Most Romantic Love Letters : Patch-up at Qutab Minar
Never in their wildest dreams could Qutab-Ud-Din or his successors have ever imagined while building, adding or renovating that great edifice of history - The Qutab Minar - that the structure would one day come to my help in riding over a martial tiff.
I and my wife had enough of each other that evening. We were aching to demonstrate our feelings in words and contorted expressions, but for the presence of my children and the prolonged stay of their friends at home, well past dinner.
Like a challenger on the street knocking on my door, she dared me come out of the house and face her. Taking the gauntlet and because we had to go somewhere I steered the car towards the floodlit Qutab Minar which is near and even visible from our housetop.
While I negotiated the turns she began the usual way. Her outburst was long and as I was about to reply, suddenly the magnificent to her stood in front of us in all its glory, towering over everything else.
In the jet-black background, it seemed to go up endlessly until it pierced the black sky. On the other side of the car was the moon. The pole moon, that had hung, listless through the clouds when we started from home, shone brightly.
Strung by sheer magic of the scene, I stopped the car. Involuntarily I leaned towards my wife to have a better look at it. She too seemed mesmerized by what she saw. Without realizing I kept my chin on her shoulder and in that moment found togetherness. Because she neither flinched nor said anything, it was clear we had reached a true. Though not a world was uttered, we knew the crisis was over.
I was wrong. A new kind of crisis replaces the original. As if an impulse, she looked over my shoulder and grimaced. Sure enough there was this cop breathing down my neck, demanding what the hell I thought I was doing. I started to explain but did not quite know how to describe what we had gone through.
Conscious of the other cars and people around in the parking lot ahead of us, I apprised him of our martial status and demanded, in return, as to why he should bother us. After all, the state had spent so much in lighting the Minar to enable people to come and appreciate the splendour.
Nothing would convince the man. His words - like a bad record - struck to the original demand, as if he never heard, what I had been saying. Soon another cop on a scooter and yet another with a horrible looking stengun appeared on the scene. The whole thing was turning into a nightmare and sickening.
As the cop turned to his superior on the scooter to relate in his crude manner the game we were trying to indulge in, my wife took over.
“Don’t you dare talk like that about us?” She thundered. “Do you think that we are here to neck and caress? I have a house as big as your silly sense with children running all over. You say one more word and I’ll come around and personally knock you I’ll sue you later for misbehaving.”
As if on cue, a car with headlights on swung from the front and it showed us in good light with my night dress and greying side bums and the lady’s hurriedly tucked-up hair, it was not difficult even for the Delhi cop to understand that we were past the age of caressing each other, that is. The agile cop was after money. But he caught the wrong mugs in the morality trap.
The noble cop on the scooter, disappointed a bit, reprimanded the junior for creating a scene with an elderly couple at 10 o’clock in the night. My wife started to object to the elderly epitaph. But I pressed her hand-gently. She smiled and let go.
In the moment of relief, I turned towards her and was shocked to hear myself saying, “O, how much I love you, love.” Sure enough we stayed a while. And necked.
Most Romantic Love Letters
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