by Sudha Nair
“Phone for Sister Ammu,” the nurse at the reception yelled across the hallway. Ammu was sorting out the patients’ files in the ward when she heard her name being called out. She ran towards the phone, surprised. She rarely got calls at the hospital where she worked, especially at night.
“Hello?”
“Ammu, it’s me.” The familiar sexy voice sent blood rushing to her face. It was Manoj, her husband, calling long distance from Saudi Arabia. Ammu pulled the telephone cord a little further from the desk and spoke softly, as she did when Manoj called at home.
“Hey, it’s night duty today,” she said, happy to hear his voice.
“That’s why I called you there,” he said. “It’s so difficult to talk to you at home when amma and achan are constantly hovering around you.”
How had he known? she wondered. Maybe it was the soft tone of her voice and the few words she spoke whenever he called. He rang home regularly thrice a week and his parents were always in the living room near the phone, at the pre-ordained time, waiting eagerly to speak to their son, to know if he was doing okay or if he was working himself too hard. They would repeat the same questions every time he called, asking what he had eaten for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, if he was sleeping well. His father often advised him about saving more and sending money home for investments in real-estate that he claimed would secure Manoj’s future, while his mother coaxed him to cook his own meals and to avoid eating out too often. It was odd that they were so involved with his day-to-day affairs, in spite of the fact that he had lived abroad alone for nearly two years. When the phone was handed to her reluctantly, or so it seemed, all she could manage to say were a few “Yes”es to his affectionate queries without feeling embarrassed and flustered by the audience close by. Did his parents not realise her need to be alone with him? Did they forget the feverish excitement newlyweds would have? Anyway she dismissed these dismal thoughts quickly.
“I only have a few minutes,” she said, sighing, wishing she had more private time with him. It was just six months since their wedding. Their engagement and wedding had been conducted in quick succession on his previous visit to Kochi, and after the wedding he had returned to Saudi without her. She knew she couldn’t accompany him to Saudi. He had told her so even before they were married. Then it had not seemed to matter, but now it weighed heavily on her mind. They had barely had any time alone, she thought wistfully. He broke into her thoughts.
“I am coming home for Onam. What should I get for you, chakkare?” Sweet jaggery – that’s what he liked to call her. She felt a new wave of longing, the exhilaration of seeing him again. A fifteen day vacation was all he could take every six months at his job as an electrical supervisor.
“Could I…would you buy me a mobile phone?” she said, blurting out the thought that had struck her and lingered in her mind for a few months now. “Malathi, my colleague got it, and she speaks to her husband almost every day,” she said. She didn’t know anybody else who owned a mobile phone; it was much of a novelty those days. When she’d seen Malathi’s new mobile phone she was awed; it was all she could think of for days. She didn’t know how to mention it to Manoj, and when. She wanted to speak to Manoj every day; it was only natural. She felt she still did not know him as much as she longed to. She had wondered about the side of his life that was unknown to her, his working hours and what he did during his free time, what he ate, when he slept, and what he wore to work. She had wanted to share funny anecdotes about the hospital and her friends, or complain about the sheer magnitude of work sometimes. With no means of communication with him, he was as alien to her today as he had been six months ago. Many men who worked in Saudi, she had heard, staying away from their families for decades. The thought scared her. What if he became one of those men, and she could never communicate her feelings to him? What if she never got a chance? He seemed to be considering her request.
“Ok let me see,” he said casually, yet a spark of hope surged within her. “Can I have a goodnight kiss now?” he teased.
“Umma.”
Ammu longed for a hot shower when she came home exhausted the next morning. She turned on the water and as it cascaded on her shoulders and down her legs she felt the tiredness melt away from her limbs. She lathered her body slowly, taking her time. All was quiet except for the soft patter of water. Images of Manoj slowly trickled into her thoughts. It was a bumpy bus ride on their honeymoon to Munnar. It was a much-needed escape from a house full of wedding guests. She remembered vividly the breath-taking view from Kochi to Munnar as their bus went winding through the zigzag hairpin bends overlooking rolling hills carpeted with green, lush tea plantations. A train of large, wispy clouds leaned in so close to their window, merely a touch away, slowly gathering in the distance into darker, grey puffs that threatened a downpour. The constant bumping against each other was turning them both on. They reached their room just in time as the skies opened, as torrents of rain came gushing down, drowning all other sounds. Then in a maddening rush, with an urgency that could not have been withheld any longer, they tore at each other’s clothes, desperate to make love while the winds howled and thunder clapped ceremoniously outside. As the rapid, fervent raindrops beat down against their window pane and a sweet, muddy fragrance emanated from the earth, on that cool, wet, stormy evening, Ammu and Manoj were swept away in their own sweat, saliva and passion. Abruptly, grabbing onto the metal bar in the shower Ammu squeezed her eyes shut, as she suddenly felt a shudder radiating through her body. She reckoned, as she turned off the shower slowly that it would be another agonising night without Manoj, and a long, agonising week before he arrived.
When Manoj finally arrived, he had a sleek, shiny phone for Ammu. “For my chakkara,” he kissed her passionately. “Now we can talk in private every day,” he said, hugging her and squeezing her bum fondly. It was a thrilling moment for both.
Now that he was here, she had taken off from work; they visited relatives, went for movies, dinners, to the beach. Every night they made warm, urgent love that was driven by the need to make the most of their time together. “Ask him to look for a job elsewhere so he can take you along,” her parents advised her. She never got a chance. Two weeks of his vacation passed quickly. Soon time was up, and she felt a desolate lump in her chest as she bade him goodbye. Her new phone was her only hope at intimacy now for the next six months.
“Chakkare,” he told her during his routine call home, later that night. “Go to your room and pick up on the first ring.”
She did, but as soon as she heard his voice she broke into sobs.
“Shh…I’m with you now. Don’t cry,” he said, whispering endearments until she calmed down. Her heart still felt heavy.
“Do you remember Cherai beach?” he was saying. “Your eyes were lit up like a child’s as the waves rode up your legs, as they crashed higher and higher almost reaching your chest,” he chuckled. She felt instantly better at the recollection of that evening. “You were such a gorgeous sight to behold, your wet hair sticking to your sand-streaked yet adorable face,” he chuckled again. “And there was such a thrill in your laugh every time the waves came at us and as we both tottered trying to find firm ground. You held my hands so tightly the whole time. And when the sun was about to set, you stood gazing at it until it sank, transfixed. And I watched you as you watched the sunset and at that moment I realised what a fool I had been to have you and yet not want to spend every moment with you. And all the way back here I’ve only been tortured by those thoughts. The gentle jingle of your bangles as you brought my coffee, the smell of camphor mixed with jasmine in your wet hair, the soft touch of your fingers, the sweet whispers in my ears, the sight of you every morning making me want to pull you back into bed. All of it is driving me crazy.”
Ammu lay down on her bed, letting out a deep sigh and a giggle simultaneously at the joy gurgling within. Suddenly they had so much to tell each other, and laugh about, and talk away that night. She could feel a warm tingle in her bones when they finally said goodbye. She sank deep into her bed, closed her eyes and let herself drift. At last she now had him all to herself. She could speak to him to her heart’s content, revelling in their fantasies, deliberating on their future. She could broach what her parents had recommended; suggest that they consider Dubai perhaps, where a friend had moved. The possibilities of a happily married life now seemed immediate and bright, not a bleak, distant future. She’d accompany him the next time; she just knew it in her heart. She could see their plane take off over the Arabian Sea, a train of large, wispy clouds leaning in close to their window, merely a touch away, the two of them soaring higher and higher, towards a new shore. They’d be together. Together and happy, soon.
Sudha, a mother of two, is constantly trying to pursue new avenues to push her creative boundaries. A chronic daydreamer, she is in awe of people who have followed their heart. Sudha is passionate about music, fitness, her family, and most recently, writing.
Pic : http://www.flickr.com/photos/rnddave/
