Aged graciously, the lady of the house was never satisfied with the chores. She wanted everything to be impeccably perfect. The shoes should be where they should. Not a grain of dirt should be seen anywhere. The curtains should be changed every week. Each sheet should be clean and blotless.

The house gave a hearty welcome to Mr. Sethi with a very heady fragrance coming from the agarbattis impregnating the atmosphere with a sense of Déjà vu. The lentils made their way to the chimney through the form of vapors. Mr. Sethi could smell the dinner on entering his room. Not a colorful home, but a home is a home. On the far end, he looked at the iron balti (tub) waiting for him with hot frolic bubbles sparkling on the top. Yup, the lady had put some remedial soap in the water for the lord of the house to get refreshed. A crisp, clean, checks-printed towel hung like an owl on the wall, waiting to be infringed. The mirror reflected the other side of the wall, yellow and crusty. A pale 60 watt bulb gave a sepia stroke on the rustic canvas of the bathroom.

Mr. Sethi went inside and came out with a mug full of hot water along with an old spice shaving tube, an iron razor and a pack of 7’o clock blades. He sat on the bed with a small mirror standing precariously on the curvy bed. With enough foam on his face, Mr Sethi looked at the mirror, opened his mouth and looked at his teeth. A pale gold tooth was glistening along with the off-white teeth, much like his off-colored jokes. He christened himself and went inside to bathe.

As Mr. Sethi came out, the bathroom mirror was vaporized with crystals scurrying down the aisle frantically. The floor with squares all over showed the foam getting thinner by the moment. The smell of hamam soap from Mr. Sethi’s body made the smell of agarbattis feeble. He threw the towel in ‘to-be-washed’ balti, which was Mrs. Sethi’s idea. Made life easier. The bed sheet had been changed while he was bathing, and the tape had been turned on. An old wooden piece of tape-recorder which Mrs. Sethi brought along with her in this house. The cassette was playing O.P.Nayyar’s golden numbers. Mr. Sethi loved his songs. His music. So much so that he played this song on every festivity, no matter if they were pensive, or morose.

“Kyaa baat hai, aaj aate hi shave kar li jee?” asked Mrs. Sethi.

“Tumne bhi Nayyar saab ke gaane lagake hume magn kar diya Mohini ji”, came Mr. Sethi's reply.

The dinner was spread across the big wooden table. It complemented the wooden structure of the house. Wooden staircase, wooden floors, wooden roof, wooden armchair, wooden bed. Everything was wooden except their relationship.

Mr. Sethi opened the lid of one utencil, and Mrs. Sethi added, “Daal.” He opened another and she said, “Aapki pasandida, Palak paneer.” He loved her revealing the dish before he could open the lid. Then he quickly opened the lid of another dish and she surmounted, “Gajjar ka halwa.” He smiled at her and opened another lid. She kept mum this time. He was looking at her face, waiting for her comment. As he saw curd, he exclaimed, “Isme kheere aur tamatar kyu daal diye? Mujhe pasand nahi hai, tumhe pata hai naa?”

“Aapke paet ke liye acha hai.”

While he helped himself, she came to him and sat beside him. He ignored her and crumpled the chapatti. She took his plate and said, “Kaise baccho ki tarah roti todte ho. Aao, main khila doon aaj.” “Are tumhare haath se khaaunga to tab kya baccha nahi kehelwaunga?” “Nahi, yaha kaun hai tumhe baccha kehne wala.”

As they finished feeding each other, he took a sigh and went to the room. She went to the corner of the room where the wooden chest was kept. On it was engraved with ivory, ‘Shyam Lal Sethi’. She smiled and opened the chest and took out something. He was seeing her do that and asked, “Trunk se kya nikaal rahi ho?” She answered, “Mahino ki mehnet.”

As he looked at the green and blue cardigan, his eyes gleamed. She was looking at his ex-pressions. He was really touched. “Kya design hai sweater ka, wah ji wah. Mohini ji, aapne to hamara dil jeet liya.” As he said that, he went closer to her and gave the cardigan. She said, “Haath to uthao.” He opened his hands and she helped him wear the cardigan. She ran her fingers through the cardigan, on his chest, to feel the texture, to feel him. When he was about to take it off, she said, “pehne rakho, acha lag raha hai.”

“Arre ab kaun ayega mujhe dekhne?”

“Main to hoon yaha.”

He then kissed her forehead and hugged her. They kept mum for a moment until he said, “Main bhi tumhare liye kuch laaya hoon.” She looked at his eyes. He searched for something in his pockets and brought forward a Dairy Milk Chocolate. She just heaved her chest and exclaimed, “Chocolate? Tumne to aaj dil khush kar diya.”

They talked for a long spell that night. After all it wasn’t an ordinary night. It was the night when they married, 50 years back.