And the dead body arrived in a white shroud.

It was an eighteen-seater plane, which had caught fire before it had really taken off.

Most of the passengers survived barring a few and among them was Anshu

Anshu, my wife of thirty years!

Her face was charred, but I recognized her because of the scar.

Her scar, which went from under her chin to just above her neck. It was not really noticeable unless you came close to kiss her.               And not only had I kissed her but also had two children from her, kissing becomes easy because you always shut your eyes and same with fornicating.

Any way the scar had been worth it. Because her father set me a business for marrying the scar.

In my mind I always called Anshu the scar or moneybags. Her father had set me up but she also had an unlimited expense amount. She was always expensively turned out. She had also much later got something done to her scar from an expensive plastic surgeon but I guess she was unlucky .Her scar had been botched up. But by that time our relationship had become platonic and friendly and I stopped kissing her except for an occasional hug on our wedding anniversaries.

Our children though were the best things that happened to both of us. They were bright fun loving adored both of us and had really not given us any trouble. They both were abroad.

And they had promised me that they would come back and join my family business.

With the money the scar’s father had given I really had done well. I had worked hard. I had built a good house and the scar and I lived in a pretty large house.  But one thing I had never been able to love scar. Yes I did my duty by her. And we were always together when it came to our children. But once the children were grown up we pretty much led our own lives.

We were considerate kind and attended important functions like marriages deaths together, but we had separate bedroom and separate TVs .Yes we ate our dinner together some times.

I think Anshu spent her life in her pujas. She was very reticent. And I was busy with my work. I could never have sex for the sake of sex. And I loved my children too much to even think of any liaison.

Any way Anshu died .I cremated her body, neither was I relieved or heartbroken but just a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach which wouldn’t go away. Maybe I loved her after all.

I thought of the way the house ran on well-oiled wheels. I thought of the food she would make which was really tasty. And she never complained or threw a tantrum. She accepted my indifference to her as her due.

And why was I so put of by her scar I wondered, a scar that was not even noticeable. The fault must be within me. Maybe I felt like a lesser man because I was a recipient of her father’s largesse and I took it out on her. And she was always pleasant, spoke well with softness. And if there was any hurt in her she camouflaged it well.

I was waiting for the children to arrive.

I opened her cupboards. There were about ten thick diaries. I felt pretty much like an intruder going through her personal papers. There were a sheaf of letters in her neat handwriting, and they were all addressed to me .The subjects ranged from the passionate to the sublime to the mundane.

There were letters about the hurt she felt with me, letters about the errant driver, or the dinner we had together. It was just like a wife talking to a husband, something that we really lacked in our marriage, communication.

I was shocked. I thought she had attuned herself to my indifference. But here she was writing all those letters to me. She really loved me. And from the letters I could figure out that I was really the center of her universe.

Why didn’t she ever tell me, I thought. And then I remembered the cold demeanor of mine, which she must have been difficult for her to penetrate

Guilt seized me.

I sat in her darkened room thinking of all what I had lost. The kind of life I could have had and I just threw it away because of my own complexes. Was it the unnoticeable scar that bothered me or the fact that I felt less like a man in front of her rich family? Maybe I just took out my subconscious frustration on her.

My children were coming in the morning to be with me.

The children arrived by some really early international flight. Papa was nowhere in his bedroom.

From very early on they had accepted the fact that their parents had separate bedrooms.

They knocked at mummy’s door. There was no response. They opened the door. There was papa lying on the bed with a sheaf of papers in his hand .He seemed to have been dead from a long time.