Still Water Run Deep

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He tenderly brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek. And she wiped a tear from his eye. The message on the cake was – ‘I am me because of you’. As they were cutting the cake the tender moments caught my attention. She, mid-way through the function proceeded to remind him of his BP medication. And he in turn cooed in her ears, “Be careful. If you dance any more, your feet will hurt.” In that moment, nothing else mattered.

Touching! After twenty five years, they were so much in love. She was a softer beauty, deepened with age. Her sunshine smile complemented the incredible softness of her eyes.  And he was a perfect combination of salt and pepper hair, exuding an air of comfort with exactly what was going around in that room.

Several dainty feet were groaning under the agony of high heels, intricate silks and heavy jewelry, desperately searching for respite. It was the twenty fifth anniversary celebration of a relative.  Since it was a silver jubilee function and most couples were…well beyond their prime, the music was soft and the setting mellow.

That set me wondering on how the gurgling, bubbling rivulet of romance at sixteen, transforms into deeper still waters after a few decades. And still waters run deep. Sure, candle light dinners, roses, chocolates and sipping champagne at sixteen are magical. Yet these images are spoon-fed by movies, serials and advertisements. And an over-dose of such illusion has its own pitfall. At sixteen the world is both, vivid and hazy. If my hubby had given me a rose at sixteen, I would have preserved the petals in some mushy book fluttering my eyelashes coyly. However today, if he returns home with a red rose in hand, I would burst out laughing doubting his sanity. If it is not a solitary red rose but an exquisite bouquet of orchids and lilies, I might even doubt ‘daal mein kuch kala hai’. Now you are thinking, ‘Seriously, God knows what women want. Poor guy! He is damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t’.

Relax. At the risk of sermonizing, I am simply trying to arrive at a point. Flowers and gifts, on occasions are most welcome. Yet on other days a cup of tea in bed is a better idea. Just an arm around the shoulders, a tight clasp of hands, or even a long silent walk can convey more that verbosity or poetry. Appreciation is desirable in actions but poetry? It would be so artificial. As romance matures and endures the test of time, it reaches another level where trust, faith and respect matter more than roses, chocolates or perfumes. A mature romance is beyond looks, beyond bad hair days, beyond puffy eyes, beyond mood swings and much much beyond cellulite. It is non- judgmental. It is possessive, yet it gives you the space to flourish and to blossom. It just lets you be.

On a personal note, the most touching act was, when my husband donated blood for my father’s operation. More so, because hubby dear is haemophobic and mere sight of blood results in a fainting spree. Flowers, roses and perfumes, none came within kissing distance of his gesture.

I absolutely do not agree when writers say that ‘Youth and all things youthful are overrated’. No they are not. Youth is magical. If it is overrated, it deserves to be. However, romance is timeless. It only appears in another dress. And as the evening twilight fades away, the sky is filled with stars. Stars which were invisible by the day.

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