I have been asked to blog. There have been
complaints in certain corners of New Delhi that getting married has affected my
urge to write. The man I share a home with suddenly wakes up in the middle of
the night and urges me to write. He says, ‘I don’t want you to change. You must
write.’ So, for once in my life I am not writing just because I want but also
for these two special people in my life—one, I call a friend and the other,
people refer to as my husband.
To be honest, being married has changed me.
Actually, more than being married, having to shoulder the responsibility of
managing my own house has changed me. Updating my blog or writing figure on
very low ranks on my list of priorities right now. Going to the kitchen to
straighten the third coffee mug kept in the top shelf of the second cabinet
somehow seems like a task that could possibly change my life or to be honest,
the world.
I am still getting used to being promoted
from being called gudia or bitiya or beta to being called, madam, bhehenji or
the deadliest of them all—bhabhiji. The maids call me bhabhiji. And almost
every morning I look back over my shoulder to see if they are addressing me or
someone else.
I take more care in choosing the plants
that decorate my balcony than I took in choosing the jewellery for my wedding. And
the people who went shopping with me for my wedding know that I was very
particular in even choosing the safety pins needed to keep the pleats of my
saree in place. But I digress. I was telling you the ways in which marriage has
changed me. My mother says that I treat my husband like I have treated no one
else. Ever. She observes that I treat him with a lot of love and extreme
patience. My husband, let’s call him V because saying husband again and again
is a little annoying and also very un-nerving for me, tells me that he lives in
constant fear. V is a scared man whose every breath depends on my approval of the
next step he takes. He of course exaggerates. I am not such a dictator. Or at
least, so I like to believe.
My friend Skaty, along
with two other friends, has gifted me a mixer and grinder and an iron. She, now,
wants me to invite her over formally. I was informed today that plans are in
the pipelines of Skaty shaking things up a bit and maybe, just maybe not being
a part of the Delhi cityscape for long. I will not lie; I had tears in my eyes
and tried hard not to let them spill over when I came to know of the said plans.
Over the last couple of years I have explored a lot of corners the city with
her. Although I haven’t been on an exploration with her for almost six months
now imagining she not being a part of Delhi as I have come to know and love the
city is heart breaking. Skaty is one of the best teachers I know. If I have a child
someday I would want him/her to be tortured by Skaty with one of her lectures
on history. So, she needs to be in Delhi and she needs to urge be at regular
intervals to write.
This blogpost is my humble attempt at
combating the writer’s block that has had me engulfed since the better part of
2014. Hopefully, I will pen more posts in the months to come.
