Snapshots

Birthday

I took the 'cake' out of the oven and set it on the counter for it to simmer down. It couldn't really be called a cake, per se, because it contained almost none of the ingredients that made a cake, a cake. It was a confection I had been forced to invent in one of my random culinary experiments, since my husband was a complete fitness buff and wouldn't touch anything with added flavours or extra sugar with a ten foot pole. I was tired of seeing him cutting the cake and offering it to everyone else without eating a bite himself. So I'd come up with this completely organic, egg-flour-and-dry-fruits concoction that had passed his 'health' test, and tasted surprisingly good.

I put the required number of candles in the cake and took off my apron. The clock showed 11:45 pm on the 4th of November. "It's time!" I thought, excitedly, and started up the stairs to get the man of the hour.

I opened the door of the darkened bedroom and couldn't help smiling at the sight in front of me. My husband lay fast asleep on the bed, hugging my pillow to his chest, with his face buried in it. The poor man had been exhausted when he'd returned from a full day of practice and interviews earlier today, and he had to be up at 4:30 tomorrow for his flight to Rajkot, so I'd sent him to bed immediately after dinner. It also provided me the perfect opprtunity to set up his surprise.

I tiptoed to the edge of the bed and sat down beside his head, running my fingers gently through his hair. "Virat?" I called, lightly shaking his shoulder. "Wake up, baby." He barely stirred.

"Virat!" I tried again, shaking him harder. He groaned and rolled over. "Kya hua, Piku?" he asked, groggily, only half-awake. "Sone do na. Bahat thak gaya hoon."

"Acha?" I said, with a mischievous smile. "Abhi saari thakaan door kar deti hoon tumhari."

I straddled his waist, and lowered my body on his. Cupping his cheeks in my hands, I pressed my lips to his. Almost instantly, I felt his arms wrap around me, as he deepened the kiss. My fingers tangled in his hair, and we continued kissing till I heard the bedroom clock strike 12. I pulled away and sat up.

"Wow!" said Virat, breathing heavily. "What did I do to deserve this?"

I smiled. "You were born," I replied, and leaned down to peck his nose. "Happy Birthday, jaan!"

He caught hold of my waist, and pulled me down, and... well, it was a good ten minutes before we got downstairs.

"Come on!" I said, pulling on his hand. "I've got to show you something."

I led him to the kitchen where the cake sat on the table with ten candles arranged neatly on it, two on one side and eight on the other. I snapped a picture of Virat standing over the lit candles with a knife in his hand, and sent it to both our mothers.

"Blow out the candles, old man", I teased.

"Old man?" He scoffed. "So do I get to call you 'old woman' twelve days from now?"

I clicked my tongue. "I'll have you know that I will only be turning 26, while you, mister, are nearing the 30 year benchmark pretty fast. So you'll be the only old person around."

Virat stuck his tongue out at me, very maturely, and then blew out the candles. I sung my own rendition of the birthday song as he cut a piece, and we fed it to each other. I took a picture of Virat with his mussed hair and sleepy eyes, grinning dopily as I fed him a piece of cake, and posted it on my social media. My phone was immediately overcome with so many notifications, I had to turn off the vibration.

"Piku, this is delicious!" Virat complimented the improvised cake, and I knew he was telling the truth when he actually cut himself a second piece.