Trust me, marriage has slowed me down. It also made me achieve an impossible feat. I have owned this cyberspace for three years without making a single entry. The urge to blog was immense. Like when I met Orham Pamuk. Early on a Sunday morning, I was one of those fortunate few journos who had a warm, lengthy and fascinating conversation with this Nobel winner.
All that my office was interested in was a small story revolving around him and his girlfriend Kiran Desai. I grumbled. I decided to write a nice account of the meeting in my blog. But I never could. Reason: Sunday is the day reserved for the lazy husband. Waking him up before noon is tough. Then making him talk, before he gulps at least two cups of tea and inhales his generous morning quota of nicotine, is tougher. After that, I have this impossible mission of making him share the domestic responsibilities. On Sunday, I can’t cook all by myself or put up the clean curtains or do the dusting or fill the water bottles.
As expected, he tries his best to wriggle out of it. And as expected, I foil his attempts by shouting, sulking and all other wifely tactics. Thus goes our Sunday even before we realise it or finish all the cooking, cleaning or shopping.
Still, this is better than the first one year of marriage. The routine then: get up not before 11 am; go to fish market like a typical Eastern Indian couple (I’m an Oriya and he is Bengali); cook fish curry; retire for an afternoon siesta; get up around 7-8 pm; go for a mini-walk; eat dinner and sleep again. Something about our marriage was sleep-inducing. Somehow, I snapped out of it. And the former routine came into force.
That was the story so far.
Now, the husband is away. I am single in the city. I have a regular job in Mumbai. Still, I have some free time. As my other job—that of reforming my husband—is gone, at least for some time.
Suddenly, I feel energetic—I have to kill time. Plus, I have to cover up the pain of separation.
My mind is buzzing with plans. I hardly go to Blue Frog though I stay very close to it. Come to think of it, I have never been to Hard Rock Café in my five years in Mumbai. Someone was asking me if I’m interested in paintball? Of course, I am. Trekking in Rajmachchi? Sounds great.
And all these outings I intend to record for posterity on this blog.
Behind all this—I have an agenda. The husband should know life is not all about gaping at TV for hours with that wonderstruck expression.
Now, I hope the next entry will not take another three years.
