Calcutta, Nov 16th
Three days after I got married my sister called me up and asked, “So, have you started on the list?” throwing me off guard. No probing questions like “So… how’s he?” or “Have you guys done anything naughty?” Simply some bulls**t question about some goddamn list that I was supposed to be working on!
“What’re you talking about? What list?” I asked, confused. Husband was standing three feet away intent on finishing his aloo chaat and bhel puri in record time and the last thing I needed was to distract him from his mission. Whatever this was I tried hard to keep my voice on an even keel.
“Oh! Nothing! You’ll figure it out when the time comes” she replied and hung up. What the #$%^. Sis had this annoying habit of cryptic speak and making me look like a fool afterwards because I couldn’t figure out what she’d just said. The only list that came to my mind at that instant was “Schindler’s List” and I involuntarily smiled.
“She’s fine. How was the food?” I quickly changed the subject, catching my husband staring at me. “Do you want the samosas…” I half joked only to have him beam like he’d cracked the Rubik’s Cube and order them in a jiffy before I could complete my sentence.
“You aren’t hungry, right?” he said, which sounded more like a statement than a romantic “Here, have a samosa dear” gesture. Obviously I couldn’t eat them now. I gently declined and pushed the bowls away from me. There is no reason to stuff yourself to the throat because food was cheap and tasty, which is exactly what he’d been doing since satisfying his hunger in the afternoon, seeking out every roadside food vendor in the metropolis. Clearly, when it came to maturity he still had a long ways to go, something which I was becoming aware of every passing day.
I didn’t think about the list except once on the flight back when the first thing I vowed to do was to give my sister a piece of her mind for posing such stupid questions that only she knew the answer to. Dear husband was attempting to solve a crossword puzzle and the time was ripe to impress him with my vocabulary…
Los Angeles, Dec 21st
More than a month had passed since we’d entered wedlock and I didn’t even realize it until I looked at my cell phone and realized “Oh my God! I’ve missed our one month anniversary!” But I remember vividly the day I bought my new car. Oh well!
I don’t have a PhD in relationships or have been married half a dozen times, but 40 days ago I was pretty confident that with the right mixture of carrot and stick I could make it work for life. Hubby’s a cheerful free-spirited individual who’s as low maintenance as they come and attached with a lightweight instruction manual. He wanted me to get back on track and as long as I partook in his favorite pursuits (read sports, movies, working out, touring places) I was fine. Moreover he’d introduced me to his two mistresses, Lakers Basketball and NFL. While I was drawn to the first one instantly (you know… tall black guys with sculpted bodies sweating… and of course, Kobe Bryant), the second one was repulsive. There was no way in hell I was going to be drawn to some fat men going at each other, even though my husband painstakingly attempted to explain the rules every time. “There’s something in this game for all shapes and sizes. Key is perfect timing” he stressed in vain, which only made me giggle infuriating him further.
It was just another day in a-La-Land until my mother-in-law called that night. As any self-respecting married girl can attest to, the first fifteen minutes are strictly reserved for pleasantries. “How’s the weather?”, “How was I coping?”, my exploits in the kitchen yada yada yada. It was all smooth sailing and we were ready to get down to the brass tacks, when she asked after a long pause,
“So dear… How’s the marriage coming along?”
At which point I was afflicted by selective amnesia. I mean, we’d been together for about a month, done a ton of exciting things, fought our share of cold wars too, but when asked the simplest of questions I’d suddenly became tongue-tied.
“Oh! Means… meaning… it’s fine Aunty… He’s nice” I hemmed and hawed, painfully aware that every second I was dithering I was planting seeds in her mind. Heck! If I were listening to myself an hour later I’d be thinking “Oh my God! There’s something really wrong” too. I let out a few hollow laughs, stressed for the third time that all was fine and started looking for him in that huge Wal-Mart we were in.
Thank you Lord! What’s it with men and flat screen TVs in a store I’ll never understand. It’s like the moment you get in there you’ve got to go and pay obeisance to those 50” and 60” ones even when you’ve been given a list to attend to.
“Your mom wants to talk to you” I flicked him from behind and shoved the phone at him retreating quickly. Nice woman, I really like her. I would’ve spoken to her at length if only I could’ve strung a few sentences properly. Right now I couldn’t even say my name without hesitation.
But why the hiccup about my own marriage? I love him, he’s been nothing but good to me. What the #$%^ was going on? Oh my God! And as if it were a sign from above, the list reappeared on my radar again…
The twenty four years I’ve known my sister she hasn’t done nothing on Sunday mornings save for wallowing in her bed and wafting in her dreams until she can sleep no more and has got to get up just to feel normal again. Seriously, if ever my mom had called me up and said “Sindhu got up at 6.00am and went to play handball with her friends” I would’ve gone into shock.
Tring! Tring! Tring! Tring! Tring! Tring! Tring! Tring! Tring! Tring! Tring! Tring!
I wasn’t keeping count but I was pretty sure it’d reached a dozen. And we were only getting started. I’d have to keep at this much longer before I could even start cultivating hope. Of all days Mom had to pick today to seek Balaji’s blessings! It was only 11.30am over in Chennai. The first stirrings wouldn’t be for at least an hour.
Fifteen minutes later I was seething. At the end of my tether and ready to fling my phone against the wall. Correction, my husband’s. This was getting ridiculous. What if I was gasping for my last breath and was trying to reach my sister for one more time? Slumber is good, I love it too, but not when elder sister’s reaching out for advice.
To digress, before cell phones there was this big black box with holes in it called the “telephone”. And this landline held the roost in Chennai until a few years back. You possessed one and people looked at you like you were the Chosen One, since you could plead you were willing to sacrifice your left n*t but still couldn’t get one in less than a year. Never mind that such an uglier contraption never existed. Earpiece weighed more than a dumbbell, dialing a ten digit number assured you a blister (and an object thrown across the room). To make matters worse you needed that damn thing to connect to the Internet and you could use only one at a time. But that’s all in the past now. The cell phone damsel arrived in style and swung the pendulum so far this way that your average milkman is going around with two cell phones. The point of my story? Mobiles are in, landlines are out. And BSNL sucks too!
As for the one in my home, Mom uses it perfunctorily once a week (presumably to dust it), while I swear my sister doesn’t even know its number.
All right! I took a deep breath and dialed my landline. Unbeknownst to mom and sister I’d turned up its volume to the maximum, which meant whenever anyone called the entire apartment block knew we were getting a call. Damn thing was so loud it’d wake up a dead man. Unless I took pity on my neighbors and helped mom disable that switch (primarily for senior citizens with hearing disability, in case anyone needs to know) it’d be screaming for years to come. The things you can glean by perusing the instructional manual in detail.
“You asked for it Sindhu” I chuckled as I heard the first ring. This time she picked it up in the second ring as if an earthquake had jostled her out of bed.
“What’s that list you were talking about?” I barked driving straight to the point.
“What??? Who’s this??? Oh! What do you want?” she barked back almost ready to hang up on me again.
“Please! Please! Don’t go to sleep. Help me here. I need help” I pleaded. 90% drama 10% sincerity.
“Ok! Hold on! Let me get up” I heard a heavy rustling sound in the background. Half a dozen pillows would’ve been tossed aside while she managed to sit straight and rub the sleep off her eyes. As much as snoring away on weekends is paramount, gossiping (especially learning new stuff) is even bigger and girls never let any opportunity go by. In that regard I knew she’d stay awake even for a day if needed.
“So what exactly happened? I need ‘details’” she asked. I quickly summarized my last conversation with my mother-in-law and how her question had left me speechless.
“But… I love him. He’s like a kid. He’s really cute” I insisted.
“Hey hey! I know! I know!” she laughed. Embarrassed I hid my face under a pillow.
“You know what your problem is?”
“What is it?” Once again I was clueless.
“You have no idea how to express it. As much as we love to talk when we’re asked about our man or our relationship we can’t say proper words” I had to admit she was starting to make sense now.
“So… is this normal?” I ventured hesitatingly. Of course it was. Why wouldn’t it be? Unless you were Priya Tendulkar, Barkha Dutt or any other firebrand females who can bite your head off, this problem seemed to affect almost every other woman. And how were we supposed to combat it?
“Prepare a list. Take a notepad and start writing the things you love about him and the things you hate about him. Once you’re done that’s in a nutshell your marriage.” she decreed.
Wow! Who would’ve thought this? For a moment it seemed like I was at the therapist laying on the couch and sobbing about my marital woes.
“Is this for real? It’s not like we’re going through problems, you know” I asked.
“Trust me, guys dig these. Especially the one you’re married to. If anything, he’ll read it and love you even more. Goodbye!” she concluded and hung up.
Case closed. My normally garrulous sister herself felt there was no need to discuss this topic further. I was beginning to get convinced the “list” might not be a bad idea at all. For the first time in my life I had loads of free time at my disposal. Plus anything to turn him on, right? So…
