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Monday, July 18, 2016

What I’ve learnt about my husband after being married for nearly 3 years




Okay so, I have been married for a little more than two years now. And in these two years, I have come to know more about the man I live with than I did during those 10 years of dating him. Well, we were on and off you know. Like most long-distance relationships are. And, we like to consider ourselves a rare breed—college sweethearts-turned-married couple. I am sure we aren’t as rare as we would love to be!
So what have I learnt about the man who travels extensively for his work? He is bloody brilliant. But as all brilliant people are—he is forgetful. Now where do I begin?




Going to the movie hall
He books movie tickets at the last minute on a Saturday evening. We always do things at the last minute. Well, we are like that. Remember being rare and all? So, I am still applying my lip gloss and adjusting my still-wet-from-hurried-shampooed hair, when we reach the movie hall. I follow him inside and mutter reassuringly, “We have missed the first 10 minutes of the movie, but that’s okay…”, when we are stopped at the entrance. The guard squints at my husband’s phone and e-ticket and says, “Wrong hall”.
WHAT!
So, he has conveniently gotten us to the wrong hall and now we must again make our way through Mumbai’s traffic on a Saturday evening to reach the right one. And reach we did. But after the interval.
I forget what movie it was. I am a writer, I am allowed to be forgetful, am I not?

Downloading movies
It’s Sunday night and we are both pretty miserable. Monday mornings and all that… So we decide to download a movie we both wanted to watch for a long time. Why did we want to watch it? Hmm… now let me think. Aah yes, because of the actor, who according to reviews had done a brill job. So the movie is downloaded and we happily start watching the movie on our laptop. “It’s past midnight, but that’s okay. We will try waking up on time tomorrow,” I assure him.
So the movie is on… 15 minutes go by, so do the next 15. After another 15 (let’s do some calculation: 45 minutes into a 1.5 hour film) I realise something’s amiss. But what? “Where’s the actor?” I ask. “He should appear any minute,” was the response. “Hmm hmm”… We continue watching. After 15 more minutes without any luck, we look at each other. “Have we been watching the wrong movie?” It turns out we were. He has in fact downloaded some nondescript movie instead of the one we wanted to watch. And it is already time for us to hit the bed and whine a little about a Sunday midnight so wasted.
But I am at fault too. I should have enquired about the actor’s presence (here absence) way before the 1-hour mark, what say?

Booking flight tickets
Oh dear, now where do I begin?
To put it simply, we have paid extra every time he has had to book flight tickets. Because there had to be last minute cancellations made. Why, you ask? Umm… now where to begin?
A Mumbai-Kolkata flight invariably becomes a Kolkata-Mumbai flight. How am I supposed to board a flight from Mumbai, if the ticket says departure from Kolkata? If someone needs to book a 4 PM flight, he books a 4 AM flight. If we have to book a ticket for March 10, he books it for May 10.
Hey, both start with M!

A dollop of moisturiser
Nothing suits my husband better than the “men will be men” adage.
“This frequent travelling and change of weather is making my skin so dry,” he complains one day over the phone. I ask him to pick up one of those moisturiser bottles he gets at the hotels. (Yeah fine, I am a hoarder of all things found in hotel washrooms.) He complies, as he always does, ever so sweetly. He comes home after a week, his face flushed and a little swollen. “Are you not applying any moisturiser or what,” I ask. “I am. But each time I do, my skin burns like crazy.” “May be you are not applying enough. Use it twice every day,” is my stern advice.
The next time I see him (which is after seven days), his face is as red as before. “Where is this moisturiser you’ve been using? Are you even using one? Why would your face still be this red if you are,” I say. He fishes out a bottle from his travel bag. I stare at the bottle and at him in disbelief. He has been rubbing shampoo on his face all along.
I hand him my moisturiser, something I should have done way before. My bad really.

I hope I can add more to this list of crazy moments that make every minute worth spending with him, my sweetheart-turned-husband. We are more like two friends living together really. More like best friends. A fact I hope neither of us forgets.


Thursday, June 23, 2016



I am not afraid of failing
I am not afraid of death
But I am afraid of forgetting how you smiled
And afraid of forgetting how it felt when I looked into your eyes.
Little by little, I am already forgetting how you smelt
Or how your fingers felt when placed on my cheek
Little by little, I am moving farther away from all that you stood for
And slowly inching towards an age when you would probably cease to matter.
Yes, I am afraid. Afraid of that day.

Tuesday, June 14, 2016

but the fledgling has left the nest...



I was out last evening with a friend I’ve known for over a decade now. We’ve seen each other grow up, from being awkward school children to being rebellious college students and now as overworked adults.
So he gulps down his beer and tells me “I do not want to go back home”.
"Home" means Kolkata to both of us.
While it’s been two years that I’ve been away, it's nearly eight for him.
“What do you mean you do not want to go back home?” I nearly shriek. "The music here is always too loud," I add trying to appear calm.
“It’s home, remember... we have our family and our house there...”
“I would want to visit once every two years, yes. But I can’t live there,” he cuts me short.
“But you just called it home. How can one not long to be home, even if it means dreaming of doing so some day in the future?” I almost tear up.
Visions of my terrace, my flowering plants, smiling faces of my cousins... become a little more blurry than my memories would have wanted it to be.
As I turn to face the live band, I can't help but wonder, would I feel the same way if I continue to live away from home? Would a 10-day visit every year be enough to take care of this homesick heart?
Or would I not long to be home at all?

Thursday, May 8, 2014

I don't want to remember you frail.
I want to remember you as the strong man who taught me everything.
I don't want to remember ever having seen you lie still on your bed.
I want to remember you with your fierce love for life.
I don't want to remember you gone.
I want to remember your hand on my head.

But, if I refuse to remember the end, I would refuse to remember the beginning.
If I cannot own the death, I do not deserve to long for the living.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Her home


It was not her house. She didn't even pay the rent.
Yet, she called it home.
Married at the age of 23, she had to move in with her belongings.
She missed the courtyard of her father's house.
Here, in the small adjoining garden she planted a tree, hoping it would bear fruits one day.

This isn't her house either. And no, she doesn't pay her rent. The far-away daughter does.
They call this home.
Feeble and lonely at 71, she has to move in with her belongings.
She misses the smell of raw mangoes that her tree bears every summer.
A pot of flowering plant is now what she calls home.

Friday, February 14, 2014

Love's hidden memories

I came home with stories full of love
"Don't show it," they said.
So I kept it hidden from view
And no one knew.

But it started to grow, love started to swell
I had to tell, I had to tell.
Everything I saw spoke of love
Your eyes, your face, your smile, your grace.

"Don't show your love," I heard them scream
I shut it out and built a screen.
But my love was not just mine to show
What of the love that made you glow?

My love I could easily hide
But your love for me was too strong to cover.
I failed to cut off love from my life
Because you were born to be the lover.