I loved to laze around in bed in the mornings, especially weekends. There’s nothing like the feeling of coziness you get when curled beneath your favourite blanket - with someone special. That ineffable sense of comfort and security.
She often spoilt it for me by waking up on time. But then, I enjoyed watching her when she stepped out after a shower. Wet, pure, pristine, fresh. Just like the morning dew. That’s when she looked herself. Raw. Sans jewellery, sans makeup.
She never dried herself completely with the towel, leaving little beads of water all over her – the little twinkles that could not match the ones in her eyes. She would drape the sari deftly with her nimble fingers and throw the pallu over her shoulder. It’d then cling to her - tracing a shapely outline. And that heady smell of jasmine ittar…it would hang in the air, driving me crazy. She’d even hum a few lines of her favourite songs sometimes. I always told her that she was a tease.
I would wait for her to let down the towel wrapped on her head and see her long wavy tresses unfold carelessly. She’d attempt to pat it dry with the towel – all her hair brought together to one side, head cocked at an angle, eyes closed. Or she’d pass her fingers through her hair and try to gently free the tangles. She knew that I liked to feel her moist hair on my palm. Moist, not dripping wet. If she was in one of her playful moods, she’d keep it wet and shake off the excess water onto my face, ruining my repose.
And then I’d use that as an excuse to pounce upon her and hold her tightly at the waist. That was her spot – her area of heightened sensitivity. She’d struggle hard to release herself, knowing fully well that she was no match for my strength. That never stopped her from trying, though. And soon enough she’d relax. Surrender. And then I’d finally get my way and we’d nestle under the blanket. Well, atleast for a little while. Those lazy mornings…
I looked around at my bed now. The right side – bare, unslept, untouched, cold. She drove me crazy then. And now, her memories. I always told her that she was a tease.
P.S. I realize that it’s easier for me to think of a story, than an apt title!