“And that is how a dumb, blonde, lifeguard re-suck-citates a man back to life.” I read out to Arun a forward that had pinged to life on my Whatsapp that moment. “Judgmental but funny, nonetheless,” I said leaning down on the bed after what had been a grueling day at work. But, Arun was choking; choking on something.

I picked up the bottle of water on the table by my side of the bed and rushed towards him. The crystal lampshade nearly falling off, circumambulating and coming to a rest on mahogany. But Arun had, by then, wheeled away to his study on his powered wheelchair.

I leaned back on the cushioned headrest, suddenly, aware of a sense of shame that had crept into our marriage in the past two years since the accident. Through my satin nightdress, I could see my form protrude off its mould and nipples of indignity stare out at me. In a rush, I covered up under the comforter and huddled to sleep.

I now withheld jokes from Arun to protect him as best I could. And as I watched the trailer of 50 shades of Grey that Autumn and moved on to more on You Tube, I no longer withheld myself from me.