“The Jasmine Veil”

 

After nearly thirty-five years, they met again. Their hair had turned white, their faces bore the lines of time, but the recognition in their eyes was still fresh. He remembered their last meeting—Nehru Park. She had jasmine flowers braided into her hair and was sitting close to him. Pretending to smell the braid, he had gently kissed her cheek.

“Move away! What do you think you’re doing? We’re not even married yet,” she had snapped.

“So when will you ask your father? It’s been a year since I got the job.”

“My father won’t marry his daughter to a boy living in a rented house.”

“So are we just going to stay like this?”

“I’m trying for a government job. Once I get it, I’ll tell Papa—I want to marry a smart, slightly foolish, but miserly boy. With both our salaries, we’ll manage the household. I’m sure he won’t refuse.”

“Miserly, me?”

“Of course! You bought your girlfriend a 65-paise first-row ticket at Chanakya cinema, one rupee popcorn, and a single cup of coffee for both. What a Romeo! By the way, did you ask your parents?”

“Who refuses a cow that gives milk?”

She had slapped his back hard.

“Ow! You hit so hard!”

“Better learn to say ‘wife ji’ now.”

“Meaning you’ll hit me even after marriage?”

“Yes, but with a rolling pin.”

After that, she disappeared. Later, he heard she had joined a government office in Mumbai and got married. He wasn’t a Devdas. He married the girl his mother had chosen.

“How are you?” he asked.

She replied, “You’re not angry with me, are you? My father found out about us. He plotted to separate us. My mother made me swear. You weren’t around either. I had no choice but to obey.”

“What did your husband do?”

“He’s no longer alive. He held a high post in a big company but drowned in alcohol and gambling. He became a demon when drunk, venting all his rage on me. He passed away within a few years. My son followed his path. Alcohol took him too. Now, after retirement, I may have to go to an old age home. Everyone has their fate. What about you?”

“I was angry when I heard about your marriage. But my mother explained life is like that. I married her choice. Once, after marriage, I took my wife to Odion cinema and bought balcony tickets for ‘Maine Pyar Kiya.’” A wistful smile floated on his face.

“Wow! Lucky woman—65-paise ticket for the girlfriend, balcony for the wife!” she teased, biting her tongue.

His eyes fell on a vendor selling jasmine braids. He thought—those white flowers would look lovely in her white hair. He paused and asked, “Would you like a braid?”

“Yes, buy it! For your wife. I like jasmine braids too.”

He bought two. Handed one to her.

She said, “I tried hard to forget you, but couldn’t. After they were gone, only your memories remained. Sometimes I felt you were still waiting for me. Sometimes I imagined you had a family. I tried to convince myself. When your memory overwhelmed me, I’d buy a jasmine braid, lock my room, decorate my hair, stand before the mirror and cry… I’ll cry today too.”

They stood silent for a few moments. Then her bus arrived, and she left.

Later, he looked at the jasmine braid in his hand. Despite his wife’s wishes, he had never bought one for her. And today… a storm of thoughts rose in his mind. Before marriage, his wife must have dreamed of a rainbow-colored world. But in reality, she spent her life struggling to run the household on his modest salary. She buried all her desires. Never asked for anything. Never insisted. He remembered—many times, after packing tiffin for him and the children, no vegetables were left. When he asked, “No sabzi for you?” she’d say, “I’ll manage.” Often, she’d eat roti with pickle or salt and chili.

She loved him with body and soul. But what had he given in return? Had he ever truly loved her from the heart? He made a decision—to forget everything and begin life anew. He went home and, with his own hands, adorned his wife’s white hair with a jasmine braid.