The day starts with the same irritating sound. "Business Meeting at 9, Scrum at 11, lunch with the boss...." reverberates across Omio's mind. The buzz wakes up Mila as well. It is her off-day, in name only. Her hand searches for the person next to her and grasps thin air. It is 7 am. The morning rush has begun.
"You promised, na Omi? We will visit my parent's house during my holidays." Omio ignores, his hand shuffling those 99 unread messages in company GC. "Such a nice morning", sunlight glitters through the window, piercing the light fog, it is almost winter. Omi replies, not to his wife, but to the invisible person inside the phone. "It has been so long since we had a good morning talk. I always wanted, remember? Just you and me, basking in the beautiful winter morning, with a cup of tea at hand?", Mila inquires timidly. The sun's warmth is clearing the morning fog, but the fog inside Omi's mind is just congregating. He hasn't met the deadline for the Mayfair project. How can he face Mr. Raju at lunch? He unsheathes his laptop, his trusted weapon to untangle this mess.
"Do you know, there is a kashbagan close to my parent's house? I used to play there when I was a child. I always wanted to take you there. It is beautiful at this time of the year!". It is the end of Agrahayana, and kash will last for a few days, but Omi's Mayfair is supposed to be finished by today. "Or we can visit the beel. Nilu says, uncle Rabbi brought shapla yesterday from the beel. We can find a boat, you will row and I will collect shapla flowers. Do you know you can cook shapla?". Omi's eyes are fixated on his weapon. His boss has just asked him about the project update. His lips are drier than the winter beel. "You cannot row a boat on that beel during winter", Omi mutters.
Mila glazes astonished that a reply was conjured. "We don't need to visit anywhere", utters a dull voice, "I just want to spend a morning with you, with only you and not with all your buddies", Mila points to Omi's devices. "We will have tea, and see the sun coming up like a pearl through the fog. We will talk, not about the peras of life, but something else. I don't know what, but something that just makes me feel jubilated. It will be just me, you, and the morning sun." By now, Mila has seen nine thousand suns birthing and dying. Her mind still craves to see just one with Omi. "We will eat pithas and have tea. You can try that bhapa pitha recipe you learned from your mother. I will cook chitoi. Oh, we will need gur. Damn! We MUST go to Nandigram(Mila's Home) before my uncle sells all the gur." Omi's face has now dried up, drier than the once mighty Karatoya. Mr. Raju is angry, he will have a session with Omi before the scrum meeting.
Omi smacks the laptop lid, packs the bag, and prepares to leave. "You don't listen to a word I say", Mila sighs.
"I can't sweety, and don't you see, neither can you, it is only a matter of days." Mila shooks up a bit at the sudden reply. "We have struck a Faustian bargain with the devil, and there is no turning back. The winter fields and the kashbagans and the smell of freshly baked bhapas with pure gur will always remain an unattainable dream. You see, we don't have the time." Omio leaves.
They say love is the death of duty, but isn't it just the opposite.
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