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.