I am over fifty now and this is the time of the year I dread the most. I grow a wee more bald scratching my head. Why? - trying to figure out what to gift my wife on the Valentine day.
When my wife saw my plight, this annual ritual of scratching my head, she realised what was bothering me and quietly slipped away. Numerous Valentine days have gone by and my wife had received numerous gifts from me. I was now at my wit's end trying my best to figure out what to gift her this time.
Over the years I have gifted her with a lot of things. It started with flowers during our courtship. Then came the chocolates, poetry books and candle light dinners. After marriage it was more expensive gift she expected; a gold chain, a diamond ring, then a matching pair of diamond earrings, a kanjeevaram sari costing a bomb, an encyclopaedia comprising of thirty two volumes and then there were the trips to Andaman Islands, Leh, Mount Abu.
‘What next?' was the question that haunts me just before each Valentine Day.
‘What would you like this time?’ Unable to figure out, I finally decided to ask her.
‘Just nothing, dear,’ came the reply, accompanied by a look that seemed to ask, have you run out of ideas? - Each year I would ask the same question and get the same reply and the look.
'What do you think has been the best Valentine gift that you have got till date?' I tried again.
“You have been wonderful all along, do I need to say that and the gifts have all been so nice, I just can tell you which was the best or the worst’, came a very diplomatic answer I must say.
Prodding and pushing could not make any headway as far as deciphering her mind was concerned.
‘Darling, I just want you to give it a thought and I will ask you again after ten minutes,’ I said, and made a quick exit.
Ten minutes later I was back. ‘Yes! Now tell me what was the best gift you've got from me and I don’t want the same reply,' I said.
‘You remember, 1990, Valentine Day?’
I remembered the year 1990. I was posted at Bangalore. On the Valentine Day morning we drove to Satya Sai Baba's abode at Whitefield, on the out skirts of Bangalore. It was a very memorable drive, we spent the morning there with the Baba. After the spiritual exercise, we got practical and on our way back, bought a lot of vegetables from the road side vendors. The cool breeze and the clear road with little or no traffic made us the trip memorable.
It was also on that day that we went out to a nice restaurant and had a romantic, candle light dinner. It was also on that day her first middle appeared in a leading news paper. The day was memorable on many counts and one reason was the kanjeevaram silk sari I bought for her. It is the most expensive sari that she has till date. She never trusted my choice, but still I dared to buy one of my choice. Fortunately the sari went donw well with by her.
‘Is it the sari?’ I tried again. She shook her head in the negative.
‘ … then is it the candle light dinner?’ It was a no, again.
‘…….must be the trip to Whitefield and the darshan?’
'I had enjoyed that trip', she spoke of it fondly, 'but it too wasn’t the best gift', she said.
‘ …. then is it the middle..?’
‘Ya! That’s it, the best gift you have given me till date.’
‘Is that so……..?’ I was very surprised.
The brain raced back and unleashed memories of those days. A friend of hers had told her that the ultimate test of a writer was in writing middles. An entire story in about 500 words to keep the reader tied down in rapt attention was indeed a challenge. When she disclosed that to me, I got down to collecting over 50 middles from the newspaper she wanted to write for. I made a booklet out of the cutting, analysed them and made a detailed study of the technique adopted in each, and made an eloborate summary. It took me a long time. Fortunately, the first middle she wrote for the daily was accepted and published on Valentine Day.
I guess that was the best gift for a writer. She had come out with flying colours. She had proved to herself that she was good and owed a lot to me for that. But the credit should rightfully go to the editor, I thought.
My wife is a much published writer today and has written a lot, she has been writing for a long time now. Many books written by her have been dedicated to me for my support and blah blah blah…., but that middle on Valentine Day has a special place in her heart, the credit for which she has conferred on me.
Will I be able to surpass that gift? I wonder.
Getting a good publisher for her new novel I guess could only surpass the middle on Valentine day.
Don’t you tell her -I am on the prowl now. Can I time it with Valentine Day?
Close
dear g-madhuri,
thank you very much for reading my blog. sorry for delay in replying. i also hope i can give her the gift before the next valentine.
happyheart
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Wowwwwwwwwwww. So romantic man. I loved all the gifts you gave her. So nice na.
Hope you got her the publisher for her book. A very nice post. Loved it through out.
Cheers,
Madhuri
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Dear idlemind,
Thanks for your good wishes.
happyheart
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Dear Dawn n dew,
What a beautiful name you've chosen? my compliments for that. Yes, I believe that behind every successful woman stands a man just as the reverse is true. WIsh you all the best in every endeavour.
happyheart
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I wish your prowess a very good luck ... keep working your way up!!
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I just remember what all my husband did for me to make each and every one of my effort a success, and if not success, to sustain me in failure. Starting just after the marriage, we always made our way to the American centre library or British Council Library at the weekends. Whatever I have achieved so far, whatever failure I sustained and trod ahead till now is all because of blah, blah, blah......(no end please). You people are really gentlemen!
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Thanks BigMojo!
You are absolutely right. It is the little things that make the difference. Thanks for yuor comments.
happyheart
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That was very neat. It is the little things that make the biggest impression, isn't it? :-)) I loved it.
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great blog.
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Dear Shamoli,
I am touched and humbled by your kind words. Thank you for gracing my space.
happyheart
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