The love taken for granted.

Her, her ,her,..him.

Scooping in the ten-minutes taken milk tea, I deem over the schedules of my day. In an attempt to please the Divine, she took in a many responsibilities, deliberately forcing herself to not click/type/look on things that can be under the subcategory of Fahisha. So now there is a quest, a cant-wait, and a hurriedness in fulfilling the chores; the morning duties accelerated and people kept happy so that she may go surreal in that ocean, of calmness, of happiness, of The Kalam and Khaleeelullah.

In this cute ruckus, there is a figure, unwavering in fulfilling the needs of the different characters in the movie. The chappathi-nutella rolla goes in straight in aluminium foil, whereas the puri-egg omelette in tiffin- never forgotten to wipe its surface off the excess water, lest it should wet the young bag to worry. The easy way crops that grow in the fields can be turned into a yummm-yummm-yummm, given the deadline be anything. the groceries dont go wasted, there is nothing that stays forgotten- “Whats the name of his daughter-in-law’s sister’s husband”y questions can receive the family lineage, phone number and perhaps the name of the school they attended.

You must be thinking that this is paid, that there is some material credit being expected, that they go on leave at times. Now who would do the ‘’phir se?!!!”  and “you-never-listen-to-my-advice!” and be told, “Nooo-Just-a-minute-moooooreee!”?

As I talk, there is a schedule being planned, to decide the crops on the next meal.
And I watch her, being uneasy when she sees the foot of her husband uncovered in the Land of Nod; upon “Assalamu alaikum warahmatullaah”, she gets up and put the woollen comfort on his legs slowwwwly, because she recalls(and never forgets) last time when she did it in a thud and hated being the one who made him a monster-who-woke-up-from-a-bad-dream.

Virtuous wife. Mother. Love.