She woke up and realized it had been too late. The house was up and running, and before she knew it, the guests would arrive. It took her a while to sit up. It had been raining but she didn't hear the rain now, so it must have stopped in the early morning. Her knees ached. There was a strain in her rib cage and she knew there was a bruise forming there. 

 

She sat up and looked at her open palms. It was a habit she had acquired from her grandmother, who used to look at her own open palms the moment she woke up. Something about earning a day through hands. 

Today was special. 

 

She gingerly put down her feet on the ground and stood up. She felt a heaviness in her head and the floor started to move. It was the empty stomach. She went out and found her elderly mother-in-law dragging an empty pot. 

 

“Where are you taking it?” She asked as she stopped her. 

 

“To get water,” came her hoarse reply. 

 

“Water comes at seven.” 

 

The elderly woman’s hand released the pot, knowing her mistake. “I know that. We will need water today.” She said and hobbled away on her own bad knees. 

 

There was a lot to do. 

 

The guests will be coming soon and the botis (traditional servers who cook and serve food in communal feasts) will come by at 9 AM. She looked around as something churned around her empty stomach. 

She decided on a glass of water. 

 

She took one sip when she heard him call. 

 

“Where is the towel?” 

 

“It’s on the rack.” 

 

“I haven’t seen my watch.” 

 

“On the shelf.” 

 

“My boots?” 

 

She didn’t know. Panic set in her chest. Where had she put them? She remembered taking them out last night, but couldn’t remember where she put them. But she couldn’t tell that to him. 

 

“I will bring them to you.” 

 

And the day started. 

 

*** 

 

However, with the food being cooked and the decorations and the guests, the boots were soon forgotten. Guests started to filter in. Relatives with flashy clothes and all the children, now grown up and parents themselves. Her own children were there, around somewhere. Pictures were clicked. He was decorated with garlands. She saw relatives and his siblings come up to him and congratulate him. Their faces were glistening with happiness and health. 

 

The band was playing dhol and they were all ready to march to the village now, to get the village goddess’ blessings. 

 

She heard someone call to her to come and join the crowd. “You have to be next to him,” they said. 

“It’s okay, we have to go on bare feet. Boots can wait.” Something inside her told her. 

 

It was okay. 

 

The crowd moved, laughing and dancing as they started to climb the small hill. 

 

35 years in the Indian Air force. And now he was healthy and happily retiring. Bless us, Mata. 

 

And so they climbed the hill, dancing. The village had joined in and it was a steady stream of people who have come to witness the end of one’s career. Government job for 35 years. A pension and home. The ideal life. 

 

They reached the temple and lit the aarti diya. And they bowed at the feet of an idol made from sacred stone, placed there centuries ago. They asked for blessing, him and her, the middle-aged couple. Her ribs pained again and her knees clicked as she tried to get up from the stone floor of the temple, carved inside the small hill. 

 

“Where are the boots?” He asked on the way back, as they were surrounded by dancing relatives, now gliding down the mountains and back to the village in a big dancing heap of revelers. 

 

“I still have to polish them.” She couldn’t think of any excuse fast enough. 

 

One might have questioned why he was so fixated on boots. But it wasn’t about the boots. “Why hasn’t she polished them yesterday? Like he asked her too? What does she do all day? It's just boots. And some polish. 10 minutes at most.” 

 

He fixed his prim mustache again and smiled at someone who congratulated him. They entered the gate to the house. 

 

The day went by. Guests after guests sat down and meals were served. She couldn’t get time to eat. It was always someone wanting to ask something or someone giving away a gift. 

 

Then she was told to go to the cake that was set up. She stood next to him and she saw his disdain thrown at her. 

 

“Why are you wearing such shabby clothes?” He asked slowly. 

 

She looked down at her salwar-kameez. It was shabby. Her hands had darkened a ripe brown and the skin had shriveled. She looked away. 

 

He took the knife, aimed at the cake. They asked him to cut the cake with her holding the knife. There was no answer. He cut the cake and she stood by his side, looking down at the cake. 

 

“Good”, she thought. “My hands look awful anyway.” 

 

She went back inside the room to put away a gift. And then she spotted them! The boots were there, in a corner. She now remembered that she had put them on since he had realized they hadn't been polished yesterday. He had been angry. 

 

She sat down on the floor. The band was playing dhol again and his sisters were dancing. The men were drinking in the next room now, their guffaws of laughter resounding through the walls. 

 

She took out the boot polish and brush and started to work on one boot. 

 

Swish… swish… swish. 

 

The boot began to lose its dullness and the sheen of the polish started to shine through. 

 

Swish… swish… swish. 

 

The brush in her hand found the curve at the boot’s front. She stopped brushing. She touched it with her fingers, tracing the curve softly. Touching it, she felt the graze directly on her right cheek. It hadn’t bruised there and it wouldn’t. 

 

Then she went back to it. Brushing and swishing. 

 

Swish… swish… swish. 

 

Today was an important day. 

His retirement day. 

What a career. 

She looked up and through the window railing that was crisscrossed in a pattern, she stared at her husband. Now jolly with a drink in him, dancing with his sisters to the dhol. 

 

“What a man”. 

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