Sandalwood And, Jasmines

It’s a quarter from seven

And I don’t feel her

Beside me.

She’s left the chiffon

Over the windows

Just to let the sun

Tease me.

I wake up

To find her tiptoeing

Out of the washroom

To not let

The lavender droplets

Fall off her anklets

Onto the ground.

She looks at me,


And leans in

To fool me with a kiss

Only to whisper,

“Hurry, we’ll be late.”

As she nuzzles my jaw.

She walks over to the humble

Three doored cupboard

Full of her clothes,

Studying the racks

For a minute

With her mouth half open

Till she finally bends over

To pull out a

Plain red saree with

Nothin but a thin border of


She’s draped it around her once

When she looks at me

Gaping at her,

Still cross-legged on the bed

Under the sheets.

“Go on, already.”

She says again.

I try to resist but then

She wasn’t finished

“You take a day to get ready.”

The defense would like to

Withdraw from the case.


I make my way out,

Making sure to sulk prominently

As I hear her giggling

With incomplete pleats

Hovering in front of her belly.

I walk in to find her

Flipping the pallu

Over her shoulders

As picked up the bottle

That had a piece of night in it.

She catches my glimpse

In the mirror

To give me a quick smile

Before she starts

Outlining the upper half

Of her almond eyes

Of green.

I walk over to the bed

To find two sets of clothes

Kept to compare

Beside each other –

Neither of which I recognized.

Confused I turned to

Find her wrap her arms

Around my waist,

Gently resting her chin

On my shoulder

As she whispered into my ears,

“Happy Anniversary

I couldn’t pick one.”

As she nudged my head

With hers

I felt the shadow of her warmth

Wrap itself around me

To leave her imprint.

I watched her choose

Golden bangles

And golden jhumkas

That were brushed with oxidation

And I swear,

She looked like sunrise.

She dabbed her favourite scent

Between her wrists

And our room smelt

Of jasmine,

And sandalwood.

Our room smelt

Of sandalwood.

Our room smelt

Of you.

I don’t know

If she caught your glimpse

In my eyes

But she look at my reflection

A second longer.

I smile at her hurriedly

Not wanting her to think

I’ve deceived her

With memories.

She silently walks over

To my humble

Three doored cupboard

And stands on a stool

To reach to the top shelf

Looking for something.

She’s stopped her search,

I can tell.

She climbs down the stool

To walk over to me

And hand me

A maroon pullover;

The maroon pullover

You gifted me

On our fifth anniversary.

Taken aback,

I look at her perplexed,

Hesitating to accept it;

Refusing to

As I push it back towards her.

She holds my hand gently

Yet firmly,

As she places her other palm

Over my cheek.

“It compliments the shirt.”

She smiles at me

To let her dimples

Speak the depths

Her words had drafted.


Please note : This is a sequel to Sandalwood And, Roses from NaPoWriMo’17

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