Tea and Ketchup

By Annesha Ghosh

I entered the cafe to find you seated, at our favourite corner with its cute yellow sofa. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second - did I see a flicker? A sudden subconscious tension or discomfort in them? Did I feel the lump of your throat matching the tears in mine? Can really all of these happen in a fleeting second? Mostly not, I thought as I sat at the table diagonally opposite to you.

You still like your ketchup in a separate bowl. I chuckled secretly as I watched you cut the cutlet in exactly 6 pieces, each a neat rectangle, each of them, almost of the same size. I couldn't help but wonder secretly, whether the man laughing in front of you, gulping on the fish smothered with ketchup, knows how you like your tea. "Black, lightly brewed, with exactly half a teaspoon of honey", I ordered when the waiter came to me. A part of me felt your sudden alertness as you couldn't control noticing me through the corner of your eyes.

Yes, my habits haven't changed. 'Cause they were never mine alone, they were ours. I still wake up at an alarm that sounds like your favourite season, the monsoon. I like my tea the way you used to make. But I couldn't convince my wife that ketchup should always be in a separate bowl. I come to this cafe on the 13th of every month, knowing you'd be there, at our favourite corner with that little yellow sofa, smiling and eating with your man. I come here, knowing that you'd wait for me.

'Cause this is all we have left with us. All since the society decided that our worlds are and should be kept apart. The lucky 13th of every month, two dead souls, desperately kept alive by two cups of tea. Black, lightly brewed and exactly half a teaspoon of honey.

Ah, there's my wife coming, time to put the ketchup aside!

By Annesha Ghosh