Bandra-Churchgate Slow!

"Look at your nails!" she complained.

"How the fuck am I supposed to eat Biryani with a spoon?" I expressed my displeasure.

"Stop yelling at me," she demanded.

We ate in silence and stood up to leave.

She wrapped her arm around mine.

I twitched.

I pulled my hand away.

"You hardly spend time with me these days, and now you're pissed off because I whined about your curry filled nails?" she grumbled.

(When I first took up this job, I wondered what it felt like to go on dates during the day.

Not that I've never been on dates during the day but getting off the night shift at 5 am on a Saturday morning and being date-ready wasn't my thing.)

"I am busy with work on most days, be happy I am at least doing this," I yawned.

"I am concerned about your health. You can easily find better jobs," she suggested.

I didn't reply. I bought two tickets to Bandra and found a place to sit on the ever-bustling Andheri station.

(We used to spend most of our weekends at Bandstand, and I used to read out my poems to her and watch the sun fade away into the Arabian sea. We were 21 then.)

"If this is how it will be then don't be surprised if I bail out of this relationship," she cautioned.

"Good. Bailout now only. Find someone who doesn't work nightshifts and..." the local arrived.

I was cut off as she held my hand and pulled me into a compartment.

We argued all through our journey.

She kept complaining about, 'How things were and how things changed.'

I defended my arguments by saying, "We aren't 21 anymore, baby!"

I stood up as the Churchgate bound local left Khar.

"Aren't you coming?" I asked.

"This isn't working out," I heard her voice faint as the train reached Bandra.

I hopped down; commuters got in and off.

She was going home.

(She lived in Dadar. I've been to her place a few times. We were 23 then)

I struggled to remember the correct address as my cab reached Dadar.

There was no way I could reach her home before her.

I took a deep breath and knocked on their door.

She opened the door.

"Can I talk to your parents?" I stared into her bright eyes.

"About?"

"Our marriage."