It was a quiet late summer Sunday just like every other Sunday in Shimla. The hilly and winding roads were deserted and so were the majority of the restaurants on the Mall Road. The only exception was Himani’s Restaurant, located right behind the famous Shimla Christ Church. As usual, its unrestricted rooftop bar was crowded with tourists and local patrons. That was where Anisha and I chose to have our farewell dinner before my departure. I would be leaving for Africa in a few days for a full year environmental research project. She was also traveling to Goa with her family the following day, so we were both hoping to make it a memorable moment as we wouldn’t see each other for months.
We sat opposite each other at the edge of the open floor where we could have a good view of the city. A waitress came over shortly after to take our order. We asked for an apple juice while we scan through the menu. She reminded us that they have different varieties of beer, but we told her that we don’t drink alcohol. The surprise on her face was conspicuous, I suppose we aren’t her typical customers. I have been sober for almost a year, thanks to Anisha who had been nagging on me to quit drinking since we met.
Her parents are devout Sikh and the family strongly adheres to their faith’s principles. I am still surprised that they easily approved of our relationship knowing that I am a non-practicing Christian. Perhaps their love for Anisha and their confidence in her good characters make them respect any choice she makes in life. In any case, even if I don’t go to church, I would have a good passing grade in a morality test by any religious clergy. Anisha would give an A+ and that is what really matters to me, for I love her to the moon and back.
That is what I was trying to emphasize while we were having our drinks. Since the time I told her about the trip to Africa, she had been concerned that I am going to meet another girl over there and forget about her. I once told her about an aunt of mine who is hell-bent on me marrying within our relatives. Though I later told her that I have talked my aunt out of that notion, she still thinks some other aunt or uncle may come up with another proposition.
“Nisha, you know for the past few days, all I have been thinking is how I am going to survive twelve months without you. I spoke with the director of our Institute about sending someone else on my behalf, but there isn’t anyone who could replace me.” I said, holding tighter, her left hand that had been in my right hand.
“I believe you Abny (her version of my name, Abner), but I am just worried about losing you. I can’t get the nightmare I had last week of you kissing another woman at a wedding ceremony out of my head,” She responded, pensively. My eyes were fixed on hers, not really sure what to say next. Despite the gloomy mood on her beautiful face, I could spend the whole evening staring.
After a long pause that seemed to have lasted an eternity, I brought out a gift I got for her. It was “Don’t sweat the small stuff”, a book by Richard Carlson and a CK perfume, Eternity. Books and perfumes are the things she never turns away. I was very sure about that, but she proved me wrong this time.
She looked surprised after opening the small package to reveal the items. I know Eternity to be her favorite, so I was contemplating she might not have liked the book. But nothing Like that.
“What made you chose this book? I am sure I have never mentioned it, but it is what I have been longing to read for years. Thank you so much, my love.” She lamented. I made a big sigh of relief.
“Connected hearts think in unison, you know,” I replied, humorously.
“That could be right indeed. My chakras and yours are already bonded. Regardless, I cannot thank you enough. You are the best.” She was obviously happy with my little gift. “I know it is me who is supposed to give a present, but I am planning a surprise for you on your birthday.” She added.
I wondered what kind of surprise that would be. My birthday is on August 1, less than two months away. “Hehe, I can’t wait to see that. Perhaps I should also start planning for my own surprise on your birthday.” I said, enthusiastically.
“Do you even remember my birthday?” She asked, jokingly.
“Of course I remember, how could I forget your birthday again, Nisha?” I bluffed, quickly wrestling with my memory to remember. We had a similar argument the previous year, and I remember how furious she was when I could’nt remember her birthday. I shouldn’t have forgotten again after that scuffle. It is baffling how she always asks face-to-face when I cannot cheat by looking through my calendar or Facebook.
“Come on, tell me, when is it?” She brought my attention back to the present. And she looked serious.
“I don’t have to say it now to prove that I know it, my dear. But trust me, I remember it more than I remember mine and I am going to surprise you on that day.” The stern look on her face told me she was not going to buy my bluff.
And indeed, she didn’t. I tried all I could to brush over the topic, but she insisted on me saying it if I remember for sure. In the end, she threw the present I gave her back to me and walked away, angry and disappointed. I know to leave her alone when she is mad, so I decided not to follow her. The waitress who had come back to take our order looked more bewildered now. I didn’t know how long she had been standing, I just hoped she hadn’t heard the argument.
“What do you want to eat sir? Is she coming back?” She finally asked.
“Don’t worry, we are going to eat somewhere else.” I retorted, trying to keep my cool. I thought of staying to booze the mood away but fought back the temptation. I paid for the drinks and took my leave.
I have never thought of mundane things like the birthday to be of much importance but Anisha taught me a lesson of my life. If I love her, I gotta remember her birthday.
