My husband and I are poles apart.
His dressing sense is impeccable, with his accessories perfectly matching his wardrobe. I barely manage to comb my hair every day and expect it to take the tangled avatar of a cannabis loving devotee in the coming years.
He is a phone person and can chat at any hour. I cringe at the sight of a phone call, as evident in this cartoon.
I seldom call people back, unless it’s for work or I’ve been specifically asked to do so by the spouse almighty.
He is not much of a reader, and obliges to read my blogs, majorly because I can give him offspring. I aim to read a few books in a year and finish reading an entire article by the time he has conquered the first paragraph.
Otherwise having a significant social circle, today, he is reticent to meet new people. As for me, I have a limited circle of those whom I call close, but do well to find commonalities with babies or ‘budhe’ alike.
We have literally been poles apart too, with much of my 20s spent in the US and his in India.
Our first meeting took place in a French class in 9th grade. Over the course of learning to write meaningless French postcards without any emphasis on actually speaking la langue francais, we became friends. In reality, he claims he was infatuated with the front bencher girl who often had morning goo stuck on her eyes (ahem, me).
Us in 2007 (comment written by hubby) 🙂
Despite such a romantic start, we remained friends for the remainder of the school years, not conversing beyond studies and grades. We briefly met on my visit to India over freshman year vacations, wherein he attempted to convey his infatuation. I was dumbstruck by the sheer number of kilos he lost in one year of hostel life.
I, being the socially awkward mess that I am, could not comprehend the subtle hints of his love even then. We even watched “Jaane Ne Tu Ya Jaane Ya” together with a friend, and that ironically, remained the theme of our relationship.
We gathered some momentum when I reached out to him years later. He finally confessed and by then, we had matured enough to understand that this is love.
Not the mushy kind they drown you with in poorly written novels and scripts, but the kind that just exists because we both chose each other, with all our goodness and darkness intact. My father, as strict as he was in department of love, had even preserved all the Birthday and Greeting cards Achint had mailed to me in the States.
Despite what he says, I must admit I am the more fortunate one.
In this one year of our married life, boy have we become a little more of each other.
I’ve learned to groom myself better and match his cleanliness by organizing my closet and indulging in the occasional facial to remove blackheads, an activity reminding me that one can vicariously visit hell.
I’ve learned to pick up calls, and (gasp!) call loved ones to check up on them, especially after the hubby has incentivized by baking cake.
He, on the other hand, has developed a decent reading habit and finished a novel in a week, in the same moments I was still youtubing a Kangana Ranaut video.
Moreover, he had found kindness in his heart to give me company when I am dancing alone at a function, and encouraging my loony dance videos on Instagram.
I’d be honest in saying that I was apprehensive of marrying a man whose favorite movies include “Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani” and “Aisha” and letting those cinematic choices sink into the genes of our future generations.
But, such is the uniqueness of marriage. You choose to love this person, with all their flaws intact, and adopt him/her into your life. Your fondness grows with time, from attraction to a general feeling of friendship and finally ending with siblinghood (basis what couples with 25+ years of marriage tell me!)
In this one year of our married life, we have had our share of arguments, with one being so terrible that both of us felt intense pains during the silent treatment. This went on for a few hours until we finally caved and checked each other’s blood pressure to make sure our stupid fight hadn’t hemorrhaged our vital organs.
We’ve also shared some of the most fluffy (ode to Minions movie) moments of togetherness, not necessarily on vacations, but even in the simple comfort of our routinely lives.
As we celebrate our 1st anniversary, with my white to black hair ratio going out of proportion, and his face not ageing a day since he turned 16, I am excited and also a bit nervous by the prospects of where life takes us. Loved ones almost certainly pass away and one has to be mentally prepared for the most joyous and/or most tragic of outcomes.
To have the freedom to voice our anger and grief in the moments we are burdened by them and express our love in the chances we don’t forsakenly regret; all of this has been instrumental in making this mangalsutra, maang-tika infused matrimony work, thereby paying reverence to the court document that has declared us to be husband and wife.
A happy 1st year anniversary to us!
Love Cheeni and Cheenu.