By Ravi ka plan simple tha—Saturday, sofa aur silence. Lekin Priya ka weekend itinerary aaya jaise IRCTC ka waitlisted ticket—non-negotiable aur fully packed. Ab shaanti chahiye, toh Colaba se leke Marine Drive tak ek full Mumbai yatra zaroori hai!
Ravi was horizontal. Not metaphorically. Physically. Spread-eagled on the sofa like a man rescued from corporate captivity. Ceiling fan humming above, remote nestled beside him, and a perfectly steeped cup of chai in his hand. It was the kind of silence that felt earned—blessed even—amidst the daily chaos of Mumbai.
Then she entered.
Priya. Wife. Warrior. Wielder of weekend itineraries.
She stood like a news anchor with breaking updates, notepad in hand, smile suspiciously wide.
“Ravi!” she announced, the way HR announces a mandatory fun activity. “Weekend plans!”
Ravi’s soul sighed before his mouth could. “What plan? This is the plan.”
“Nope!” she chirped. “We’re doing breakfast at Kyani, shopping at Colaba, sunset at Marine Drive, dinner at Bademiya, and—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Ravi held up a finger, as if pausing her with remote control powers. “Are we trying to win The Amazing Race?”
Priya ignored the sass. “You always complain life is monotonous. This is adventure!”
“I meant I wanted to try a new biscuit with chai,” he muttered.
But there was no escape. The notepad had spoken.
Kyani & Co. Café, Fort.
Ravi bit into the soft, buttery bun maska like it was a peace offering. A sip of Irani chai washed over his existential resistance.
“This,” he said, mouth full, “might be your only good idea.”
Priya grinned. “See? You just need motivation. Like an old scooter that needs a running start.”
Ravi nodded solemnly. “Or a hostage situation.”
Colaba Causeway.
The air buzzed with bargaining wars and the aroma of street food. Priya dived into a stall with the focus of a Navy SEAL on a mission. Ravi, meanwhile, became the designated bag-holder: scarves, trinkets, a pair of jhumkas, and one wooden turtle whose purpose in life remained unclear.
“I think this turtle is haunted,” he said, examining it.
“You’re haunted by your laziness,” Priya replied without looking up.
He made a mental escape to the nearest corn vendor. “Bhaiya, one bhutta. Extra masala. I’m emotionally fragile.”
Marine Drive.
As the sun dipped into the Arabian Sea, painting the sky orange and gold, they sat on a tetrapod in tired silence. The breeze played with her hair. Ravi finally exhaled in something close to contentment.
“This is nice,” he admitted. “No schedule. No honking. No Google Maps screaming ‘Take a U-turn!’”
She leaned on his shoulder. “Exactly. We needed this.”
He chuckled. “I’ve walked 11,000 steps. My knees are filing for divorce.”
The train ride back.
Standing at the door, wind slapping his face like a Bollywood dream sequence, Ravi looked almost philosophical.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “this was actually… fun.”
Priya, half-asleep next to him, opened one eye. “So… next weekend?”
He looked at her. “Sure. But the notepad dies. First thing.”
She grinned. “Deal.”