THEY were holding hands at the next table. I have nothing against holding hands, I’ve held my own fair share and more during the springtime of my youth, and have only stopped now, because same hands of mine, once free are now involved in other more necessary activities like holding book closer to eye, clinging onto banister railing to support trembling knee, all of which by default have taken same hands away from other frivolous activity.
Needless to say, old hands I used to hold are also involved in more or less the same kind of pursuit! But these two at the next table seemed to have hands meant for nothing else. Danny who was sitting next to me, appeared too embarrassed to look, such open behaviour I don’t think pleased the man from Wales, who I suspect thought that Asians should be Asians in their expressions of love. Now I’m only assuming he had these thoughts since he never looked once even furtively in the direction of the couple, or maybe he was just polite!
Robin, who’s back was to the couple, tried to read the expression in my eyes, but mine were guarded, I had no intention of sharing this 70mm love scene with all and sundry. It was a strange holding of hands. One, it was across the table, so the hands were placed on table top like those of two free arm wrestlers.
To hold hands well you need to sit next to each other. To stretch across the table, is I feel a tad uncomfortable, and doesn’t help much in body closeness, which the holding of hands is generally a forerunner to; huddling and cuddling, and come on you know what I’m talking about!
Two. They were not placed lying down on table. You get what I mean? Well, a good holding of hands requires you to rest arms completely on table top, so each muscle and nerve ending is involved with the muscle and nerve ending of the other hand and not with keeping, maintaining balance. These two were doing it all wrong. Robin meanwhile had managed to edge a look side wise, to the complete embarrassment of the young couple who hastily untangled their fingers from each other and brought them back to own side of table.
The hands slowly crept back: The girl looking shyly in our direction more often than the man. I left the table and went to the cloak. I stood in front of the mirror and soon found the young fellow next to me. He was washing his hands. “You are embarrassing us,” he said. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but it’s a free country!” “A rather crowded one isn’t it?”
“Yeah?” I asked with surprise. “We are newly married, “ he said simply. “We stay in a joint family. There are eight people sharing our bedroom, or rather, we share the bedroom with eight others. This is the first time I am being intimate with my wife!” I walked back to my table, my head bowed, ashamed of myself. I did not look at their table any more. Who was I to rob them of their few moments of passion..!
