The Coffee

By Sourav Choudhury

The warm afternoon had passed, and it was now raining cats and dogs. Liz lay on her back in her big cozy armchair in the balcony of her two-bedroom flat at Park Street and watched the rain. The wind chime above her head was tinkling continuously, slowly at times and at times haphazardly, with complete disregard to melody, just like her mood and thoughts. Yes, the rain did soothe her down a bit but not enough. She wondered if she should listen to some music. Hemanta would be perfect, but she had left her phone in the kitchen and that is where Raj was right now. She could hear the coffee grinder running. Maybe she was better off without music for now. She adjusted her pillow to a more comfortable position and rested her arms on her chest. As random thoughts travelled though her mind, she remembered a piece of conversation from her childhood. Her father had travelled the whole world and it was he who told her that if it was too hot during the day, it was bound to rain later - something common to the equatorial places.

Meanwhile as Liz had correctly guessed, her husband Raj was in the kitchen making a cup of coffee – black with a hint of sugar. He did not bother asking Liz if she wanted some. They had hardly spoken to each other in the last couple of days. After the big fight, for a few days it was less talking and now it was no talking at all. Raj, 25, was a software engineer in one of the MNCs and Liz was a kindergarten teacher in one of the neighboring institutions. She was 23.

It was a silly and trivial matter on which they had fought and if I recall correctly, it was on a similar rainy and wet afternoon. The matter was small, perhaps worthy of neglect by other similar couples but for Liz and Raj, it was a pretty big deal. Both, enveloped in their huge egos, had discussed and had hot words exchanged and fought and this was the outcome – a no speaking policy.

It was not like this a year ago when they had married. A model couple, everybody would say. They had met through a common friend and had hit it off instantly. Was it work-pressure or changing times, I do not know. What I do know is that both of them were uncomfortable in this situation. Both wanted earnestly for the other to make a move, say the word “SORRY” but were not comfortable in making the move themselves. Ego is a terrible, terrible thing. We all have felt it. Maybe we were strong enough to resist its temptation, maybe we were not. The sweet voice inside us which makes us do all good and right, gets suddenly extinguished and replaced by a sinister, darker and more powerful and crass voice – stopping us from doing things we really want, things which might give us peace in the long run. Not only does it kill the existing voice but assures us that it was our friend and that it had our best interests in its heart. Fools!

Coffee in hand, Raj stood at the entrance of the balcony. He took a tiny sip and looked at his sleeping wife. Liz had never realized when she had dozed off. The rain was less intense now but it was pouring on her feet. Liz had her feet up on the balcony edge and a peaceful kind of look on her face as she slept. After a hard day’s work, she was tired.

Theirs was a covered balcony. The open spaces could be covered by drawing the covers. Raj noticed his lovely wife’s face and was suddenly jealous of the rain touching his wife. She was extremely fair, unlike Raj. Thin, perfectly set eyebrows, beautiful blue eyes, cheeks which turned red when she blushed and dimples when she smiled. When Raj had seen her for the first time, he had thought of her as a real Barbie Doll. The same thought passed his mind again and he blushed.

He took another sip and went forward and drew the covers, instantly barring the rain from touching his wife. He looked out again and realized how lucky he was to have her. He loved her.

He tiptoed back to the kitchen, opened the cabinet and produced two more cups. He had a smile on his face as he switched on the gas for the second time that evening.

By Sourav Choudhury