My Man

Why do I love the man that I love? Because, he ran after that Sikh man clad in a half-sleeve shirt in the foggy, foggy nights of the wintry season that was. While I swerved the car into a calmer and lonely spot, my man, he navigated the honking cars and the twinkling headlights to find that Sikh man. I lost my man in the rear-view mirror. But I had lost that Sikh man five minutes before.

As that Sikh man with his trove of incense sticks had approached us, I had whipped out a tenner in a chronic demonstration of magnanimity. But that Sikh man had thwarted my gesture in a sweeping statement that made me stop breathing for a second, but only for a second. He said but didi, I will not accept your charity, buy instead some of my incense sticks. But how could I part with my bunch of tenners when I had others to hand them out to? I needed a second to think! But that Sikh man had handed over a box of sticks, taken the tenner and moved on swiftly while the signal stayed a searing scarlet. My face crumpled.

And amidst my heaving sobs that had eyes from without fixated within (but could they really see into me?) my man, he took a deep breath, asked me to wait for him at the corner, turned, opened the door, and walked out purposefully. I turned and waited in my calm, lonely spot. Headlights whizzed by, and the night sky pressed heavy onto my heart. I waited in anticipation. What might happen? Were more incense sticks destined to exchange hands? Or were they to stay firm in search of a more wanting home? What would I do with them anyway? Maybe part with them as an exotic souvenir? Maybe never light them and forget their purpose entirely? Or was the night sky in favour of that Sikh man? Was he going to end the day with a bolt from the vault? Was he finally going to buy himself some warmth? Or was he too far away already to be found in the crowded, chaotic confusion that surrounded?

My heart was beating, it was impatient. I peered into the rear-view mirror again and I spotted him, my man. He was walking towards my parking lights, he had seen me. But I couldn’t understand what his gait possibly communicated. Incense sticks? That Sikh man? Who won? Who lost? Was any of this really about that?

He opened the car door and slipped in. Handed me packs and packs of incense sticks. Rubbed his hands, it was freezing. I smiled. It was really about this. This very moment that melted my heavy, beating heart in a sweeping show of serendipity. I had my man beside me, and I wanted to stay just a while longer. Forever ,if possible with this kind, loving man that he is. I started the car.

The night sky was on my side.