Pilby is Pilby...

Pilby has finally returned from his expedition to the south of the world. And as usual, I’m so jealous of him! I wish I could do something so adventurous as him- be a wild-life photographer! But well, some wishes are supposed to accompany you as a constant to your deathbed and this, in all possibility, is probably one of them. All my expeditions for the past five years have been to English Literature classes, though Pilby has promised that he’l compel his next trip to co-incide with my summer vacation.   

“O, pilby, my love!” – my heart cries to him but I dare not say it to him! The last time I did it, he made a weird face only to say,

“Don’t take Mr.Shakespeare word for word. The whole world isn’t really a stage, afterall!” and had returned to his irritating ‘tak-tak-tak’ on the keyboard. I thought I would tell him a few things on what Shakespeare really meant by the world being a stage and all  but he always has his way of making me feel like an embarrassed drama-queen!

So, this time I maintained a stoic expression as if ‘yeah-sure-what’s-the big-deal’ and reverted to pleating my saree. But Pilby is Pilby! The ‘tak-tak’ had suddenly ceased to disrupt the silence and through pretending to looking at the screen, my third eye had already caught him in the act of looking above the monitor at the mirror.

“Is it always so necessary to drape your saree when am trying to work?”

“Yes, Pilby, unless we get ourselves another house which isn’t a studio apartment or you shift your work to the loo.”
And well, the next time I looked up at the mirror to put on my bindi, Pilby was at my neck!
“You really want that?”
"Now, c”mon, am getting late.”
“Oh! Ma’am, am so jealous of your students!”
“Pilby-eeeee!”
Our laughter changed to giggle to smile to sighs….

The soft winter sun peeped in through the curtains and shimmered on the beads of sweat. He pulled his yet unpacked bag closer to the bed and took out a coral pattern.

“It’s beautiful!”
And there remained embedded at its heart a small chest from which I brought out a piece of paper which said, “I love it when she says, ‘O, Pilby, my love!’ “

So that’s my Pilby- strangely wired is the phrase that comes to me. And it always comes with a price, as I say. I missed my first class to the much apprehended fury of my H.O.D. as a mischievous ‘O, Pilby, my love!’ finally drowned itself to soft kisses and me to him.