Shorts: An IPKKND Collection

Fourteenth of February: Part 1

Every year, on the fourteenth of February, Payal awoke to the sound of her alarm. She would stir reluctantly, and then sit up in excitement before rousing her slumbering husband. He would blink at her before smiling.

It was always a day of excitement, their wedding anniversary.

On the other side of the house, Khushi would wake as sunlight crept across the floor of her bedroom. She was always the first to get up, dropping a quick kiss to her husband's forehead before rushing to the bathroom, eager to get downstairs.

Every year, the entire family stood in front of Devi Maiyaa, asking her to bless Payal and Aakash and preserve their marital bliss. Even Arnav made it downstairs, participating in the rituals to ask for a bright future for his brother, sister-in-law, and their entire family. The atmosphere would be joyful, punctuated with laughter as Mami cracked jokes and Mama rolled his eyes.

No one noticed that Khushi took slightly longer in her prayers than the others, that Arnav stood beside her with his head bowed until she was done, that they shared a small smile before turning to the family. Khushi shared everything with her Devi Maiyaa, of course her list of entreaties would be long.

Afterwards, Khushi would bounce around her Jiji and Jija, gently teasing them and handing them presents - a photo album one year, a tie and earrings the year after that, a candle-lit dinner some years later. And one year, a weeklong trip to the hotel where they'd spent their honeymoon, a chance to rekindle the warmth that had been lost by having two children in the space of three years.

Every year, there would be an afternoon spent with family and friends – good food and even better company. Their home would be bright and fragrant, decorated in bright lights and brighter flowers arranged in ever more elaborate ways. Di liked to outdo herself every time.

Arnav would bellow at the caterers, harass the decorators, and Khushi would calm him with a gentle touch to a shoulder, a caress to his cheek, the soft press of her fingers against his. He wanted everything to be perfect. He'd tainted their wedding day. He would not taint their anniversaries.

Every year, Aakash arranged for a private dinner – sometimes a candle-lit affair in one of Delhi's top restaurants, sometimes a private picnic under the stars. Some years they took their children with them – for what was the point in celebrating their marriage without the two stars that lit it up everyday? Some years they went alone, leaving Nani and Mami to corral the tornadoes – for what was marriage after children, if not a string of stolen, secret moments?

No one noticed that Khushi and Arnav disappeared after breakfast every year, claiming to have eaten lunch when they returned. There was so much to do and organize, a flurry of colour and chaos. Who cared if Chhote and Khushi-ji took a break? They worked for their families every day of the year.

Mami would concentrate her efforts on the party, wanting the world to know how happy her son and his wife are. She counted the presents eagerly, boasted to her friends about her angelic grandsons, and preened when they praised her happy home. Her son was happy. It was all she'd ever wanted.

No one noticed that Khushi carefully selected an outfit of blue and red to wear every year, that she decorated her wrists with blue and red bangles, and applied a blue and red bindi to her forehead. Shantivan's elder daughter-in-law was fond of bright colours – the brighter the better – and why not? They suited her personality to a T.

Mama couldn't always be there for his son, but he never forgot this special day. He would call from wherever he was in the world and congratulate Aakash, wishing him many more years of marital bliss. He would speak to his grandsons over video calls, teasing them and promising them presents, reminding them to be good, well behaved children for their parents.

No one thought it odd that, every year, Arnav and Khushi had dinner alone. It was Aakash and Payal's wedding anniversary, yes, but it was also Valentine's Day, a day of love. The family smiled at the thought of their Chhote giving into the commercialism of it all, arranging private dinners with his wife and lavishing her with presents. Marriage had changed their stubborn, arrogant son and turned him into a romantic.

They couldn't know that, every year, Khushi presented her husband with the small container of sindoor she kept near the mirror, and that he kissed her forehead tenderly before placing the red powder in the part of her hair. They would stand, still and silent, until one of them reached for the other, both trying to hide their tears.

Nani loved this day. It was a day of happiness, where both her grandsons celebrated their love. One celebrated his wedding anniversary and the other simply celebrated. Some years, they took their children and others they went alone. Chhote had the hardest time leaving them behind. He would hug Aarav, again and again, reassuring him that they would take him along if they could, but they would be returning too late and he had school the next day. Then he would turn his attention to his daughter, the laughing butterfly they'd named after both their mothers, spinning her around and kissing her and reminding her that Daddy loves her.

They couldn't know that, every year, Arnav and Khushi covertly packed a picnic lunch and drove to a garden. They sat on the white benches and ate as they asked for his mother's blessing, for her parent's blessing. They held hands and smiled at a tree that still had 'Arnav' carved into its trunk, and if either of them cried, the other silently wiped the tears away without comment. What was left to be said?

Di always visited at breakfast, making the short journey between her home and theirs in a car that Arnav sent over, laughing and teasing Aakash and Payal before cuddling their children. Her ordeal had left her barren but she found joy in her nephews and niece. Her Chhote and Khushi-ji didn't escape her attention. She bantered with her brother and watched him blush as she brought up his special plans for the night. He organized something special for her bhabi every year, and her husband helped him every step of the way. Aman was the kindest soul she'd ever met, her brother's manager and unlikely friend.

Every year, Arnav took his wife to eat under the stars. Sometimes it was the dhaba on the way to Nainital, sometimes it was a restaurant with outdoor seating. Once it was a river cruise. Dinner would always be followed by dessert – sugar free jalebi made by his Jalebi Rani. They would return home, kiss their children good night if they'd been forced to leave them behind, and retreat, at long last, to their sanctuary.

As they lay wrapped in a blanket and each other by their poolside, counting stars, no one knew that they weren't thinking of St Valentine at all.

"Happy Anniversary, Khushi," he would whisper.

"Happy Anniversary," she would reply.