Bade Acche Lagte Hain | MaNan

Likhe Jo Khatt Tujhe.

12th December, 1995.

Lucknow.

Drumming the barrel of the fountain pen on his forehead, Manik concentrated hard to find appropriate words for writing a letter to his beloved wife. He didn't know it was that much of a meal. He just didn't understand what to start with. He had brought beautiful handmade sheets from the market but what about the content.

'Nandini', he thought to start with her name but stopped. It looks formal and a personal endearment will sound much better.

'Dear Nandini'? Nah! He isn't writing a letter to his friend in school.

'My Dear Nandini'? Tch! It doesn't click.

Half an hour later, he was irritated. He knew it was a bad idea but he wanted to try. He just didn't know why? Perhaps, to make her happy. But with the current scenario, it's better to drop the idea. He is going to call her tomorrow, it's Sunday. More than a week has passed and he hasn't heard her voice. Tomorrow he has to talk to her or he will go insane. Poor Manas becomes the bearer of his irrational behaviour during morning hours, when he is late or when he doesn't gets his tea, but keeping it up quietly.

"What are you doing to me biwi sahiba?" He murmured to himself in wonder and his eyes flared in happiness. 'Biwi sahiba'! That sounds perfect and intimate. And then he wrote what his heart said, uninhibitedly, nonchalant to the feeling of being judged by her. There was nothing he had, to hide from his wife. She is his soul mate. She has to know the language of his heart that is already her's.

"Bhai, come outside now. It's been an hour. I've got the food from uncle's. Match is going to begin and you don't want to miss the beginning."

Manik put the pen down with a satisfied grin and looked up hearing Manas' impatient voice from the living room.

"Coming." He shouted back and packed everything, letting the dark blue ink on the letter to air dry. He has put the best of his efforts to write a letter with proper handwriting. His only reward will be her smile and that is just what he desire.

Back in the living room, Manik saw the father-son duo sitting around the wooden chabudai dining table they had recently bought, huddled in their respective blankets, their eyes glued over the television screen as the toss was going on between India & Pakistan. Probably the only match he watched. This match is just not a match, it's an emotion.

Unlike his brother and father, he didn't have a craze for cricket or action movies, rather he preferred soft soulful music, any day, any time.

Serving the dinner from the tiffin in their respective plates he reminded them about the food. Prakash began eating. "Yayy!" Manas hooted as India won the toss. Manik shook his head at his brother who in moments like these, turns into a child. Food was the last thing that will interest him today.

"It's just a toss Manas. Let the team win the match." He said and gestured him to start eating.

"India will only win bhai. I have got the crackers already." Manas stated convincingly but his smile dimmed seeing the food. Eggplant is boring, and with the match going on, he craved for some tasty snacks such as fritters to enjoy with or Palak-paneer for dinner, that he absolutely loved when cooked by his bhabhi.

His bhabhi! If she would've been here, he would've gotten his demand fulfilled. She would've done that with a smile. Even if Manik sticked to paranthas for breakfast, he was served with something different and yummy in the morning. That just makes his day.

Prakash glanced at him and sighed. He knew his son's likes and dislikes. "You could've asked Renu to cook something else for you. She wouldn't have denied." Prakash said softly and Manas nodded.