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“You were disturbed and did not want to come to the airport this morning. What happened?”
Roshni casually looked at him and did not respond.
Deepak again insisted on the same question, but this time, he came closer to her and cupped her cheek with his hand. “Roshni, you can tell me. Is there anything I can do to help you? Is everything all right?” he asked her very lovingly.
Except for her babuji, nobody else asked her this question in the past, and nobody was so caring and concerned for her. She could not contain herself and burst into tears.
Deepak moved a little closer to her and placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. “Roshni, what is the matter? Would you please talk to me? I’m really worried for you.”
She couldn’t handle his love and care, and she cried, but all she could say was, “No, nothing.”
Nothing seemed pretentious when Deepak expressed his concern; he was very real. He sincerely made every effort to make her comfortable. Finally, after a few minutes, he held her hands with one of his and wiped her tears with the other hand. “Roshni, all I want you to know is that I am here for you any time. You are not alone. Whatever comes our way, we will fight it together. I want you to have that confidence in me.”
As he said these words, his eyes became moist. It was difficult for her to find him trustworthy, but he tried, and one day, hopefully she would turn around.
Roshni looked into his eyes. “Deepak, I just need some time, some time for everything. It feels like I’m being forced into a few things. I just need time… I hope you will understand,” she requested of him.
Both knew each other so well, they could read each other’s minds and understand each other. It was a matter of time before they came together. It was more important for Roshni – she needed to be convinced completely that Deepak’s care, love and affection were all real, that he was not pretending, that he wanted her back in his life and that was why he was here.
~ ~ ~
The next day was Durga Ashtami, the eighth day of the ten-day Dashera festival dedicated to Goddess Durga, who killed the demon Mahishasura. The day is a celebration of the death of the demon. Hindus all over India and around the world celebrate this day by performing the pooja to Durga Devi and offering food.
As per the rituals, Roshni woke up early, took a shower, washed her hair, and walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her hair. She was quiet so she wouldn’t wake up Deepak; however, her aroma reached him, and he woke up. Roshni looked like an angel, stunningly beautiful in red silk sari with zari and sequins, and as she walked, limping slowly to the mirror, Deepak could not take his eyes off her. He watched her from the corner of his eyes and felt a shiver in his spine. Gosh, if only I could go hug her, hug her tightly, and get immersed in her.
Roshni had long, dark hair. She dried her hair and, after brushing it, brought it all together with a hair clip. She got dressed and walked out, with Deepak staring at her unblinkingly. He got up and wanted to help her with the preparations for the pooja. It had been several years since he left India, and he looked forward to celebrating Dashera and Diwali with his dear wife, Roshni.
After his morning chores, he came to the kitchen area. Roshni had already lit the lamp in the altar, and the grey smoke of the incense filled the air, spreading the jasmine aroma around. Roshni moved slowly to the kitchen to make chai and cook. Her limping was a handicap, but she slowly managed with one arm and leg.
Deepak could not resist being near her. He was about to hold and pull her towards him when Roshni said, “Deepak, can you please go have your shower and come back?”
Deepak nodded. “Can I have chai first, dear?”
“Yes, certainly, you will have to wait for a few minutes.”
He nodded and waited patiently at the table, staring at his lovely wife, completely mesmerized by her beauty. Both had chai, and he left to have a shower. Meanwhile, Roshni got ready to cook. Deepak helped her chop vegetables, and she maneuvered slowly and made a big meal: rice dishes, dal, vegetable curries, and kheer to offer to the Goddess. She sent Deepak to a caterer to pick up the chapathis she’d ordered the previous evening.
After all the cooking was done, Roshni invited Deepak to help her with the pooja and offering the food and arati to Durga Devi.
Deepak very gladly performed all the rituals, guided by her. First they chanted hymns in Durga’s praise, followed by the food offering and then arati (offering of camphor to the goddess). Deepak was elated celebrating this festival with Roshni. As the tradition goes, after arati, the wife touches husband’s feet to take his blessings while he fills the vermillion in her partition (maang). Roshni, without a second thought, instantly bent down with some difficulty and touched Deepak’s feet. Deepak was dumbfounded, for he never expected this of her. He smiled and held her by shoulders and lifted her up gently.
In that moment, Roshni realized what she had done. “Pardon me, Deepak. I should have thought about it,” she said instantly.
Deepak moved to her. “Why do you apologize? Isn’t this the tradition?”
Deepak enjoyed this ritual, and Roshni saw it. He had no problem; then why was she unhappy? Deepak came closer to her and filled the red vermillion in her partition, emphasizing to her that she was his wife and would always be.
Unable to resist, he bent down and gently kissed her cheek. “Roshni, you look so beautiful in this sari.”
Roshni was shy, color blooming on her cheeks. She was lost for words to respond to him. She smiled and walked away to the kitchen and got ready for lunch. Deepak gave her the prasad, and he took some and helped her bring the food to the table, all the while staring into her eyes. They exchanged glances occasionally.
Deepak was absolutely speechless at all the preparations Roshni had made and praised her for the variety. He was restless and opened the lids, and the wonderful aroma of the spices spread around. He had to sniff and felt exhilarated. By chance, Roshni had made all his favorite dishes. The kheer was the icing on the cake; this was his favorite dessert, and it showed.
As they were about to end the meal, he complimented her. “Roshni, such a wonderful job cooking, you are really a good cook.” He continued, “Thank god, I don’t have to starve all my life.” He smiled and winked at her.
Roshni was amused at this comment but was quiet.
“When did you learn to cook such wonderful food?”
