"Ah, it's so hot", is my first thought as I land in Patna, my hometown. In this scorching month of May, it is nothing less than hell. I scurry out of the airport and directly to the auto-stand, not having to wait for my luggage to arrive since I traveled light. After telling the driver the address to my home and haggling with him for the fare, I settle down in the auto-rickshaw.

It's been five years since my last visit here and watching the city go past is making me nostalgic. The cropping up of new retail stores, malls, shopping centres in place of the old departmental stores deepens this sense of nostalgia. Patna surely has developed into a modern city, on par with some western cities of India.

An hour passes by in no time and the driver drops me in front of my home. The prospect of meeting my parents after such a long time is tantalizing but I turn around and enter the building in front of my house. Because in it lives the family of my best friend, Ashish.

Ashish and I have been best friends since kindergarten. We have shared our many firsts. Our first bicycle ride, our first win in a cricket match, our first porn. Even our first crush was on the same girl. Naturally, we were like peas in a pod

After I went away to pursue a career in Engineering, we drifted apart a bit. Still, we had managed to remain updated about the going ons of our lives via Facebook (god bless Mark Zuckerberg).

I ring the bell of 201B and wait as a of childhood memories passes my mind. The person opening the door hardly looks recognizable. Premature wrinkles line his face and a streak of grey hair adorns his head. At the age of 28, he looks like he has lived twice his age. Still, I recognize him from the wide 32-teethed smile he is giving me.

"Anurag!" exclaims Ashish, hugging me. "How have you been?"

"I've been well", I answer as I look around. The apartment looks oddly disturbed and haphazard.

"Where are Uncle and Aunty?" I inquire.

"They've gone on a pilgrimage to Vaishno Devi. They will be coming back in a month."

"Who is it, Ashish?" asks a feminine voice to me.

Now, this gets me curious. I know Ashish is a single child. And, I know aunty is not home. So who could this mysterious (and female) person be?

"It's Anurag, my best friend from the house across the road" answers Ashish.

Now I'm suspecting that this might be a girlfriend he has been hiding from me all along.

"Who is the girl, Ashish?" I ask with suspicion.

"She is my wife" answers the , excuse for a friend, sheepishly.

"Arre Saale. You got married and didn't even tell me. Some best friend you are." I say fake-accusingly.

"I-It happened suddenly. Your Bhabhi will explain everything"

"Come to think of it, where is she? I want to meet her right now."

"She will be joining us shortly." Is his short reply.

I have a zillion questions in my mind which need answering right now but I gulp them down somehow.

"So, how is your web design business going on?" I ask Ashish.

Before he opens his mouth to answer, Bhabhi interrupts our conversation from the bedroom, "Ashish, make some tea." Ashish runs off like a faithful dog on a tight leash to make some tea.

At this point, I had been expecting Bhabhi to make tea like an ideal Indian housewife should. But I guess they are like those modern couples who share their household work.

The dog (Ashish) returns after few minutes with a tray full of tea and biscuits.

"So, where were we? Ah yes. My business. It has seen better days. I'm going through a rough patch."

"Do you need any ..." I'm about to ask, when Bhabhi interrupts again.

"Ashish, take the tea-tray away."

This time he is gone for half an hour. I'm getting annoyed. Here I am, having ignored my parents to meet my best friend first and there he is, fulfilling his wife's orders. Why can't she take the tea-tray away herself?

He comes back with his shirt drenched in sweat and water. "Sorry, where were we?"

"I was asking if you need any help with your business. I have some money saved up and ..."

"No no no. It's alright. I will manage." Typical Ashish. As self-dependent as ever.

"Ashish, hand me the towel." Ashish grabs a towel from the balcony and rushes to his wife.

By now I am getting angry. Why can't she take the towel by herself? Is she like those who need their husbands to do everything for them to feel powerful? A hundred answers I have read on flash through my mind wherein husbands all over Indian cities had written about their plight. How wives control the household finances, how they keep a check on every move of their husbands' etc. etc.

When he comes back, I taunt him, "Such an obedient dog you are, Ashish. Woof Woof."

He just gives me an embarrassed smile.

"Ashish, help me with the chair." Now I am . Why does she need help with a chair?

My question is answered with what sounds like the squeals of wheels. I stand and turn around. I see a woman more beautiful and radiant than anyone I have ever seen. She is sitting in a wheelchair, wearing a shirt and trousers with both its flopping aimlessly since they are missing the legs which should have been there.

As Ashish's lips move in explanation, I am unable to comprehend the words coming out of them as my ears ring in shame and tears cloud my eyes.

The End.