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You’ve got to believe me when I say that even during the initial, heady days of our marriage, he was neither effusive nor demonstrative.
Yes you’ve read it correctly. My husband and I are poles apart. To put it in another way, as different as chalk and cheese. Quite naturally our conjugal life has been a roller coaster ride a journey painted in motley hues.
But before I continue – a disclaimer: I envisage this post to be humorous one without malice towards anyone.
To begin with, our individual natures are divergent. I am outgoing, a tad extroverted and talkative, while he is an introvert opening up only in select company. He is level-headed and pragmatic, while I am ‘hyper’ emotional, often lapsing into histrionics.
I am a non-believer in idol worship rites and rituals while the partner is devout and God fearing. Under the influence of his orthodox and superstitious female relatives he also believes in (read practises) many weird things. We are at loggerheads on this point. It is puzzling how an well-educated individual can harbour such ideas.
Food and finance are two other areas where we disagree vehemently. He hates dining in expensive or even pocket-friendly restaurants. He mostly discourages me and our daughter from indulging in it. So, many a times we have dined out without him. For him ‘ghar ka khana’ is the best in the world. Again, he dislikes sampling an array of dishes laid out during a meal. For me variety is the spice of life while he is pretty much contented with a single dish – rice/ chapatti combo.
He is thrifty, cautious about expenditures, and about receipt of payments. At the end of each day he religiously keeps an account of the day’s transactions taking into account every single penny spent. He has a nose for sales, discounts, and concessions, availing of them happily. Unlike me he avoids branded products. If I acquire any such commodities with my savings or extra (read gifted) cash he gets furious, warning that some day I would turn the family stone broke.
Trust him to forget birthdays and anniversaries. He rarely buys me chocolates, cosmetics, bouquets, or other gifts. When I buy him gifts, I have to watch him grumbling, terming it a sheer wastage of money.
To be fair to him both of us have been private sector employees and need to save for the future. However too much of his cribbing and cringing somewhat cramps my style. I am not the ‘splurging’ type, but I do want to ‘enjoy’ life, which he fails to understand.
As for our personal interaction and relationship, he is reticent, and never forthcoming. You’ve got to believe me when I say that even during the initial, heady days of our marriage, he was neither effusive nor demonstrative. Forget about PDA, even in utmost privacy and seclusion, holding hands, cuddling, etc were rare treats for me. I am wont to brand him as the most unromantic person under the sun…
Whenever I was ill or underwent surgeries, he would maintain a nightlong vigil and look after me. During my pregnancy (albeit a difficult one) he was never once demanding. Rather he became more caring than ever before.
My tenure with my in-laws brigade was tempestuous and stormy. As a dutiful son he was a mute witness to the mental torture inflicted on me. He seldom protested. Nevertheless in the stillness of the night, ensconced in our bedroom when I wept on his shoulder, he hugged me close, providing solace.
On one occasion an odious fellow tried to frame me in a legal case. My spouse, having roped in some who’s who, got the matter hushed up. I had a lucky escape! Much earlier, at the outset, when I had placed my cards on the table regarding my bohemian ways and ‘aborted’ relationships before marriage, he had assured me in very few words that he would always be by my side ‘till death do us part…’
And last but not the least in April this year, while I reeled under a severe reaction from my first COVID jab, he turned the sole caregiver –dutifully feeding me and maintaining all the hygiene and cleanliness needed – for this I can’t stop feeling grateful; nay overwhelmed.
On this positive note, I confess that our life has been this way for twenty seven years now. Inspite of all odds and frequent skirmishes, we simply (he also agrees) can’t imagine living separately …
Image source: a still from the film The Namesake
Am a trained and experienced features writer with 25 plus years of experience .My favourite subjects are women's issues, food travel, art,culture ,literature et all.Am a true feminist at heart. An iconoclast read more...
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I recommend reading Manjiri Indurkar's Origami Aai alongside her memoir to have a fulfilling and enriching experience of telling one's story with grace.
It’s All In Your Head, M famed author Manjiri Indurkar’s debut poetry collection, Origami Aai, is independent and yet an extension of her memoir in which she speaks with utmost grace about all forms of abuses that she has survived. In this book of intriguing and evocative poems, the poet weaves words to form images of the everyday life of her middle-class family, love found and lost, trauma, and healing.
The collection is divided into four segments, beginning with the family, slowly moving towards the world, and finally colliding them together.
We aren’t in mourning, but we are creatures of habit.
So we talk of each one who died of drowning,
and I listen to her stories with the patience
of a chronicler.
– Funereal Stories
When someone accuses you of "too much feminism", what they are really saying is, "I am uncomfortable with you challenging the status quo and disrupting my privilege".
Time and again, there is one phrase that keeps coming up in the social media discourse on feminism. Any guesses?
Ah, no prizes for guessing the infamous “itni bhi feminist” or “too much feminism” phrase, a classic eye-roller for me, and I am sure for many more of my tribe, in the realm of gender equality discussions.
Pray tell me, how can an ideology, a movement be too ‘much’? It’s not salt or the seasoning of your soup where you can go, “Oops, too much salt, only one spoon was required”. Either you stand for what feminism stands for, or you don’t.
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