The cup overfloweth

Lali is having fun today. It is the first Saturday of the month. It is May, and it's the fifth of May.

It's a beastly hot day and her watch died yet again, there are annoyances galore (left hand in a cock-up splint with thumb in abduction, no less), but Lali is having fun. There is food delivered, there is chilled beer and there is news from son and heir saying he is fine.

She is brimming over with ideas for her poetry blog; she has plans for it. She discovers that a 'memorialist' can 'immortalise' and to her joy, she completes her daily dose of Sacred Duty in what seems like no time at all. There is even a Saturday Prize crossword by Araucaria, which she cracks as she sips her beer.

She has celebrated this day in varying degrees of happiness, solemnity and cheer over the years. Events have occurred to mar the day or rob it of its significance, but she has never let them take the day away from her list of special days.

She knows calendars are there aplenty. By Mayan long count today is 12.19.14.5.3, by Julian Day 2454226, and more calendars than she cares to consult differ about it more confusingly. Sticking to the conventional three hundred and sixty-five count though, she knows that many years have passed.

There's been joy and sadness, despair and courage, hope and vindication; but most of all, in these many years that have passed, she has had constancy and companionship. She was never alone.

One score and four years ago Lali hitched her wagon to a star and rode a train north. She followed her heart and dared to hope. Having reached her destination, she looked out of the three-tier compartment window into the seething masses that milled around purposefully on the platform. Her eyes spotted the man she travelled to meet. He was looking into the train, compartment by compartment.

She dragged her suitcase out from under the berth, bid her adieus to her travelling companions and made her way down the corridor. His eyes lit up when he saw her, hers must have too. He took her suitcase, sagged under the weight, and quite unselfconsciously summoned a porter.

They didn't speak much as they made their way out of the station. As he drove into saner traffic, he looked sideways at her and smiled. She smiled back. He took a hand off the steering wheel and held hers.

Today, perhaps Missus Em would admonish the driver to concentrate on the road. Then, Lali just squeezed his fingers back. They never let go, metaphorically speaking. Happy anniversary, Kalyan.

Cheers!