By: Snigdha Agrawal

HAND IN HAND

That fateful day, he walked right in
With a swagger loud as a violin.
CONFIDENCE,
The kind that fills up a room like incense.

A thick mop of hair, gloriously wild,
Curled rebelliously behind each ear,
Sideburns that ran past regulation,
And a moustache worthy of a cinematic ovation.

Clark Gable would’ve paused to admire.
Trimmed like a colonel’s, with a dash of satire.

But it wasn’t his face that caught her gaze.
No…
It was his hands.
Large.
Comically large.
As if God clicked “zoom in”
And forgot to press undo.
Knuckles chiselled from daily push-ups,
Each finger with its own agenda.
Clean nails, square-cut,
Fingers splayed on the armrest.
Like jazz hands with a tech degree.
Yes. Engineer’s hands.

And one day
Without fanfare or fuss,
Those very hands
Held hers.
Beneath the red and white sacred cloth,
to the chant of ancient mantras

And in that moment, flaws, quirks, and all
They fit.
Like mismatched socks from love’s secret stash.

Now every morning,
Those same hands steal her side of the blanket.
They rule the kitchen pantry,
Stacking ‘Haldiram’ snacks with obsessive precision.

Awkward, heroic, warm, and wide,
A perfect pair, still reaching for hers.
And in all life’s trials, prose, and creed,
That’s all the poetry she’ll ever need.

JOURNEY OF FIFTY YEARS

Fifty years.
A winding trail
Of sunlit joy, and storms that wail.

Two hearts that danced through space and time,
Not always gracefully,
But always in rhyme.

They met when laughter came easy,
Dreams were cheap,
And sleep was optional.

He once promised to take her around the world—
“Someday… when the time is right.”
Someday arrived with backpacks,
Two pairs of sneakers.

Their riches were stories,
Beautifully told.
From tuk-tuks in Thailand to alpacas in Peru,
Living off serendipity
And Maggi Noodles, too.

They lost each other in Madrid.
Twice.
Soaked in thermal springs at Baden-Baden,
Saw Mount Everest up close

Haggled in bazaars,
Danced barefoot in monsoons,
Missed three flights,
But never missed a chance.
To catch love again.

There were years of grey, too.
Of hospital rooms and whispered fears.
Of silent meals, of clenched jaws.
And when breath was tight,
They held each other through the night.

She cried for dreams that slipped away,
He built her new ones from the scraps.

Grandparenting brought the mischief back.
Finger painting, fairy tales,
And ‘Haldiram’ snacks.

Time etched its story on their skin,
But left the childlike glee within.

Still bickering over the last bite of ‘sev’
Still chasing sunrises
By the sea
As if time had no say.

Their passports boast pages.
Worn soft with kisses and visas
A tale of fractured ribs in foreign lands,
Of limping through the Louvre with ice packs in hand.

And now, at seventy-three and seventy-seven,
He walks more slowly.
She’s hard of hearing.
But neither is done dreaming.

She still insists on visiting places.
Marked “Off-limits” in red.
He still warns her,
While secretly booking the tickets.

Here’s to them…
The bruised, the bold,
Not made of fairy dust
But pure 24 karat gold.

They didn’t count the years.
They lived them.
Every curtain was pulled wide.
Every door kicked open.

Hand in hand,
Still.
Sleeping fingers laced,
Even in dreams.
Wrinkled, spotted, worn with time
Yet they are in perfect rhyme.

Half a century ago,
They tied the knot.
And never once
Looked for the way out.

###

Haldiram – a popular brand of Indian snacks
Gari – Car
Bari – House
Sev – Indian snack, deep-fried and spiced

 ***

Snigdha Agrawal is a passionate septuagenarian writer with five published books, including Fragments of Time, her deeply personal memoir (available on Amazon worldwide). A lifelong lover of storytelling, she seamlessly blends fact and fiction, guided by a keen eye for detail and emotion.  Her works span diverse genres, reflecting her rich experiences and insightful observations.  Writing and travelling remain her lifelong passions.