Free Seven Shades of Grey by Vivek Mehra

afternoon did not help either. Along with the butterflies and the drummers my body drenched itself in rain, one that seeped from every pore of my body, clinging to my shirt and dripping from my brow.
    Before long the shopping jungle was left behind and we were headed back home. The drive took about an hour and around 4pm we entered our housing complex. I headed home trying hard to suppress my anxiety, trying hard to keep the butterflies down although there was nothing I could do about the drummers. Dolly piped in at just the right moment.
    ‘Look for Bindu’s car,’ she said. Did I detect a faint touch of anxiety in her voice? Or was it just my own projecting on to her?
    ‘Where do I look for it?’ I replied, trying hard to suppress the relentless drummers inside me. I was anxious and alternatively surprised that Dolly did not hear them.
    ‘Near the entertainment center, where else?’ such a matter-of-fact statement for an impending blossoming event, quite plain, like plain Jane now blossomed into beautiful-head- turner.
    ‘OK. We are looking for a green Suzuki 1000 with license plate ending in 2000.’
    ‘Got it,’ said plain Jane beautiful-head-turner.
    I drove to the center and the car was not in the parking lot. In fact there was no green-colored car at all. I tried to calm the feelings of disappointment, and the drummers continued relentlessly, refusing to change their tune or tempo.
    ‘Check the park, she might have gone there first,’ beautiful-head-turner with all her wits about her, an intoxicating mixture of anxiety and sanity. I wished I were like her.
    I drove towards the park, and there was a sight for sore eyes, mine anyway, a green Suzuki 1000! An anxious glance at the license plate and the drummers took the cue; it ended in 2000. Bindu was here!
    ‘There’s the car!’ Dolly exclaimed.
    ‘I see it. Now what?’ Now run you stupid idiot! - saner half prompting me.
    ‘Let’s get back home and get you all washed up and changed. I don’t want you looking like a sweaty rag doll when you meet her.’
    More insanity?
    Who was more insane, Dolly or I?
    Here she was asking her husband to get dressed for a date with a strange woman! New Rules for the New World and a wife that defied every form of logic and rationality.
    My protests were in vain as I turned my car around and headed home. I was made to be a Thomson’s gazelle with my cheetah of a wife pushing me towards the washroom instead of biting my head off. Strict orders to wash up were issued and warned of acerb punishment should I not do a good job. The cheetah left, turning into domestic help, ironing a fresh T-shirt for me.
    When my freshly washed carcass emerged from the short wash the T-shirt was thrust at me, my favorite cologne in the other hand of Ms. Domestic helper. Anxiety gave way to astonishment! Was I dreaming or was I being dressed up for a date by my own wife? Well, she was joining me as my wife, or did she think she was a mere chaperone, one who disappeared into the shadows at a prom night?
    Astonishment left, anxiety returned!
    My anxiety at this new thought made me inquire about the chaperone’s clothes. A statement that she was OK the way she was drew raised voices of protest, or was it just me trying to erase the picture of a chaperone – one whose appearance did not matter? The loud voice accompanied by furrowed brow had the desired effect, and chaperone soon changed into a fresh T-shirt and a pair of jeans, looking more like the sexy wife that she was. We were ready in 15 minutes flat.
    It was time to go, lambs to a slaughter or pioneers searching for the promised land, someone up there knew, I sure did not!
    As we headed out of our apartment building, I noticed the familiar green Suzuki 1000 now parked near the entertainment center. We walked past it, clambered up the stairs to the main area, trepidation now appearing on our faces, drummers relentless inside me. I reminded Dolly that we were looking for two women who had