Love Lasts Forever (17 page)

‘Oh God!’
Her shoulders fell and she thumped her forehead with the heel of her palms. ‘Really,
that’s
the solution I can expect from you? You’ll get
used
to it?’ Her thunderous voice was back and her face slowly curled into a grimace.

‘
See I know you are right,’ I quickly added to appease her, ‘but I don’t want to be sandwiched between you women. Please handle my sister or my mother or for that matter even my grandmother on your own. I don’t want to be fighting with them over you, it’s gonna get really ugly. If you have a problem with
me;
tell me, I’ll do whatever I can to work on it, but not them, please try and understand.’

‘
OK, FINE!’ she said. ‘But what about you? Why do
you
have to be so inconsiderate all the time? Why can’t you do something…anything that makes me feel good, so that I feel…that you still love me?’

I smiled
. ‘Sure baby, anything for you, but…what do you want me to do?’

She rolled her eyes
. ‘Flatter me! Praise me! Throw up a few surprises for me! Get presents for me, you know like gold, clothes, perfumes, anything. Be more supportive and caring! Take me dining to good restaurants! There is so much you can do to make me feel good; I can’t believe you’re actually asking me that.’

I replied after a thought.
‘Okay then, I’ll get a fixed deposit done in your name; sounds good to you?’

‘
WHAT? You’ll get me a god damn F.D? What do you want me to do with that, huh, hang it from my bloody ears like an earring or what? Get me something in gold if you can’t even decide.’

Another thought crossed my mind.
‘Okay, will do baby,’ I said, ‘but not before you give me a tight hug.’

             
She smiled and leaped in my arms. ‘Wow, so you’ll really get me some gold.’

             
I nodded and reached for her lips. We kissed slowly.

             
Well, it’s not
that
difficult to keep a woman happy, is it?

23. Why the hell did we get married?

DAY – 7, Delhi

Last nigh
t was amazing - we finally made love.

Hopefully those
times we shared before our marriage would return. To ensure that they did, indeed, first thing in the morning I found myself at our family jeweller. I wanted to show Aisha I truly cared for her and hence wanted to fulfill her wish right away. She wanted something in gold, so here I was, buying
something in gold
for her.

             
On my way back home I was glad and content. This would be the perfect gift for her. I’d got it packed neatly so while she opened it I could watch the nuances in her expression. Hopefully she’d squeal with happiness and hug me…we would make love…again…and then again.

             
No, it isn’t difficult to keep a woman happy; I finally decided the answer to the question that popped up in my head last night.

‘WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?’ she screamed while staring at my gift in bewilderment. ‘YOU GOT ME THIS?’ She threw the two gold biscuits at me. ‘WHERE DO YOU WANT ME TO HANG THIS DAMN THING, AROUND MY NECK OR MY BLOODY EARS?’

             
What is wrong with her? Buying gold biscuits is the best form of investment, besides there is no expenditure on its fabrication. Women, I tell you.

             
‘Don’t you…like it?’ I asked slowly as I cradled the biscuits in my hands. They sparkled and were pretty, and I loved the feeling of their touch in my hands. ‘You said you wanted…something in gold,’ I added.

‘
YOU INSENSITIVE PIG!’ she yelled with gritted teeth. With a violent shake of her head, she stormed out the room with big, thudding steps, and a deafening bang of the door behind her.

Why pig?

Later that evening, I got another heavy dose of reprimand. You see
, few days before marriage my sister had borrowed some money from me which she said she’d return in a few months time. Like any doting brother, I was happy to assist her and never asked the reason for the same.

Then today I found out the reason
in the most disconcerting way I had ever imagined when I heard another bang of the door. Honestly, I was fed up now.

             
‘You gave your sister one lakh rupees so she could have a vacation in Dubai?’ I heard the sharp squeal from a familiar voice.

I wasn’t
even looking in that direction.

‘
And when I asked you for it, you said you have no money to go for
our
honeymoon. You blabber about getting me a damn fixed deposit, get me gold biscuits which I should rightfully shove up your ass - your favourite sport - as I specifically said I wanted earrings…’

OK
, firstly how many times will she torment me for that ‘ass thing’, and secondly, she was NOT specific about the earrings.

‘…but you don’t have money for
our
honeymoon?’

She scowled at me through those blazing red eyes which made me fall in love with her
few years back. How times change?

             
After a few unsettling minutes I decided to answer. I’ll never forget this moment for the rest of my life, for what happened then, and the realization that followed in the next few days, shook my entire world. I said something like this, I think: ‘You are always yelling at me Aisha. What do you even want?’

‘
WHAT DO I EVEN WANT?’ she repeated, crossing her arms against her chest, and thrusting one leg out. ‘Well I’ll tell you what I want. What I want is a caring, supportive and loving husband who doesn’t buy me gold biscuits so it can be a FAIR INVESTMENT for him. Instead he showers gifts on me and flatters me with a lot of surprises. He should be courteous and polite, love me and be kind like
you
were before marriage. I want him to be sensitive and listen to my problems attentively and then solve it and not give me some crap that I won’t interfere in
you
women. I want him to spend maximum time with me and next time his sister is rude to me, he stands by me…’

The tune of the famous song
, ‘stand by me’ played in my head. What a song it was by John Lennon. I just love that song. They didn’t do justice to its Hindi adaptation, however, in the movie ‘Ra one’. Somehow I didn’t like that movie too much. Shahrukh wasn’t at his best but Kareena looked ravishing. Saif is a lucky guy.

‘…I want him to respect me, my feelings, and my desires, and then fulfill each one of them. I want him to understand the sacrifices I have made for him by leaving my family. I want him to be a good friend, a good companion, and most importantly a man. I want him to be a good listener, be warm, sympathetic, funny, tender, tolerant, understanding, courageous, dependable…’

I
love ‘Mr. Dependable’ or ‘The Wall’ of our cricket – the great batting legend Rahul Dravid. He is one of the finest batsmen India has ever seen. I simply adore his technique and perseverance when he is all padded up. Speaking of cricket, World Cup 2011 has just begun few days back. Wonder whose match is it today. I have a gut feeling India will win the cup this time. After twenty eight long years! Wow! I’m not even that old, huh! I should be a ship captain by that age, hopefully. We’ll see.

‘…passionate, compassionate and honest. I want him to sometimes help me in the kitchen and not merely order what he wants to eat. And after his meals, he should pick up his own damn dishes and place them in the sink not before spraying some water over them…’

Where is the remote, I can’
t find it…oh there. What is it doing on the bed? After she’s done with her blah…blah…blah I must switch the TV on. Don’t want to miss if it’s India’s match…OK, let me listen to at least some of what she’s saying. She might ask me later and if I can’t answer…well, well, well, another damn lecture. She said be a good listener or something like that...Hang on! Why are there horns over her head? God, when did she have long, piercing teeth protruding out from her mouth, and why are her eyes so red? Let me rub my eyes…oh, no, just something in my head.

‘…I don’t want him to put his wet towel on the bed and certainly not on the floor. His shoes should lie neatly in the shoe rack so I don’t stub my feet over them and slip EVERY DAY and the socks should go in the laundry bag and NEVER on the floor, definitely not on the bed and NOT over the TV. He SHOULD NOT throw his clothes on the bed and expect his mother to put it in the wardrobe for him and certainly not me. I am a wife for god sake not someone’s servant or mother. I don’t care how yucky my food is; he must eat it, enjoy it, and then compliment me for it, as at least I’m trying. He should not behave like a mama’s boy who can only enjoy his mother’s cooked food.’

Oh
, why are those horns, protruding teeth, and red eyes back? Am I imagining something…or is it really there?

‘
…I can wake up any time in the morning, take a shower when I want, wear any god damn clothes in the house and no one should tell me anything. Other than that I want him to compliment me frequently and not give me any stress.’ For a very brief moment, she paused. ‘That’s all. NOW, IS THAT TOO HARD?’

I
stared at her. My God, is she done? My stomach gurgled. I wanted to laugh and laugh and laugh, and then some more. But more importantly, I wanted the answer to the question that had been ringing in my head all this while.

Wa
s my wife turning into a devil?

24. YES, MY WIFE IS A DEVIL

March
2011, Delhi

It was sometime in March, just few weeks after my marriage, when I was fully convinced that my wife had transformed into a devil. Nothing profound happened though; it were the chain of events that transpired which affirmed my belief.

N
ot even a single day passed after that day of ‘I’ll tell you what I want’ lecture when my wife didn’t have something to nag about. She had over a gazillion topics to pester me spanning from my mother, sister, grandmother, Rohan’s misbehaviour or my own, for that matter. It could be my getting up late in the mornings or coming back late at night; it could be my untidy wardrobe, untidy shoe rack or wet bathroom floor; it could be my appearance, my ‘unhealthy’ eating habits, my snoring or my negligence. It could be any and so many things, but I never bothered now. I thank God every day for he gave us two ears.

             
But there was one thing common in all those rebukes. Whenever I looked at her, those familiar set of horns, piercing teeth jutting out her mouth, blazing red eyes framed her appearance. It was always a vivid and constant image, and never wavered like it did the first time last month. Her rough, disheveled hair scrambled all over her face, and those fingers wagged at me always had long, crooked nails. Her hoarse voice trembled its way out in a rage and sometimes the eye sockets went missing exposing a deep red colour behind. Then later her sallow skin always morphed to a bright red after the argument; the devil was done sucking my blood.

             
Thankfully, World Cup 2011 was in progress and I had the perfect excuse to slip out of the house. Like all women, she hated cricket. I didn’t watch it in my room in the pretext that, ‘oh baby you’ll be disturbed.’ Initially she was very pleased with my concern for her but later when she realized it was my modus operandi to be away from her…you know what!

S
o every afternoon I found myself at some of my cousins’ or friends’ place. We had a great time - enough beers to last the match and our favourite chicken snacks to go along with them. Then late in the night I’d be home and would tiptoe my way toward the bed making minimal noise so as not to wake my devil, my wife I mean. But at times when I was a tad too loud and she did wake up…you know what!

             
But life wasn’t too bad; half the day went outside the house and the other half almost on bed. Only the few hours in between were bad. Sometimes on my good days I scraped through the entire day unscathed - no nagging, no criticism, and no arguments!

             
Then few days after the realization (that my wife is a devil) as I approached my house one Sunday, I heard two women bickering inside. I instantly recognized the two voices and tottered inside to sort the mess.

             
‘Aisha!’ Priya bellowed. ‘If I behave like you behave in my house, my in-laws would have thrown me out!’

             
‘Oh, would you stop giving me that crap every time!’ Aisha said. ‘Look at yourself, living with us. Don’t you see it; they have anyway thrown you out!’

             
‘How dare you talk to me like that? This attitude of yours will not be tolerated in this house, you get it?’ Priya yelled at a furious looking Aisha.