Naughty Mrs. Latha

Mrs. Latha + image:

Mrs. Latha + image:


Mrs. Latha lived with her husband of thirty five years. She remained a conventionally happily married woman for about twelve of those and the rest were spent in companionable silent treatment, with her husband. Companionable because it happened to be a mutually acceptable erosion of words that gradually emptied their exchanges.

The silent treatment was put to rest when there was company, which was not too often. And neither member of the couple, who had slowly plodded towards their thirty fifth wedding anniversary had many friends.

The couple lived in a rundown apartment building that housed twenty four of the plainest two bedroom flats. The building itself occupied a small plot on the plainest of lanes in the plainest part of town. Mrs. Latha and her husband were the only couple who had never shifted out of the building after having shifted in.

On the night before Mrs. Latha and her husband’s thirty fifth wedding anniversary, he placed a small note on the table that simply read, Happy 32nd Anniversary. As he walked away from the table, he laid his hand on her shoulder for just the barest of a second and proceeded towards his bedroom.

They had stopped sharing a bedroom since their twenty second year of marriage. It was their gift to each other. The space and peace that came with this separation of sorts was cherished with equal feeling by both.

Mrs. Latha cleaned up the dinner table and walked to her bedroom. She lay on the bed and began feeling a deep sort of hurt. She closed her eyes and tried to figure out what was making her feel this way. He forgot and she was surprised at why that would bother her and then realised, he had never forgotten a birthday or an anniversary, ever before.

She very fairly accepted and participated in the detached lack of affection between them. But she would demand that he factor in the practical, literal space that they took up in each other’s life. I remember. Why can’t he?

And she took out a notebook, a pen and sat down on the bed. She placed a pillow on her lap, the notebook on the pillow and began to write to her husband of thirty five years. She used to write to him in those first twelve years of marriage. She used to write lovely little poems and couplets. She used to write naughty little things too. Tonight she decided to write him a naughty little thing.

She worked on it for about two and a half hours and then slipped the note under his door and walked back to her room.

Around five thirty, the next morning, Mrs. Latha’s husband woke up, put on his spectacles and noticed a note on his floor. It lay by the door from where he picked it up and began reading.

Remember when we did it
For the very first time

Remember how you felt?
I do

I remember how I felt
What I was wearing
What you were wearing
How you smelled
What I did
What you said
How we moved
How loud you were

Remember where we were?
I do

I remember where we were
Where we lay
Where you bit me
Where I bruised you
Where you kissed me
Where I wanted you to kiss me

Remember when we did it
For the very first time

I do

It was thirty five years ago
To the day
On the day of our wedding
To the day


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