I travel back in time. I am a sixteen year old, now. Papa comes to home from office. I am in front of the idiot box not really enjoying the interview going on with some artist. Papa winks at me when he catches my eye and I know he has a gift for me. He takes out a book from his briefcase with the triumphant air of a magician conjuring a rabbit from his hat. I snatch the book from his hand and am thrilled to see that it is the book I had been pestering him from days – the latest Robert Ludlum release. Old times were wonderful. Why can’t I remain at sixteen forever?
I travel back some more. I am a ten year old now. I am elated today. My 5th grade results are out and I stand first in class. Papa is out of town and I badly miss him. Mummy takes me out in the evening for a treat. We have an ice cream and a cola, a rare privilege for me as I am not allowed to have that in normal circumstances. She then takes me to the park. The Deshpriya Park. I spend about half an hour there, chasing butterflies and swinging on an old rusty swing. We watch an Amitabh starrer, eat outside and I have a sound, snoring sleep with full of lovely dreams. Oh, why can’t I be 10 years old till eternity?
Fast forward to today. I am middle aged, slightly obese and diabetic, doing a thankless job in a worthless life. When was the last time I smiled? When was the last time I laughed so much that I thought I would burst? My boss at work does not care for me, my parents are too old to be bothered with my troubles, my children are too young to appreciate what I am doing for them and my husband… Ah, my husband.
We are together for almost 15 years now, married for about 12 years. He has always been a warm and a wonderful person, a good husband and a doting father to our children. I never had a problem, an issue which I could not talk to him over. He is a kind, sympathetic and understanding soul. A man faithful to his job and faithful to me.
Then; when, where and what actually went wrong? Why am I not happy and in love with life anymore? I do not have an answer. I am not even sure whether something is really erratic, or am I being irrational. Hmm… confusion playing its best.
Sheila, that is my younger, just started going to school. She is all what a four year old is – bubbly, cheery, fussy and gibbering most of the times, even in her sleep. She is the apple of my eye and I adore her. She is sluggish in the mornings when she has to get ready for the school. Our maid, Rakhi, has enough experience on her hands to handle Sheila but my child insists that I should be the one to attend to all her chores. Every morning is a nightmare for me; waking up Rakhi at 5 AM, for she tends to oversleep; instructing and supervising over the preparation of breakfast and lunch; waking up my husband, all the way trying to resist his early morning charm.
There was a time, now it seems another age, when we used to spend at least half of an hour in bed after waking up, every day. Raj used to joke that a bunch of Australian researchers have proved that sex is the healthiest way to start a day. It burns up all the surplus calories of the previous day, which otherwise, are accumulated into unsaturated fat. Other times, we used to cuddle and talk. Just talk. What a glorious way to start a day. Now, talking has become so rare that I think blue moons are more common.
After this, comes up the most difficult time of my day; have to wake up the children. My eldest, Aryan, is an eight year old and already quite handsome in a devilish way, just like his father. He has inherited his father’s hazel eyes and along with it, a fiercely independent nature. He likes to do everything on his own and scowls quite violently even when I, occasionally, need to correct his shoe laces. He does not let me comb his hair or wash his hair.
On the other hand, my Sheila never seems to be able to do anything without her loving mommy. Right from the Good Morning peck till the Good Night kiss, she insists that her mommy is with her all the time. She seems to be taking delight in my instructions, my holding of her and even in the howls and shrieks that I give her. Occasionally, when I go to school to get her home, she proudly shows me to her friends and says, “That is my mommy”. I can sense the envy with which the other children watch us; God alone knows what she tells them about me.
I try to spend as much time as it is humanly possible, with Sheila. I cannot go to her school everyday to feed her the lunch nor to bring her back to home after school. My work does not provide me that luxury. So, Rakhi fills up for me. But after coming back home from work on the weekdays, and during the weekends and occasional holidays I get, I try to spend as much time as I can, with my children. Aryan does not like me doting on her. Though he does not say it, I think, he thinks that others will think sissy of him. He prefers talking about cricket and football with his father or playing with his war planes. At times, both father and son settle on the couch watching a Harrison Ford or a Bruce Willis movie. But my motherhood does not allow me to leave him while attending to Sheila all the time. It is a four way game between us in our family, Sheila constantly demanding my attention, I trying to include Aryan too, Aryan fleeing to his macho father and Raj patiently asking me to attend to Sheila while he takes care of Aryan.
Sometimes, I wonder, why cannot Aryan have an ounce of Sheila in him and vice versa? Then, I would not have such a hard time balancing between both of the children. Both Sheila and Aryan have exactly opposite demands of me and with my limited time and patience; I find it very hard to meet them. Many times, I have tried talking with Raj over this. He does not even seem to think of it as a problem. “I remember the tough time I gave to my mother when I was a child. He is my son, isn’t he? What more did you expect out of him?” he would say with a wink and a dismissal wave of his hand.
Office used to be a place where I longed to go, even on a Monday morning. I had worked very hard all my initial years and have risen fast up the hierarchy ladder. Now; the work is tough, responsibilities are higher, reprimands are severe and the pressure unbearable. My boss is a typical Prem Chopra (a baddie in Indian cinema during the 1970s) sort of a guy. If the office gossip is to be believed, he is very kind, almost paternal to an unmarried girl; but is as lecherous as one can be towards a married female. Though, till date, he has not made any definite move towards me, he sure drops hints from time to time. No report of mine has ever been accepted without a change. Sometimes, he wants statistics to support a claim that I make. At other times, he wants me to delete the numbers that I add as an annexure. “Statistics is like a bikini”, he would say, “They show what we don’t want to see and hide what we want to.” Every comment of his has a sexual connotation, is vulgar or aimed at the nudity of women.
It is almost every day that he tries to make me stay late in the night. Every evening, when I am winding up things, he remembers something so very important and urgent that it needs to be done ‘right away’. I try to remind him that it is already late and would do it first thing the next morning. He would smile and show his crooked teeth and say, “Procrastination is like masturbation, darling. In the end, you are just screwing yourself.” I wonder where he gets all those quotes. Having nothing better to do, I guess, he searches for them all the day, typing ‘Vulgar quotes’ or ‘Proverbs with sexual connotation’ in Google.
All of this seems very amusing to Raj. He laughs till his belly aches and he cannot laugh anymore or till I threaten to kick him in his balls; whichever is earlier. Once, when I urged him very desperately for a suggestion on how to deal with it; he had said, “Why don’t you resign, honey? You know, you don’t have to work. I earn enough to sustain us in comfort. You can give more time to the children and watch them grow. You will not have too many pressures to juggle with and life will be easier for you.” I remember blasting him for that. I had raved and ranted for more than 10 minutes non stop. Reminded him that I am also as much educated as him. My parents also had big dreams for me, just like his. What about my career, if I resign? Am I to remain a typical housewife and keep depending on him, financially, for the rest of my life like a typical housewife?
Raj had not said anything during my continuous harping. Neither did he try to stop me. When I paused to catch my breath, he had quite simply said, “It was just a suggestion, sweetheart. You don’t have to listen, if you don’t want to.” Though I was a little sorry about it sometime later, the ridiculous simplicity with which he gave me his ‘suggestion’ as if I did not have brains to identify such an obvious solution; had maddened me.
Never again did Raj venture to give his idea of a solution to my problems. On the other hand, never did he give me an idea that he is least interested to listen to me or to spend time with me. It is as if he neither has a will of his own nor his preferences. He seemed to exist for the sole purpose of pleasing me. I still discuss my problems with him. Oh wait, did I say ‘discuss’? Discuss is supposed to mean a two way talk, right? All right, I stand corrected. A more accurate sentence is – I still talk over my problems with him. And he is still a very good listener, as he has always been. But he does not offer me any suggestions on how to deal with them. All I can get from him is something on the lines of “Oh, poor you”, “I feel so sorry for you”, “Don’t worry, things will change for good,” and so on.
If on a Sunday afternoon, I want to go out; he just asks me where I want to go. Then he acts as if he has been waiting all his life to go there and then we simply go. No debates, discussions, arguments, counter arguments on where to go, where not to go, and the reasons for the same and so on. He still winks at me every morning, when I wake him up, and holds my hands suggestively. There are times when I relent, and there are times when I irritatingly shake his hand away. He is always quick to grasp what I mean and almost always does what I want him to do.
What exactly is my problem? Why can’t I be happy with the life I have? Seriously, what is wrong with my life? A very loving and doting husband, a husband that a girl can only dream of, but only one in a million gets; two lovely children; a plush bungalow with a maid servant and a chauffeured car, all paid by the company where my husband is working; a decently good job in a fantastic organization with a six digit salary for myself… and still unhappy. Why exactly am I so pathetic?
I, no longer, have time for my friends. I seem to find time and energy to visit even the marriages of close friends and relatives, only with utmost difficulty. At times, when I am not able to do so, I convince myself that I have never liked either the bride or the groom or a parent on either side. An occasional drink or a movie with a friend has become so rare. Except for Sweety, who is still my best friend, the others have even stopped calling me for one.
I am annoyed with Sheila because she wants me to be with her all the time. She adores me, dotes on me; still that does not help it. I want her to be a bit more independent of me and stop crying for me all the time. I guess, that is a tall demand from a four year old, but that still does not stop me from wishing it. I don’t like when Aryan does not need me much. Of course, he loves me. But why can’t he be a bit like Sheila at least on some occasions? I have a vulgar boss at work; surely this is a problem for many other women as well. Why am I being so sensitive towards it, then? Instead of looking for an effective way of countering it, why am I over reacting to it? A good job will definitely have its share of pitfalls too, won’t it? And Raj… I don’t even understand why he is doing that he is doing right now. Is he just giving me space in my high pressure life? Or did I suck out all the happiness of his life and made him miserable? I frankly don’t know.
Why have I become so fussy? Why am I demanding more and more from a person till the point they stop giving all together? Why am I looking for perfection in all the relationships? Is it really because of all the pressures that I have to handle at work and home, as Raj delicately hints, sometimes? People say that motherhood is the noblest and most difficult profession. Maybe, I am not made to be a wife and a mother. Or maybe I am not a capable woman to handle work, husband, children, friends and so on; all at the same time.
Many times, I tried to talk to Raj over all this. But I could not muster enough courage for it. I am frankly afraid of what he might say. I do not dare to know what he thinks of me and my situation. What if he thinks that I am suffering from some personality disorder? I feel it is better to let the matters rest and live the life as it is, instead of confronting Raj and then face the worst.
With no one to talk to, nowhere to go, and not knowing what to do to better my life; I continue to live. Hopefully, things will change at some point of time, for the better. With hope galore, I look forward to that day and to that miracle.
