by Sanghamitra Datta on February 13, 2014 in Short Stories

Do you remember my dearest…?

You always hated shopping at the big local supermarket. What's the point of so much choice…why cant we be happy with the hundred year old brands, which generations have used…? Isn’t Gingelly oil an oil and can’t we simple use peanut oil or coconut oil? What's the point of running after Olive oil from Spain or Italy.

Why whole wheat, why not our famous Annas Bakery buns with the cherry on the top? Kissan mixed fruit jam is the king not the Danish Orange marmalade. Oh why did I have to waste so much time and money, money, money? How you hated everything about me after our honeymoon.

Funny, we met at the Supermarket, for the first time. Even funnier, it was near the Olive Oil section. I never thought about it till now.

The plastic olive oil bottle accidentally slipped through your fingers and landed at my feet. I picked it up and looked into deep drowning , smiling eyes. ‘Sorry’, you mumbled through your smiling perfect teeth. I had looked into the eyes of an insurance agent.

Then the usual conversations, with an accidental second meeting at the cash counter, when both of us slid our trolleys into the same slot. And how chivalrously you yielded me your slot. I remember, that your cart was piled high with pastas, veggies, tinned meats, olive oil, even a wedge of expensive Parmesan. How come, that you never liked eating them, when I cooked these after our marriage?

I paid, then you paid and we both walked together to the parking, waved a casual goodbye. You climbed into your nondescript small car, and I into my shiny new 4 wheel drive, a birthday gift from my dearest father. I waved to you thinking this was over, but you waved back knowing it wasn’t.

In a few days, one Saturday afternoon, I saw you lounging elegantly in cool summery linens at the Local French bakery, where I went regularly to get my dose of continental pastries, rolls and Eclairs. I approached you, and how surprised you looked, a momentary confusion ran though your face, followed by an appreciative once over at me, followed by ‘oh! the olive oil lady’…and your full ,warm unreserved laughter.

I fell in love with you a little that very moment. We both sat down, shared a cup of Coffee…you had a Colombian and I had some Kenyan…strange, how you never wanted to drink anything but Masala Chai after we got married. Now in this deep dark green I wonder in flashes of sadness.

I fell in love with you a little more every time we met, so, accidentally, so romantically. My unmarried soul so desperate for a soul mate, that I never noticed. You said that you were an insurance agent…I remember saying that, for an Insurance agent you were quite adventurous and had really good taste in food and lifestyle.

You smiled and said,’ well, one must live my dear, so why not experience what we want to. Living is everything, and living well is the greatest adventure…one must sacrifice the old and move in with the new…speaking of which my dear…Will you marry me and take me one step closer to my dreams?’

I was swept off my feet, so exciting, so perfect, so thrilling, that I accepted, without thinking about what you were talking about. My father had passed away in that one year of our meeting and courtship, you had been considerate, loving and supportive. So I married you, without much fanfare, or drama or guests, friends or relatives. I was all alone in the world, but you loved me and so you became my world. But I forgot to ask you, what were your dreams. I should have.

Then the first two years slowly passed, lazily looking out of our bedroom window, spending money lavishly, taking Europe by storm, Venice, Paris, Vienna, Monte Carlo, London, Rome, Athens, Florence, Milan, Barcelona, Granada. I can’t recall now, what you were doing for a job those days? Designer clothes, food glorious food, wines and cigars, leather moccasins, stuffed wallets, 500 sunsets, drowning in wine, and sunrises drowned in each other, coffee and orange juice, croissants, limbs entwined on satin sheets and rose-colored emotions.

After a two-year honeymoon as I preferred to call it and a happy married life was your term, we finally settled down in my father’s mansion. I wanted to redecorate, you suddenly said, 'what's the point? Its seems fine to me, why spend ? I said I wanted to use the stuff we got back from Europe in the house, but you just stowed them away…'later', you said. When later, I asked, you smiled, and then went to office. Which office did you work in ? Where did you go every morning my love?

That evening I cooked a lobster risotto, followed by a rack of lamb, roasted to perfection and a layered mousse for you…you loved eating these earlier, I got the special recipe for these, but that night you didn’t touch it, and made me make you a paratha with pickles. I was surprised when even the next day and the many days after that you refused to eat anything I cooked for you, continental, Indian, Chinese. Nothing. You ate at the local diner near your office and came home day after day, evening after evening, then night after night. Where was your office?

When I asked you , you were distant and said you have a new role at work. I asked if you got promoted, if so then when did you join work? You gently kissed my forehead, and said I asked too many questions. Didn’t I know that you were always working? Did I?

I felt lonely, at that moment. What did I really know? Did you love me or was that just a figment of my hazy imagination? As you walked off you winked at me, my eyes filled with tears. You walked off to shower, change and snore. You snoring too was an invasive act…it shattered the peace of the slumber. But it’s so quiet now, silent, cool, dark green.

As the months passed, I lived in a state of semi-trance, semi-lucid, semi-passionate relationship with my mind. I knew that you cared and you loved me but were too busy. You were after all an Insurance agent. So many people to insure, so many things to follow-up.

Some where down the line I became complacent, satisfied and rolled along. Nothing was significant, nothing was life changing. On days when you were more reasonable and didn’t complain about every aspect of me and my lifestyle, and we would go watch some insipid movie or even go for a semi-picnic. No you didn’t brood, or ill treat me, but had become less stylish, less adventurous, more penny wise, more worried about me.

Those nights, when we made love, it was as if you were duty bound, and on the clock to do you duty and extracted no pleasure from it what so ever. Later , you would hold me close like before though and whisper that you were worried about our future, my future, if anything should happen to you.

You had never done this in the beginning. Then one morning, I remember, I told you,” why don’t you insure us, after all you are an Insurance agent my dear!” You held me close and said you thought about it but never wanted to ask me about it. Anyway, you will look into it that very day.

That evening, in spite of your sudden change of taste in food, I still baked you a wonderful cake, rich dark chocolate with a hazelnut filling. You came home early that day, looking  strangely elated, held me tight and said that you loved me.

You sniffed the air, asked if I had baked a cake? Yes, I had. You quickly freshened up, and after a long time we had tea together, cakes, sandwiches,  lovely Earl Grey Tea. You said you had insured us each a life insurance of 20 million each. Did I mind that you had taken the premium from my father’s settlement? No problem, I was just happy that you were happy. Anyway I was a millionaire by my father’s will, so a few million here and there would be just a drop in ocean. As I thought about my father, you explained lengthily about some clause in the policy. I didn’t pay much attention. I was very happy that you were with me and had loved my cake.

Many months passed, your good humour was like as before, but my mind still had that lovely satisfied rosy complacence. You came home late most nights but it was warm and comfortable, through spring, summer, monsoon & autumn. I loved you and loved you, hazily, lazily, stupidly, unquestioningly.

A few times on Sundays, I got phone calls for you, husky voiced, usually asking for you by name. I never asked you about those, but just passed on the fact that you had had a call. Your face hardened and eyes glinted, when I told you, but I didn’t question you. Till now I had forgotten about the phone calls. They were important…weren’t they my dear? Really important.

Then come Christmas, you brought us tickets to visit the north, stay in a log cabin, near the great lakes in the mountains, surrounded by the snow. Just the two of us. I was so thrilled. We stocked up on food, supplies and wine, warm clothes and off we came here. Even last week was so wonderful. And your new year surprise…just so wonderful.

But you are not here now, are you. It’s so cold and I am so lonely my dearest. Our life together keeps flashing by, through and through, in an unforgivable loop.

This lake we came to see, with a lonely picturesque pier, almost not there, but so there, when we walked out on it. The lake water, so still, dark green, so deep, glacial, frigid water, so old, so cold, reflecting the mountain, the blue crystal sky, the chandelier of the sun light, the deep green of the forest. Breathtakingly beautiful place. To die in.

You pushed me, hard, with sure momentum into the deep water. You knew so well, that I cannot swim. As I fell, I turned for help and looked at you. You stood there smiling your perfect teeth glistening, hands tucked in your pockets, as you said, ’well, one must live, insurance is a wonderful business, Living is everything, and living well is the greatest adventure, one must sacrifice the old and move in with the new…speaking of which my dear…good bye.’

My body has gone lax, the glow of sunlight has vanished from my shocked eyes, my heart is tired in the cold. The green algae strands, clutch at me from the deep abyss below.

Pulling me down where I do not want to go, but must go now. I will settle down, deep down there. My lungs filled with tears I cannot cry. But my head still runs the memory tape of the super market. Those rows of olive oil bottles, all glass, where then did you find the plastic bottle?

The End