‘Happy Birthday’, I wished, hoping I was doing the right thing.
Even if I wasn’t, I wasn’t corrected. Relaxing in the assumed right air, I waited wondering what to type on the hovering window of the messenger.
I didn’t want to make wishes that I knew would remain wishes. Not this time. Not ever again.
Choosing words carefully, I made an almost reverential wish. One about dreams, hopes, fears and finding love.
‘Thank you’, blinked on my screen.
‘What gift would you want?’. I typed ritualistically.
‘Get ready. Dinner and a drive. ‘
I took out the pen from my mouth. I had to purse up my lips and that isn’t best done with the lean finger of the pen held horizontally between clenched teeth.
‘Ok. I’ll wear the kurta and churi from the shop we liked.’ Favorite, I think. Girls in western wear was never a favorite.
‘Great. See you in an hour.’
I hear the vanishing sound when a person leaves.
Opening my cupboard, I looked for the black and blue kurta I had in mind. Inside it was placed a blue shawl. Taking it out carefully, I put it away for another day.
I do not know how many kilometers it is from here to there, but I do know that it cannot be covered in an hour.
I hope you had a good dinner. I hope she wore an elegant dress of your choice.
Happy birthday again.