For the soon-to-be-married girl, who asked me what love meant after three decades of marriage…
It may seem like light years ago to you, but I feel like we got married just the other day. Yes, Raju and I are married for nearly 28 years, and no, I have never written down what our marriage has meant to me. But, for your sake, I will try.
Let’s see. Got married in 1987. Had two kids. Lugged my home around the country following my Air Force husband. Difficult to romance in the midst of all that packing and unpacking. But, five years into our marriage, Raju did come home one day singing, “ Le chal, le chal mere jeevan saathi… ” And I learnt we were posted to Leh.
I don’t know if back then St. Valentine was such a big deal. But in Ladakh, in the month of February, in temperatures way below zero, it is doubtful if either of us felt romantic.
Spending time in the great outdoors was a pain. But on clear, icy nights, Raju did point out, in vain, the various constellations to me. But I only remember the big, shiny stars, close enough to be plucked off the inky black skies, with a monastery in the foreground and our baby girl’s wailing in the background.
We had an arranged marriage, and when Raju went back to work after our wedding, I remember my heart beating a little faster when I saw him in uniform for the first time. So dashing. Enthusiastically, I offered to prepare his uniform every morning. I did. And pinned his medals, wings, and name tab all on the wrong side. Raju gently insisted that I should not bother with all that; he was happy to do it himself. I now realise what admirable restraint he must have exercised. Few things are more sacrilegious to a fauji than getting his uniform wrong. So he must love me, right?
We were broke on our thala Deepavali. The family sent us money to buy new clothes, but instead, we bought our first piece of art — a beautiful black-and-white sketch of Charminar. It cost us an arm and a leg, almost Rs. 2,000, but the guilty pleasure was priceless.
The first time we used our credit card was also a momentous occasion. Imagine. We decided we would never use the card for frivolous things. But buying curtains for our first home was an honourable expense. Raju painstakingly measured our windows and doors. We headed to Lepakshi in Hyderabad and bought beautiful ikat. I remember how we watched the equally apprehensive cashier gingerly handle the card.
When we were in Delhi, I was overwhelmed with the desire to page for my vehicle at the oh-so-posh Santushti complex. The gateman announced, ‘GBN 2016’, and Raju wobbled to the gate on our yellow Bajaj scooter and bore me away. We still laugh when we recall the shock on the face of that man.
I don’t think I have ever baked Raju a heart-shaped cake. He is not big on bringing me roses, either. But he is terribly proud that I write, and he cuts out and files all my articles.
We read different things. He refuses to read Pride and Prejudice , and I refuse to read military history. But, once, he bought me the entire series of Erma Bombeck books after he saw me giggling over one earlier.
But we both love old Hindi songs. We spent many evenings sitting on the floor surrounded by our records playing music. Lata Mangeshkar, Mukesh, Kishore Kumar… from Taj Mahal , Bees Saal Baad , Sujata , Abhiman , Amar Prem, Anand … We don’t do as much these days. But even so, Raju spends long hours downloading those songs we heard then and when he plays them in the car, we break into song. I don’t know if our life qualifies as one brimming with romance. We have our bitter arguments and sulks. We get angry. Every time I complain we don’t watch movies anymore, he takes out Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron or Golmaal and we watch it for the hundredth time. Or, when I have that rare afternoon nap, he wakes me up to watch some old movie on Doordarshan.
Dear girl, I hope you are still enthusiastic about getting married and growing old with your man. I am afraid our life is not exactly DDLJ material. But Raju and I are still happy to see each other first thing every morning and last thing at night. That is something.
Oh, I forget. Every afternoon, I get a text from Raju: “Had lunch, wow!” I have a suspicion it is one of those template messages on the smart phone. But still, he has to hit the ‘send’ button, does he not?
