The moment she entered the car and sat down beside me, I sensed the distinctive aroma of her signature perfume – soft, relaxing aroma of scented geraniums, a delightful leafy rose fragrance, not too heady, a hint of spice, subtle yet alluring – a clean, exhilarating and utterly unique fragrance, an everlasting fragrance etched deep within me forever.
She kept the wet umbrella near her feet, smoothed her hair with her hands, turned towards me and said, “Thanks.”
I changed gears, set the car into motion, and asked her, “Where shall I drop you?”
“Where are you going?” she countered.
“Sion” I said.
“Great. You can drop me on the way,” she said, “I live near Matunga”.
“You live in Mumbai? You’ve come back?” I queried with a hint of surprise in my voice.
“Yes.” She replied.
“Oh! A flat in Matunga! Successful NRI returning to one’s roots, is it? He must be a head honcho in some MNC…” I giggled.
“I’ve come back alone!” she replied with an emotionless face.
“Alone?”
“Yes. We broke up. My marriage didn't work out.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“You married?” she asked.
“No,” I answered.
“Because of me?”
“I don’t know.”
“They told me you were very upset.”
“They?”
“My parents.”
“Oh.”
“Tell me, what could I do? I couldn't marry both of you, could I? I had to make a choice.”
“And you made your choice – you chose him!”
“Yes.”
“The wrong choice?”
“Maybe…”
For a little while we drove in silence, and then suddenly out of the blue she said, “I wish I had married you…maybe things would have worked out much better.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Yes, maybe I really made the wrong choice,” she said wistfully.
I didn't say anything.
“How about you?” she asked, “Any plans to get married?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
We drove in silence.
“Hey, I’ll get off here,” she suddenly said.
“Here?” I said slowing down the car and steering left towards the footpath.
“That’s where I stay,” she said pointing to a building, “Working Women's Hostel.”
“Working Women’s Hostel?”
“Yes. Room number seven. Easy to remember – lucky seven,” she said, opening the door of the car, “Why don’t you come in for a cup of coffee?”
“Thanks. Not now. I've an appointment.”
“Okay. Maybe sometime later?”
“Maybe.”
“Bye. And thanks for the ride.”
“You’re most welcome.”
She got out of the car, closed the door, gave me a smile and wave of thanks, turned around and walked away from my life once more. But the lingering fragrance of her enchanting perfume remained with me as I drove on to my rendezvous.
My fiancee was waiting for me at Sion.
“Hey,” my fiancée said, sniffing the air in the car, “What a lovely fragrance. A feminine perfume?”
“Malvaloca,” I said.
“Malvaloca?”
“It’s a perfume made from scented geraniums.”
“Wow! So you’re two timing me, is it? Giving rides to ravishing beauties?”
“Maybe,” I laughed.
I drove the car to Marine Drive, stopped the car by the seaside, opened the windows to let in the fresh sea breeze, and let it blow away all traces of the perfumed fragrance.
Then, I took my fiances soft hands in mine, looked into her eyes and told her everything. She just smiled back at me and with a dazzling spark in her eyes told me "It doesn't matter what your past was, what matters to me is your present and future!"
P.S: The story is a piece of fiction resemblance to any person dead or alive is just purely coincidental.
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-Aditya Kasar (AK)
Well that was a good choice.
ReplyDeleteNever let someone be a priority when you were an option to them :)
+To Me It Matters+
Hey Arpad Thanks for the reply
Delete