“Do you see how I spread light in your life?” she said gleefully. “Tamaso mā jyotirgamaya or whatever, taking you from the darkness to light! I know you understand this much Sanskrit.”
He stopped short of picking up his book from the bookshelf, flashed a tiny smile at the corners of his mouth, and said playfully: “That’s not what it means, you silly. Also, such an unabashed display of humility today. What’s the occasion that you are finally being yourself?”
“Yes, mister you-know-it-all. You don’t need to acknowledge how my presence lets you get by, day after day, through your mundane existence,” she pretended to be indignant.
He knew this tense dance of intimate exchanges well, and the tricks to play along. Ribald comments often helped in getting straight to the point, and he tried his luck: “Well, you might be the one spreading the light. But we don’t need the lights all the time now, do we?”
“Is that so mister? Let us hear something else first. What’s the one word that comes to your mind if you had to describe me?” she teased him.
“Electricity,” he said looking straight into her eyes and proceeded to touch her.
She, the switch of the living room’s tubelight, was flipped and there was darkness all over.
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