August,
2009
I collapsed on the couch after
a strenuous day of work at office. My mother promptly offered a piping hot cup
of tea and my favorite cauliflower pakodas.
‘Gosh! Aren’t mothers the best?’, I wondered as I hungrily wolfed downed
the pakodas.
“Shreya, there is a proposal
that came today. The boy lives in Bangalore and works in an IT company but his
parents are from Belgaum. He’s sent his email id. Can you please send your
photo along with your details to him”, my mother asked as she passed the TV
remote to me.
‘Damn! I knew there was a
catch.’ So the royal treatment was just to butter me up before bringing the
machete down. Slash!
This was nothing new anyways.
My mother was aggressively searching for her son-in-law for the past 2 years
and distributing my photo and horoscope to all and sundry. But the guys whom I
“met for marriage” were either too short, too tall, showed too much interest in
my paycheck, were too attached to their mother or were just plain psychos
(some). I just wanted someone decent,
someone kind. Someone who would allow me, to be me, and that would mean
accepting me as I am, with my faults and phobias. Someone who wouldn’t force
his views on me, someone who would understand that a wife is not someone’s
slave, that she has a life of her own, an individuality of her own. I was not
asking for too much, was I? And yeah I wanted my husband to know cooking
because I knew that no matter how many years I toiled in the kitchen, I could
never cook to save my life.
So I was not overly excited when my mother announced this arrival of a new proposal. In my heart I
already saw it as doomed or failed. I just nodded my head and continued eating
my pakodas.
Next
Day
As soon as I reached office I
received a call from my mom.
“Don’t forget to send your
photo. Send it now. You’ll forget about it later.”
I rolled my eyes but agreed to
send the snap. The snap which had me covered in a sari, looking demurely at the
camera, had me in giggles. Of course I was nothing like that in real life but
the photographer had gone a little overboard with the Photoshop trying to make
me look fair and graceful. It was a herculean task I admitted, to make me look “marriage
material”.
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| The Photoshopped Photo |
A few minutes later I received
an email from Eshan Bhat. Yes, he was the guy whose proposal I had received the
previous day.
“ThanQ for sending your photo. Here
is mine”.
‘That was a short and crisp
reply’ I thought, as I clicked the photo attached along with his mail.
A guy in a pink shirt, with
light eyes, fair skin and cleft chin stared at me from my computer monitor. ‘Not
bad at all’, I contemplated. I was particularly amused by his shorter version
of Thank You.
I quickly logged into my Orkut
account (FB hadn’t caught on then) and searched for Eshan Bhat. He liked traveling, as was evident from his
photos taken along with his friends in various cities in India. There were a
few testimonies that proclaimed that his poetry had garnered appreciation from
his friends.
Oh, a creative guy, just like
me, I wondered. My hopes were rising. Was this guy, ‘The One’ then?
A few minutes later, I received
another email in which his phone number was given.
“I would like to talk to
you. If you don’t mind would you please
pass on your phone number?”
I hesitated for a while before
sending him an email with my phone number.
I immediately received a call.
“Hello”
“Hi”
We were at a loss of words, not
knowing what to speak. It was an awkward pause.
“This is kind of awkward. Let me go first. I completed my MCA in Belgaum and I have been
working in Ardent Technologies for last 4 years. I have 2 elder brothers, both are
married. I am currently living in
Bangalore with few of my colleagues. I like to travel, watch movies and
sometimes I play cricket with friends.” he blurted out as if he was in a job
interview.
I almost laughed.
“Ok, I am currently working for
a software company in Mangalore. I completed my Bachelor of Engineering in
Electronics branch. I like to watch movies too.” I replied in a pleasant voice.
“You have a beautiful voice”,
he said as my heart leapt.
No one had complimented on my
voice till date, although I had wished a thousand times for a mellifluous tone
as I sang slightly off key. And here he was a saying that my voice was
beautiful. I could have wept with joy.
“Thank you” I said demurely. Now
I was acting all coy and shy. What had come over me?
We spoke some more and by the
end of our conversation I liked the guy.
He was a gentleman, he knew how to speak to a girl and when I mentioned
that I was not the quintessential traditional Indian girl, he said that he
didn’t expect me to be.
That evening, when I reached
home my mother waited patiently with a plate of my favorite Maggi noodles,
looking at me anxiously and expectantly.
I smiled and nodded. My
mother’s face lit up. She came and hugged me, kissing my forehead. My mother
then proceeded to call our family priest, requesting him to match our
horoscopes. Of course Indian arranged marriages are never complete without the
horoscope matching. I found myself crossing my fingers, as for the first time
since my mother started the groom hunt, I hoped that things would work out.
The results were announced next
day. Our horoscopes matched. We had the green signal from the astrologer.
Eshan and I spoke regularly
over the phone. We talked earnestly about our likes and dislikes. I confided
that I’m a bad cook and that my preferred choice of dressing was jeans and
t-shirts and I was not very spiritual. In fact I rarely went to temples except
for some occasions. We had heart-to-heart talks where we discussed for hours
together, much to the amusement of our friends.
And finally a week later my
mother received a call from Eshan’s parents. They had invited our family to
their house. This meant that things were serious, that maybe this was for real.
Maybe, I and Eshan would be husband and wife.
The day we were to meet his
family, I chose to wear a simple cotton salwar. My relatives were aghast. They
insisted that I wear Sari since this would be first time his family would see
me. But I refused steadfastly. I was not comfortable in a Sari and I wanted to
be me. If Eshan’s family accepted me, then it would be as I am. I was adamant
that I wouldn’t change for anything.
And when we arrived, his mom
was amused to find me in salwar but to his family’s credit they didn’t utter a
word. They accepted me with open arms and I was on cloud nine. His brothers and
parents went out of their way to make us feel at ease.
There were a few embarrassing
relatives who wanted to click our photos together and we had to pose awkwardly.
Eshan took me away for some time and we went to an ice-cream shop. He had
remembered that I loved eating ice-creams and they were my weakness. I was
pleased that he remembered.
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| The Awkward Photo with the awkward pose |
The date for marriage was fixed
by the elders after consultation with the priest. Eshan and I would be declared
as man and wife on December 11th, 2009.
December
11, 2009.
It was a bright, warm day and my
eyes were still closed as the beautician looped a large garland of jasmines
around my hair, tied into a neat braid. I couldn’t believe that I was getting
married as early as 8 AM, which meant that I had to be up at 4 AM. Damn the
priest! I asked my cousin to get me a cup of strong tea or a bottle of vodka.
Anything that would wake me up. I didn’t want to sleep when Eshan tied the
Mangalsutra around my neck.
After few hours of the
beautician toiling over me, I looked at my reflection in the mirror and I was
surprised. I looked like a bride. I actually looked like a bride! The reality
hit me hard. I was going to be married.
Would Eshan and I live happily?
Will we fight? Will we fall in love eventually? Because all though I liked and
respected Eshan, I didn’t think that I was in love with him. But that was ok. I knew
that in arranged marriages, love comes later, maybe some years after the
marriage. It was enough for me that we liked each other and believed that we
could live together happily.
The marriage was a strenuous
affair, with relatives wanting to wish you, with the priests wanting you to be
serious about the different rituals, and the cousins who kept teasing you
incessantly even though you didn’t find their jokes funny. I promised myself
that I would never ever get married again and laughed at that thought. Eshan
looked at me weirdly thinking that maybe he had got married to a lunatic.
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| The wedding album |
Finally the marriage got over
and it was soon time for husband and wife to head to their honeymoon. Eshan had
booked us for a Shimla-Manali honeymoon package. Throughout our flight to
Delhi, we were holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes. It was the
most romantic moment of my life. Amidst the clouds, high up in air, I was
cocooned by the soft warmth of his arms. I decided that marriage was bliss.
As soon as we reached the Delhi
airport, the cab driver called Eshan’s phone.
“Hello
Saab, aap kahan ho? Main
airport main hoon”
“Hum airport main hain… Tum..
Tum..”, he faltered not able to talk further.
Eshan looked at me and asked, “Hey
can you speak Hindi? My Hindi is not fluent.” He passed the phone to me and I
gave directions to the driver.
“You said you liked watching
movies, but you don’t know how to converse in Hindi?” I asked Eshan when we
were seated in the cab.
"I watch Kannada movies. I
don’t usually watch Hindi films since I don’t understand the dialogues”, he
explained.
“Ohhhh… I see” Alarm bells were
ringing in my head. I loved Hindi movies. In fact I have been fed with our
Masala Bollywood movies ever since my childhood. How would I watch movies with
Eshan if he didn’t understand Hindi? I forced myself to remain calm. Of course
I was acting silly, these minor things didn’t matter. Eshan could always learn
a new language or maybe he wouldn’t mind accompanying me to a movie which he didn’t
understand.
We enjoyed the beautiful scenery
as the car zoomed past the green fields of Punjab on the way to Shimla. I
slipped into my dream where Eshan, clad in a leather jacket, opened his arms
and I ran in slow motion into his arms and then we hugged each other
passionately.
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| The Honeymoon album |
Soon it was time for lunch. The
climate was cold and I wanted to eat something spicy and hot. I ordered phulkas
and Egg Masala for myself. Eshan looked at me surprised.
“Hey, you eat Egg?”
“Yeah, of course. I mean I don’t
eat it at home, but whenever I’m outside I like ordering Egg dishes. I hope you don’t
mind.”
“Oh ok. I was surprised, you
know, being a Brahmin, you eat egg. Do you eat fish and chicken too?” he asked
cautiously.
“No, I don’t. It’s nothing to
fret about. I know a lot of Brahmins who hog non-vegetarian food too. Caste or
religion shouldn’t inhibit you from doing something you like, right?” I
explained patiently.
“Uh-huh. It’s just that my
family is kind of orthodox, so please don’t mention this to them, ok?”
I wanted to talk, but I knew
that it would lead to an argument and I wanted to avoid it. The fact is, I didn’t
have a conventional upbringing. My parents allowed me to choose the lifestyle
that I wanted. They gave me independence, trusting my choices and knowing that eventually
I would learn from my own mistakes.
Eshan was quite on the ride to
Shimla. When we reached Shimla, we ordered dinner and even though I was dying
to have some alcohol inside me, I forbid myself to do it. I didn’t want Eshan
running back for his life. I had shocked him with my egg-eating episode. I
never knew that Eshan was unadventurous. I mean what was the big deal if I
liked eating eggs.
That night I was woken up by loud
and deep snorting kind of sound. I woke up with a fright, thinking that someone
had broken into our room. And that’s when I realized that the sound was Eshan
snoring. I had never heard anyone
snoring so loudly. I tred sleeping with my ears covered, I tried to mentally block
the sounds, but sleep evaded me. I was a light sleeper. A gentle sound was enough to rouse me from my
deep sleep.
I realized that no matter for
how many years we knew a person, we come to know about his habits, about
his behavior, about the small things that irritated you, only after you started
living with him. Maybe Eshan and I should have had a live-in relationship
before marriage. I giggled as I imagined Eshan having a heart-attack when I
mentioned this to him. I remembered to keep my liberal and contemporary
thoughts to myself.
The next day I woke up with a
slight headache and a little bit annoyed. I had had no sleep, thanks to Eshan’s
loud snoring.
When I mentioned this to Eshan,
he looked perplexed.
“Oh, did I snore? I do that
only when I’m tired.” He explained.
Ok, so I had to be ready for
sleepless nights I warned myself. We went to Kufri that morning. On the way to
Kufri, I felt restless. Somehow I felt that my married life had not started on
a right note. Eshan and I kept discovering little things about each other that
irritated us. I was sure Eshan had the same thoughts, because he looked distant
and lost.
At Kufri, our guide took us on
a trek to the mountains. We had mounted different horses which were steered by
two small boys. My horse seemed a little jumpy but the boy next to my horse
assured me that I had nothing to worry.
15 minutes into our trek and my
horse bolted. It ran straight up the hills. I was terrified and started
shouting for help. My guide had fallen when the horse ran away. I held the
reigns tightly and tried not to fall off. It was the most horrifying moment of
my life. I was rushing past trees and people. The low lying branches scraped at
my face and I was too scared to let go off the reigns and cover my face.
I kept shouting and yelling. Suddenly
I heard another horse riding beside mine, trying to catch up with my horse. I didn’t
dare turn my head, but I guessed that it must be the owner of the horse Eshan
was riding on. I just hoped that he would save me. I envisaged Eshan as a
widower, grieving the death of his wife of few days. Would he get married
again? I didn’t want to die. I wanted to have a happy life with Eshan, even if
that meant sleepless nights. I wanted to be in his arms, be comforted by him. I
loved him and I wanted to tell that to him. I wanted to kiss him, one last kiss
before this stupid horse hurtled me to my death.
It was the platinum moment of
love for me, the moment when I realized what Eshan meant to me, when I realized
that I didn’t love Eshan despite his faults. I loved him for all his faults. I wouldn’t
want to change even one thing about him. How I wished that I could tell him all
these things now.
I realized that my horse
had slowed down. I looked at the person who was now riding beside me and
holding the reigns of my horse and taking control.
“Are you alright Shreya? You look so pale”, Eshan took me in his arms and
delicately lifted me down from the horse.
It was Eshan who had come to my
rescue. It was he who had saved my life while risking his.
“I didn’t know you ride horses
too.” I was shaking like a leaf but I felt better, now that I was enclosed in
Eshan’s arms.
He didn’t let me go. “Shreya, I
was so frightened. I had taken couple of horse riding classes when I was in college.
I was so scared of losing you. I don’t want to let you go. I love you Shreya. I’ll
always love you till death does us apart and even after that”
I beamed up at Eshan. This was
our platinum day of love when we understood that no marriage is perfect, no
spouse is perfect. What made us perfect are the small moments of love, when we
realize that the person standing beside you and squashing you with his bear
hug, is the person you can’t live without. That your life is beautiful because
of his presence and you love him so much that you miss his snores when you
spend even one night away from him.
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| Eshan and Shreya with their little one after 4 years of their marriage :) |
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. :-)
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