“The one with the list”

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…



Ten things I love about him!

1. I love the fact he loves my nascent culinary skills but doesn't want me slaving in the kitchen 24x7 and instead innocently says in his baby voice "If you have other things to do, that's ok" but looking askance at me every other minute and secretly wishing I throw him a spread. God! That only makes me want to hit the books (cookbook, that is) even harder. And this is how you get Avial and Navaratan Kurma you guys…



2. I love the fact he works out diligently and doesn’t think it’s perfectly acceptable to cultivate a paunch now that there’s no need to hunt girls. I can’t bear to tell him he’ll never be Mr. Los Angeles (or Mr. Manhattan Beach, for that matter) and that it’s sometimes ok to simply lie in bed and watch a movie or go for a drive, but I’ll let it slide. For now, I love those chest and triceps and I’ll keep punching them…



3. I love the fact that he roams around with neither shame nor self consciousness in our house, his parent’s house, his uncle’s house wearing nothing but a “banian” and boxers like he’s conducting business in a three piece Reid & Taylor suit. How can someone with cartoon characters in bright shades of red, blue, green and black clinging around their backsides go about brushing their teeth, slurping coffee, watching TV, reading the newspaper will never cease to amuse me.
What’s that dear? Me do the same? No thanks! House’s an icebox even when I’ve turned up the thermostat to 80F and I’m not removing anything. Get me another jacket will ya?



4. I love the fact that he blissfully assumes he’s the next incarnation of SPB or Yesudas and breaks into a song when in the middle of something. Not the start or finish but an obscure verse no one’s heard before. And I love the way he enacts the whole thing standing erect eyes closed like he’s recording it live and the boyish smile that follows when he’s got the notes and pitch right. Next stop Super Singer baby!



5. I love the fact that he’s ready to start ranting about anything and everything that crosses his mind at the drop of a hat. Driving in the car, shopping for groceries, watching TV at home, running on the beach, a commentary on a movie, actress, some cricket/basketball/football game, or what I can do to make myself more sexier is always round the corner. I’ve been around blowhards in my life but this one’s actually different. Not just because he’s my better half but because what he says is intriguing, well formed and most of it makes sense. True story! Sometimes I even think he mugged up the encyclopedia right before!



6. I love the fact he keeps me in splits every day with his seemingly never ending list of jokes, one-liners, good natured jabs (directed at me, who else?), text messages, letters and what not. Here I am thinking I’ve a stiff upper lip and don’t laugh for everything thrown at me but reality is I’m smiling or biting my knuckles or rolling on the floor most of the time. I’d always thought he was kinda sorta maybe funny but could actually moonlight as a stand-up comic? Definitely not. All right! Just funny!



7. I love the way he drives his car, that weather-beaten stick shift Hyundai that’s seen better days. Balancing a donut on one hand, a coffee mug on the other, texting with the thumb while the wheel somehow manages to stay straight thanks to the middle two fingers. It’s a mystery we haven’t crashed into a tree yet.

But we still need me for forward progress. “Third” he yells pressing the clutch at which moment I figure out in an instant from the passenger seat what gear we’re on and either shift from second to third or come down from fourth. “Neutral” he yells and I shift it to the middle when he’s slowing down. Silly though it may seem, I feel it puts a totally different spin on “We’re driving to Malibu Beach/Wal-Mart”, because we both really are. If marriage’s all about division of labor and sharing of responsibilities we’re right there honey…



8. I love the fact he’s always caring about me. Perfecting my left hand driving on manual transmission, getting my credit cards, IDs, drivers license, constructing my resume and egging me on to study further is noble and I appreciate that. Once in a blue moon I feel like I’m doing a sixth standard assignment (too many tasks in the to-do list, you see) but I get the bigger picture, an independent self-reliant me who can take on things by herself and do just fine. Or is it part of his master plan to get me in charge while he goes back to his b**l scratching lazy bum ways? I’m just kidding baby! I really am!



9. What's not to love about Kobe Bryant, right? What's also not to love about your husband who treats the Lakers as if they were his blood brothers and immerses himself into their games like it's his religion. Squealing like a puppy and hugging and kissing me every time they score a field goal or Kobe does something crazy, like a fadeaway 3 or an acrobatic layup (yup! new words learnt today). I wonder what he'd do to me when they win the World Cup (sorry! Championship). Maybe he'll buy me a diamond ring!



10. I love the fact… $%^& that. I just love him! That’s all!



Five things I hate about him!

1. Somebody please tell him getting caught with a white stick between your fingers is so 80s. This day this age if you want girls to look at you twice you better switch to chewing gum and proclaim you hate smoking and smokers. Try this in front of a random Joe Blow who's lighting up and watch your stock skyrocket through the roof.



2. Since when is it uncool to say "I don't drink" and refuse the beer/rum-n-coke that your best friend is thrusting upon you OR Why can't you socialize at parties with an orange juice or apple cider and pretend you just tasted a 20yrd old single malt scotch every time you took a sip? Do you have to down an entire bottle (and ramble nonsense) and wake up the next day complaining that you'd rather be dead than survive the headache?



3. Guys fall in love with their underwear and treasure them for eternity, but shirts that are almost a decade old? So faded their stripes are gone and collars are limp? And you're still asking if they'd go well with your blue jeans? Oh please! The keyword is Metrosexual and there's good reason why most guys are leaning towards that. That means visiting Aeropostale, Calvin Klein and IZOD at least every six months, owning multiple blazers and sport coats and not just the one I bought you for our Reception. And while you're at it, think about cologne too.



4. "Silence speaks a thousand words", do you even know that saying? Maybe you do maybe you don't but that's exactly what I plan to live by. Some things I care about, for which a few words skinny would suffice. Others I care two hoots and I'll let dead air take care of that. But I'm not going to launch into a thousand word essay about every topic that runs through my head. Even if you play 20 questions every minute. And the same applies in bed too. If you're hitting the right spot and doing the right things I'm just going to kiss and smile. Not scream at the top of my lungs "You're the sex God I've been waiting for!"



5. Dude! I get it. Your playlist’s the next best thing to sliced bread. Perhaps I'm really tone deaf and am not a "connoisuer" like you, but listening to the same SPB/Yesudas/Chitra songs over and over again is borderline crazy. Time to come out of the rock you've been living under and sample Yuvan Shankar Raja, G.V. Prakash and Hindi Pop. You want "English Paattu"? Say hello to Eminem, Rihanna and others. But for heaven's sake pick a dozen or so Ilayaraja songs from the 80s and forget the rest. Not all of them are gold and even he'd agree in a heartbeat.


Two hours had passed since I started on my “confession” sitting cross-legged on the carpet with all the focus in the world. I was pleased with my handiwork. Who knew I could write this much, huh? “Love makes you do crazy things” my heart answered and I smiled. True! I looked outside and realized it’s become dark. Time was 7.00pm and the Dark Knight would be home anytime.

“Open the bloody door. I’m the boss” shouted a voice in a bad Kamal Hassan accent. Kamal’s line from Michael Madana Kamarajan that fit well in the movie but butchered here by you-know-who. The past two days he’d been repeating this ad nauseam irrespective of the situation. We’d be getting ready for dinner or in the car and this line would pop out of the blue. I shrugged and waited to hear it one more time before I opened the door smiling.

“Here! Hold this” he managed to steady himself and handed over his bulky archaic laptop. I barely registered it because my attention was immediately drawn to the other things he was holding. The big Oster 14 speed blender I’d been swooning over and a huge bag from Macys. Yay! Could it be more dresses for me? I was jumping with joy inside. Maybe it was all this exuberance because I so badly mismanaged the handoff that his office laptop went tumbling to the ground. The fall was pretty brutal as the battery and the power cord went flying in different directions. For a second I was worried that I’d broken something.

“Fuck! What a clumsy fool you are? Do you have any sense at all?” he bellowed. The force and intensity took me by surprise. He looked like he was about to break a blood vessel. I’d never seen him this mad.

“You’re an idiot! Can’t you wait for me to steady myself?” I shot back. Of course, if I’d been thinking less about my gifts and concentrated on the task at hand this mishap wouldn’t have occurred. But no way was I going to concede that. No sir!

“Shut the #$%^ up! You just had to grab it and place it on the counter. Can’t you even do that?” He was still belligerent as he sat down and scooped down the pieces.

“Go to hell. Don’t talk to me again” I cursed and grabbed the Macys bag and headed into the bedroom shutting the door loudly. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” meets “Damsel in distress” and I was confident I’d nailed it. One of the most powerful weapons in us girls’ armory. Designed to make the guy melt and start working on his apology letter. As is shown in Tamil movies I could’ve simply fallen sideways on the bed but there were more pressing matters at hand. Like, what was inside that Macys bag? Curiosity would’ve killed me if I didn’t tear it open that second.

Hmmmm! Nice choices after all. A blue sweater perfect for my frame and a black coat, exactly the kind I’d been dreaming for some time. I wore the sweater and the coat on top sashayed in front of the mirror and admired myself. All those hours sweating off at 24 Hour Fitness was starting to pay off. I changed to jeans to complete my look and smiled even wider. God! I looked pretty. How on earth had he picked up this coat? And that blue color? It would’ve been a fashion faux pas if he’d gone with a lighter shade. Whatever, I was ready to forgive him now. I planned my sexy walk and slowly opened the door.

Where was he? I looked around and found him hunched in the same position I’d been earlier in front of my laptop. What the hell was he looking at? Didn’t he realize that I was now in the room looking like a princess?

“What is this?” he quietly asked.

Oh my God! “That’s just some list. Nothing important” I rushed over to his side almost toppling over him. I had to close the laptop before further damage could be done.

“What’s this mean? Why are you writing this?” A very valid question because couples just a month into their marriage don’t prepare such lists.

“Are we having any problems? Do you have any problems?” he asked bemused. The smile was creeping back in and I was glad he found it funny. Humor was what was needed now and in copious quantities.

“Actually the reason is…” I started to spill the beans but stopped. No sense in inundating him with chick stuff. “I felt bored so I wrote it. I’m sure you’ll love it” I simply said. He nodded and went back to the laptop.

“Come on! There are 10 good things about you” I purred.

“It’s cool. I like it. Can I get some coffee now?” I would’ve prepared a king’s feast for the next 3 hours if he wanted to. I was glad he didn’t go off the handle or nothing. Just the good sport being himself. Again.

“Your dress looks great” he smiled. I tiptoed and did a tap dance highlighting the coat as I stepped into the kitchen.

I wasn’t sure what he was working on but I saw him type furiously on my laptop. Maybe he was chatting with someone. Or maybe he was finished reading and was jotting down his comments. Bru coffee brewed to perfection and lowered down to room temperature I gingerly walked over to his side.

“Were you talking to somebody?”

“Oh no! Just added point #11 to the ‘I love him’ list” he smiled and kissed me on the forehead and went to the patio with his coffee.

I love the fact he calls me a stupid woman who can’t hold onto a damn thing. After all who wouldn’t? Grabbing a laptop from a person standing one foot away from you doesn’t require 20 steps to follow or a state diagram to understand. Just look at them and the object, extend your hands and fingers, secure the object in hands firmly and place them on a flat surface all in one motion. I get it baby! Next time if I drop a spoon or fork brand me with a hot iron.

Mrs. Atmarajan