sways on the waters. The sun is about to set.
A waiter disturbs their solitude.
“May I serve dinner?” the charming young fellow asks. His steward uniform makes him look dapper. His smile welcomes guests to be at home in his company. His name plate says Gauri Shankar.
Devendra steals a glance with a slightly raised brow at Rupali to check if it’s time. She closes her eyelids softly indicating yes, and Devendra nods. They have a good understanding even without words being said. The waiter walks away discreetly with soft steps.
“Who names their son Gauri Shankar?” Rupali says after he is gone.
“Why? What’s wrong?” Devendra says though he knows it is quite old fashioned for this day.
“Such a handsome youngster. The name spoils it all,” she insists.
“His parents might be faithful believers. Some families have their traditions. They must name boys after a family deity,” he says. “Or it might be a combination of his parents’ names,” he reminisces.
“Yeah, I know. But still.”
“Maybe his grandfather was called Shiva. Or his father is Shankar, and his mother is Gauri.”
Devendra speculates needlessly. He likes to tease her and see her irritated over small things.
“But there are so many modern names of Shiva. Why couldn’t they have named him Mahesh or Kedar. Even Kailash would have been okay,” she says. “There are so many better names.”
“True, Soham, for instance.” Devendra sips his wine. Rupali watches the ocean listlessly.
“Or why not Rudra? It is such a fine, fearsome name,” she says in excitement.
Rupali bites her tongue and steals a sorry glance at Devendra. The past haunts them.
She turns her attention back to the waves in the ocean. She gazes blankly into the sun that dips in the water. Her heart is filled with a sudden welling up of grief that she thought had dissipated away. Silence takes over the space between them, as it had then.
Devendra moves his chair a bit closer. He fears the gap that this silent space creates. He holds her hand. She looks at the sands below her feet under the table and presses his hand.
“That was many years back,” he says.
He sees a tear drop roll over her cheek. He curses himself to have continued with this discussion. He worries that he has caused an unnecessary change in mood. A needless awakening of a memory.
The sun sets while they sit in silence. It is dark and the beach is empty. The playful family of three has returned to their hotel. The two of them are all alone in the dark.
“Sir, your starters,” Gauri Shankar comes back and serves the starters. His cheer contrasts the sombre silence on the table. “Enjoy your meal, Madam,” he says with a smile and goes back.
“Have a bite,” Devendra says lifting a piece and feeding Rupali. She opens her mouth.
“Is it twenty-five years?” she asks. Devendra nods in silence. Fathers are supposed to be strong. He takes a piece from the starters plate every couple of minutes and feeds Rupali.
The solitary boat on the horizon has disappeared. The sound of the waves is all they can hear.
The heaviness of her breath comes down. She loosens up the grip of her hand. She picks his glass of wine in her hand and takes a couple of slow sips before putting it back on the table.
“Shall I get the main course, Sir?” the waiter comes back after a while.
“Another ten minutes?” Devendra requests him, and he nods.
Rupali stops him before he goes away.
“The starters were good. Get me a glass of wine too,” she says.
“Sure Madam,” he replies.
“Nice name, too,” she says, and he smiles back.
Devendra continues to sip his wine with a pensive smile. “Nice wine, too,” he says, lifting his glass.
***