Last year, Misbahji showed up at the door in a saree, insisting I take her out. This year, as we were preparing for bed, it was Maryam who barged in and demanded that I take my love, her dear mum, out. I tried explaining that we are both a bunch of old people, and that (her) Mummy is suffering from a back spasm and is unavailable for long drives and uncomfortable chairs. But before I could finish, Misbahji stood, hands on her hips, giving me ‘the stare’, asking me to speak for myself, and that she is not to be lumped in with those who remember the last Gandhi as Prime Minister. Fine. But what about Maryam? Do we simply leave her behind? The girl, raising her index finger, declared that she would be chaperoning us to ensure we had fun.
So, out we went, dressed up and be-perfumed, hoping to grab a drink and a bite. Then we discovered, much to our chagrin, that our presumption that only we were privy to the fact that it was Valentine’s Day was, let’s just say, misplaced, and every place we tried was either too crowded, too expensive, too loud, or too dark, and also because we had an underage party animal with us, some places were simply out of bounds. After driving around town, parking (and parking again) on a night like this, we finally ended up at ‘Badshah Pure Veg Since 1905’, simply because it was late, parking was available, and, as fate would have it, it was always Misbahji’s first choice, a choice we tried to veto until fate proved, yet again, that it is never wise to bet against the lady of the house.
We ordered (2 paav-bhaajis—one very spicy, for me, an SPDP, a plate of veg cutlets, mango milkshake with mango ice cream, chocolate ice cream, Badshahi falooda, and a bottle of water), ate, clicked a snap, and called for the bill. Then, Misbahji asked for another paav bhaaji, even after the kitchen had closed. I threw up my hands, but she gave me that look, and I sheepishly went to the kitchen, explained the lady’s desire to the waiter, and, miraculously, another plate appeared, even as the shutters were coming down. Misbahji got her paav bhaaji, the waiter got his tip, and I collected my brownie points on Valentine’s Day.
Now, as I drive back in a quiet car with both women soundly asleep, I wonder once again just what I have done to deserve this.
Tonight is Shab-e-Baraat, or Badi Raat, the night when Allah is believed to descend and write the destinies of His believers for the coming year based on their deeds. I did not know this until now. But looking at the two wonderful women who have graced my life—without me asking for, or indeed even expecting, such good fortune—in the past eighteen months, along with the two I am connected forever by blood to, Kymaia and Maa, even a non-believer like me must ponder the possibilities.
Maybe I did something right last year.
Maybe that is why I get to be this lucky today.
Maybe the next year is full of love.
Who knows? The future is pregnant with potential.
Good night. And happy Valentine’s from the luckiest man alive.
