The world would come to an end. With him. Though a bit obtuse, it was the truth. No amount of haggling could change the course of events that were to follow.
For the umpteenth time, she tried to bargain with the shopkeeper to sell the three thousand rupees worth saree for two thousand; she had to be careful - these days you could not quite trust anybody. Finally, the wiry-framed middle-aged seller caved in. The deal had been struck for two thousand two hundred and seventy-five only.
He remembered his childhood. The school, the friends, the neighbourhood, the smell of the football field after the first showers of the monsoons, the pujas, the visits to Flurys, the visits to Shiraz, the cricket matches - he remembered them all. But, most of all, he remembered his mother. He remembered her for all the fun they had together, for the support they were for each other, for the friend she had been to her.
One day, while at work, he received a call from his uncle. His mother had had a heart attack and had been hospitalized. Those last few moments brought back tears to his eyes. It was not suppposed to end like this, he thought. It was supposed to be different.
She was a bit nervous as the day of the marriage drove nearer and nearer. Being the practical person she was, she realized that no matter how much she loved him and vice-versa, it would indeed take a fair bit of adjusting to lead a life of sheer bliss.
Now, the time was ripe. He could finally do it. Nobody would stop him. Everybody would be busy with his sister's marriage. No one would notice anything different with him. For years, he had withdrawn into a shell and despised communicating with people, save his sister. Only she understood him and stood by him. The only glitter of hope for him in this dark and desolate world was her. How could he do this to her ? After all she had done for him ? Leave her alone ?
He decided he would give her the best wedding gift ever. And, thus the vial of poison was despatched into the wash basin.