Lifeline

“This is why I don’t believe in horoscopes. Remember what your dad’s friend said 43 years ago?”, flipping over the horoscope page in the magazine, he looked over his power glasses, struggling to hide those obvious crow’s paws with a poker face. “An early goodbye as per my star sign! I wish it happened in fact. I would be free from your teasing and this pestering left-side numbness,” avoiding eye contact, she gulped her second medicine of the day.

The old bungalow had a stagnant smell of medicines and old memories lingering in the place. The cracked wall didn't seem to give up anytime soon; over the years, it has been exposed only to the subtle art of holding things together, no matter what. The rusted name board at the door which said “Our World”, the jammed windows that refused to open, to the abandoned dusty stairway that led to the top floor, the space was surplus for this elderly couple to live, but much smaller to hold all the love they have for each other.

He adjusted his waist belt support to rise from the sofa, crouched over his cane to slowly pace towards the kitchen. He doesn’t remember how long it’s been, but one food that has never left their kitchen is the oats porridge. Making it the Nth time for them, his hands would still tremble while switching on the messy stove. Having a cook was never in his dream as he had promised to cook for her till he can. Except for the oats vessel and a coffee pot, the other vessels were untouched. Abandoned. Ignored. It was enough to make their world happy, having lived their life the way they wanted, having travelled all around, having had people around all the time - they had lived their lives to the fullest with content.

She was lying on her favourite chair waiting for her only meal which makes it her favourite for that one reason of who serves it. She could see him pacing slowly towards her from the kitchen. She recalled the day when he chose to do this for a lifetime, the day when he chose her over everything else. “I wish I could help you,” she said, staring at him. “As if you will, if you could,” he kept the bowl on the table looking at her eyes, weak and tired.

The water can outside the main door was given its secured place inside the kitchen as the caretaker, Devi, had come for her chores. Video calling kids abroad was a daily routine that started with Devi’s arrival as she set it up for them. There were countless times when the old couple had kept yelling at the top of their voice to the daughter who had left the call a long time back. Devi moved the old woman to the bed after bath and left as usual.

He combed her grey strands, struggled to tie it up with his weak hands, with her lying on the bed and was ready to enter his “home” which is never a place. One thing that he always wanted at the end of the day is to slide into her arms, to lie beside her, to feel the warmth and fall asleep feeling at his only “home”. He carefully moved her left arm, lay beside and wrapped himself with her arm, giving it that support. Having fallen asleep like this for decades now, hugging each other, the wrinkles on his body continues to spread into hers, completing lifelines that never end.