Short Story- Valentine's day

‘Happy Valentine’s day’, said the boy to his grandmother. He was only nine.

‘What!’, said the old woman, amused …and distracted from her prayers by what the little boy had said to her. ‘Since when are you getting interested in this Valen day?’, she said, unable to pronounce “Valentine”. She had heard this was‘Read your schoolbooks young man, don’t worry about love. We will find you a soni kudi (beautiful girl) when the time is right.’

‘No thank you’, said the boy. ‘I have found her already. On the internet. Her name is Lucy. Lucy. Lucy’, he chanted.

‘Oh, Amreekee (American)?’, said the old lady, now indulging the boy. He was becoming very talkative of late and amused her with many things.
‘Very good. Tell me about your friend Lucy’, his grandmother coaxed, putting aside her rosary beads to think of more Earthly matters.

‘I would, but you wouldn’t understand grandma. This is love. True love. You wouldn’t understand.’

‘And why not?, she replied, surprised at how quickly her little boy was trying to grow up. ‘Young man, what has given only nine year olds the right to find true love?’, she said pinching his cheeks affectionately.

‘Because you did not have the internet when you were young. And you only find love on the Internet. Everyone knows that. But tell me did the internet come first or did love come first?’, said the boy, full of the joy of finding his Lucy.

‘Singh saheb (Mr. Singh), utho(wake up)…..’; she said his grandmother, now diverting her attention to her husband. She did not want the old man to miss out on this conversation. ‘Your grandson thinks you don’t love me anymore’, she said in jest, pulling at the old man’s long grey beard.

Old Singh, irritated by her waking him, retorted ’He is speaking the truth. And if you keep disturbing me like this, what do you expect?’

She continued tugging at his beard playfully.
‘Oh!’, she said, ruefully, ‘after all these years, you wont even defend me before your little grandson? What kind of man are you Singh saheb, great Sher-e-Punjab (Lion of Punjab)? I wonder sometimes how I agreed to marry you !’

Singh smiled wearily having now given up even the pretence of being asleep. ‘You were too young to know’, he said. ’Only eight when we got married. You did not have to agree to marry me. Your father had to agree. He was a good man. Naïve. But good.’

Turning to his grandson he said, ‘Haan (yes)…..so what were you talking of this internet? In my time, men found love in the wrestling ring of the village. And I was the best wrestler in all the village. So all the young girls would line up outside my house for a glimpse of me. The internet …..it is a stupid thing. Surely love came first. Stupidity always follows love’, he said amused with what he had just said.

‘Then, why did you choose to marry dadi (grandma) among all the girls in your village dadaji(grandfather)?’, asked the boy. His grandmother was wrinkled and shrivelled. He now wondered how she looked when she was eight.

The grandmother now got into the act. ‘Your dadaji had nothing to say. He sat stuffing himself with sweets while our parents finalised the arrangement. Then we were married.’

‘See, you never fell in love. I told you dadi (grandmother). You don’t know all this love,’ said the boy.

‘Moorkh (foolish child)’, said the old man. ‘In our time, first you married, then you fell in love. It is no different that loving first and then marrying. You are stuck for life anyway.’

‘So how did you fall in love then?’, asked the boy. ‘Did you go to the cinema and sing songs like ‘Chaiyya Chaiyya’ on a train?’

‘I wish’, sighed his grandmother. ‘ But do you think this wrestler had the sense to woo me like that?
We were poor people beta(child). Your grandfather worked in the fields all day and he would return after dark. I would have some rotis and curry ready for him. I would press his legs and put him to sleep. We would speak for a few minutes ….no train songs for us. Maybe we fell in love in those few minutes every day,’ surprised why she was saying all these things. In front of her husband and to a nine year old.

‘But how would you know? ‘, persisted the boy.

‘You know. Now go and play, I will heat your breakfast.’. With that the old woman started to get up.

‘But how?’, persisted the boy. ‘Dadaji, you tell me. Dadi is too shy. Tell me, ’ he pleaded.

His grandmother stopped to look at her husband. Almost frightened of what he would say. Love was not talked about like this. Why were they speaking of it today?

‘Kya karogey jaankey?’, started his grandfather,
‘Pyaar tumhey bhi hoga jab?
Samjhogey,
Asoon bahaogey,
Pyaar tumhey bhi hoga jab.’
(What will you do knowing about love. You will understand when you fall in love, when the tears flow, when you fall in love )
Singh recited. He was a bad poet.


The old lady was shocked. ‘What is this nonsense you are reciting. My child will never cry.
Uff!! you are such a funny man. Always boring us with your silly poetry.’

‘Don’t worry grandma’, said the child trying to reassure her. ‘I don’t understand what he keeps singing anyway. Tell me dadaji…. But don’t sing.’

The old man sighed. ‘Yeh aaj tujhey kya ho gaya hai?’, he said. (What has happened to you today?) ‘I don’t know about her beta. But one day, she had to go return to her village for a few days. I remember, as I went to sleep those days…alone..without her..., it was not my legs that ached…bus kaleja dukh gaya. (it was not the legs but the heart that ached) Ha ha’, he tried to laugh it away.

His old wife heard him silently. Touched.

Slowly he continued…

‘You will not understand yet. But I am glad you made me say it today. I never told your dadi this before. Ok, now go play outside. Your dadi will make some breakfast for you’, he said getting up to go away.

The boy was pensive for a moment.

‘No, no!’, he said. ‘You have to tell me now dadi. Your turn. Does dadji love you? Why did he not tell you till today? This is not true love. You have to show love. Tell me dadi. Tell me’, he repeated.

‘Chup kar(Quiet!)’, said the old woman. ‘You go love your Lucy. And everyone loves everyone. Now go. These things do not have to be said everyday.’

‘No, I wont’, persisted the boy. ‘And if you don’t tell me, I will hold me breath.’

‘Hai rabba…pagal ho gaya hai! (Oh Lord, he has gone mad)’, she moaned. ‘What do you want to know? Child, in the 54 years that I have been married to your grandfather, not once has a tear fallen from my eye. I have never asked him if he loved me. I always thought it was too obvious. Now stop embarrassing us and lets both go have breakfast.’

The old man felt pride. Dignified. And loved. But his face showed no emotion.

The boy had more to say. ‘But he never showed you the Taj Mahal even once Dadi. It is the most beautiful monument of love in all the world, no? You don’t wear gold jewellery like the other women. You never wear silk.’

The old man cringed. What he boy said was true. He had never given his wife these gifts.

But how could he? He never had any money. All his life he struggled to earn , so his children could go to school. So his children could have good clothes, books, food. He never had anything to give his wife. Even today, they lived well within their means. And the boy had noticed this. The old man cursed his poor beginnings and started to get up to walk away.

His wife held him by his hand. Making him stop.

‘Beta’, she said to the child, ‘when we were poor, sometimes your dadaji could not buy sweets on Diwali. Sometimes we borrowed salt from the neighbours for our food and sometimes we would not drink even tea for days. Often we ate only bread for dinner. In the many famines even bread was scarce. I remember all that beta. And you are right. I don’t wear silk and gold.

But look at your dadaji. Even today he only wears the clothes that I have stitched for him.

Your dada was poor. But whenever he had, whatever he had, your dadaji always gave it to me first.’ She said with pride and the tears swelled in her eyes as she remembered the penury of the past.

‘Why have you started us talking about this, you Badmaash (rascal)?’, she said quickly. Realising for no reason, so much had been said that morning. ‘Go play, I will heat some parathas for you. Happy Valen day indeed.’


The boy was pensive for a moment.

‘Do you think Lucy loves me dadi?’, said the boy.

‘I am sure she does. You are the sweetest boy in the world. Everyone loves you.’

‘When I meet her, will she be poor?’

‘It does not matter child.’

‘Will she be pretty?’

‘If you love her, she will be.’

‘Will she let me kiss her?’

‘Arrey baba (oh child!)…stop this. I’m sure she will. Study hard and become something useful in life. Only then she will marry you and let her kiss you.’

‘No’, said the boy. Nowadays, people first kiss then marry ,dadiji,’ he said …winking at her.
‘And anyway, I will not study. I only have to become a wrestler like dadaji’, he said and skipped away. ‘Dadi..bhook lagi hai. Khana lagao.’ (Grandma, I am hungry. Put out some breakfast.)

‘Abhi ayee (I am coming)’, she said, wiping her face with her dress. Laughing away thoughts of Lucy and her little boy.

‘Singh saheb’, she said to her husband. ‘Maaf karna. Bachey ney bahut kuch bulvaa diya.Chay lengey?’ (Forgive me..the child made us say too many things. Will you have some tea?)

‘Zaroor’ (of course), said the old man.

‘Par suno (but listen)….

‘Haan’. (Yes? She asked)

Suno..yeh sirf tumharey liyey, (I say this only for you)

Itney din guzar gayey,
So many days have passed
Itney saal ki ab yaad nahin shuruaat
So many years, that I cannot remember the beginning
Raat kahan gayee,
The night has long gone
Jabsey payaa tumhey,
Since I met you, it is only the moon that I see
Sirf chaand nazar ataa hai,
Kab kartey hain tumsey…aur kab apney sey baat?
When is it I speak to you and when to myself?

Saal beet gayey, par tum wahee kali,
Years have passed but you remain that charming rose
Jharney sey behtey ho, haat na ayey kabhi,
Flowing like a brook, you can never come to hand

Paas atey ho, phir jhatak key jatey ho door ,
You come near, and with a flick, you are gone
Arpsara kehtey hain, yaa phir hoor,
You are what they call an angel

..and then with a naughty smile you could only see if you had looked into his eyes, he said..

Is umar mein, mujh boodhey pey
In this age, you still set
Lagatey ho aag,
your old man on fire
Aao aaj, bhag chalen…tum aur mein,
Come, today. Lets run away..you and I
Kiseee kaliyon key baag.
Into a garden of flowers

And taking her hand, he kissed it gently.

‘Aap bhi’, Singh saab, she said, blushing. ‘Umar ho gayee hai’. (We are too old for these things.)
‘Valen day aapko bhi’ (A happy Valentine’s day to you as well’). And she turned and shuffled to the kitchen…as fast as her old legs would carry her.

Singh got up to begin his day.

In the background he heard his grandson chanting ; happy Valentine’s day, Happy Valentine’s day’. He heard the TV and the familiar Sir Boycott commenting on Sachin Tendulkar’s batting.
He heard his wife in the kitchen.

His son’s bedroom door opening.

‘Malik ney bahut diya’, he acknowledged gratefully(the Lord has given me all).

And he chanted again to himself, feeling very good about this day…

Itney din guzar gayey,
So many days have passed
Itney saal ki ab yaad nahin shuruaat
So many years, that I cannot remember the beginning
Raat kahan gayee,
The night has long gone
Jabsey payaa tumhey,
Since I met you, it is only the moon that I see
Sirf chaand nazar ataa hai,

Kab kartey hain tumsey…aur kab apney sey baat?
When is it I speak to you and when to myself?

Saal beet gayey, par tum wahee kali,
Years have passed but you remain that charming rose
Jharney sey behtey ho, haat na ayey kabhi,
Flowing like a brook, you can never come to hand

Paas atey ho, phir jhatak key jatey ho door ,
You come near, and with a flick, you are gone
Arpsara kehtey hain, yaa phir hoor,
You are what they call an angel