Love Lasts Forever (18 page)

As I made my way
toward them to resolve the issue, Joe Singh’s words dawned on me – ‘Never interfere in women’s affairs’. As good sense prevailed, I hid behind the door and peeped occasionally.

             
‘Oh really,’ Aisha said, ‘and who exactly are you to tell me this, you don’t even belong to this house anymore.’

             
‘I’m the daughter of this house you BIMBO!’ Priya replied, gnashing her teeth. ‘You’ll do exactly what we tell you to do, this is
our
house.’

             
‘Oh, how dare you call me a bimbo?’ Aisha said, looking at mom for intervention. ‘Let Ronit come and I’ll tell him what’s going on here, how you ill-treat me. He’ll make sure your entry is banned in this house.’

             
I rolled my eyes and looked upward.
Why God?

             
Priya laughed. ‘He’ll ban
me
from entering this house, his own sister,’ she said thumping her hand over her chest. ‘Oh dear,
now
let him come, I’ll tell him to throw
you
out, the root of all the problems.’

             
‘Yeah, sure, we’ll see,’ Aisha howled. She turned toward mom. ‘Why don’t you say anything to her, just because she is your own daughter?’

             
Mom took a moment to answer. ‘Look Aisha,’ she said calmly, ‘you have left your own house to live with your husband and us. There are certain norms of this house you have to follow so everyone lives peacefully.’

             
‘But mom,’ Aisha said, throwing out her arms, ‘why do I have to baby sit Rohan all the time? This is the fourth time’ - she gnashed her teeth and faced Priya – ‘she’s asking me for this favour in the last one month. I can’t tolerate that kid. Why can’t she take him along with her? Is she
ashamed
of her own child or what?’

             
‘Hey!’ Priya groaned, thrusting a hand in Aisha’s chest. ‘Watch your words, you bitch!’

Aisha staggered backward
and struggled to avert a slip.             

I watche
d the drama in complete dismay from a distance, clear in my head, any action by me would cause an equal and opposite reaction. Needless to say, I stood `my ground.

             
‘Oh! How dare you!’ Aisha took a step forward and thrust both her arms violently over Priya watching her stumble over the floor. ‘
You!
’ she said, wagging a baleful finger at Priya, ‘watch your words.’

             
In an instant Priya rose to her feet and pushed Aisha who reciprocated back the gesture. Seconds later the scene became uglier with both of them slapping and kicking each other. My grandmother came rushing out from her room with the commotion and her eyes were met by a wall-eyed mom. I stood hiding behind the wall with a mouth that refused to shut.

             
Both of them kept screaming, ‘You bitch!’ and pushed each other, and it was then when it became the ugliest. They began yanking each other’s hair and whined in pain. And just then, it happened.

             
Aisha stared at the object in her hands with a gaping mouth and then glanced at Priya. Confusion swept past her face which later broke into a smile. Seconds later she was laughing uncontrollably. ‘Oh my God!’ said Aisha. ‘You’re…bald, ha, ha, ha, and, you…you wear a wig. Oh God, I have to take your picture and upload it on facebook, ha, ha, ha.’

             
Priya rooted her eyes to the ground and couldn’t hide her embarrassment. Her glum expression didn’t stop Aisha from giggling.

A minute late
r when Aisha refused to calm down, mom took a step forward, and hurled her arm across her face. ‘Don’t you dare make fun of my daughter, do you get it?’

             
‘But mom,’ Aisha said, wiping the tears from the back of her hands, ‘she is the one who starte-’

             
‘Just shut up!’ mom hissed. ‘And get out of here!’ She threw out her arm to our room’s direction.

             
Slowly, Aisha turned around making her way out.

‘
And one more thing,’ mom called out. ‘Next time
never
tell Priya this is not her house. Of course this IS HER HOUSE!’

             
Aisha trudged toward our room dejectedly.

I turned around
and walked the other way, down the street. I shouldn’t be going in there for some time, few days perhaps.

‘Oh, thank God you came,’ Aisha said, lifting her head from her knees. Her legs were tugged close to her body and arms wrapped around them. Her eyes were wet and pudgy, perhaps from all the crying since the last two hours. Her voice was hollow and there was a careworn edge to it. ‘Where have you been all this while?’

             
‘Have you been crying?’ I asked, ignoring her question, closing the door behind me. ‘What happened?’

             
‘Your bloody sister, what else?’ she replied, wiping her tears. ‘You know how much she abuses and ill-treats me? Why can’t she stay in her own house? And your mother also doesn’t support me; you know she
slapped
me today. What is this Ronit?’

             
I rested my forehead in my arms. ‘Why can’t you just ignore her,’ I said. ‘I mean just take it from one ear and out from the other.’
Like I do
, I wanted to add.

             
‘And
that’s
the solution I expect from my supporting husband?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh God, why did I ever get married?’

             
I tutted and withdrew from her gaze.

             
‘Why can’t you ever be supportive Ronit?’

I tur
ned my gaze back at her. And there, it was back – the horns, crooked nails, blazing red eyes, and piercing teeth.

             
‘Why don’t you care about me anymore?’ she said, running her hand over her eyes. ‘Your sister orders me to baby sit her stupid son so she can have a good time outside. You also leave me alone in the house every day, where you go, what you do, I have no clue. Your mother slaps me in front of everyone; if I don’t listen to them I’m warned I’ll be thrown out of the house, and you’ - she made a face, gritting her teeth - ‘DON’T EVEN BOTHER ABOUT ANYTHING! YOU ONLY CARE ABOUT YOUR FOOD AND YOUR DAMN WORLD CUP!’

             
I bit on the last bit of chicken
seekh
that clung between my teeth. Hmm…nothing beats a cold beer and hot chicken kebabs. ‘Khan Chacha’s’ food is delightful and I always find it much better than its counterpart ‘Bade Miya’ of Mumbai. Tomorrow I’ll try
tangri
kebab, another of his specialties. Or probably a chicken roll, but I’ll tell him to put some more green chutney and onions in it; he had put it sparingly last time.

             
‘…but you were not like this before marriage. You have completely changed now. All you care about is your family; I’m the least of your priorities. Do you even love me now? I doubt it. You don’t even take me out for dinner or a movie. I’m always stuck in this house with your stupid family. And I know what you’ll be thinking now: another day, another lecture. Why can’t she ever be quiet, what is wrong with her? Maybe…’

             
No, I wasn’t thinking about that now. In fact, I wasn’t thinking anything. I was just noticing the straw that pierced my arm and lead straight to her mouth. In between her hoarse tone she’d suck on it and gulp down my blood. No wonder, I was getting leaner day by day while her skin a tomatoey colour. With a hesitation I glanced at her. She went on haranguing me and I was struck by that frightening look. Those red eyes were damn scary, the horns over head quivered back and forth with the movement of her body, and a messy lock of bedraggled hair flew down her face failing to hide those long and jagged teeth jutting out her mouth.

             
‘WHAT?’ the devil grunted. ‘Where are you lost? Are you even listening to me?’

             
‘Y..y..e…s..s..s, I….a..m…’ I floundered.

Later that night, during my fitful sleep, a thought occurred to me. Did I make a mistake getting married?

             
Of course!
came the abrupt answer.

2
5. WHO CAN YELL LOUDER?

April 2011, Delhi

In the coming days, our marriage went from bad to worse.
I could sense things changing in front of my eyes but couldn’t do anything about it. We slept miles apart on the bed, seldom talked, our eyes hardly met - when they did it was more for obligatory reasons than for affection, like how many
chapattis
will you have, when would you be back home, et cetera – and sex was definitely out of question.

             
One Sunday morning in the month of April, I slowly sipped coffee in my room and wondered where our marriage was headed. Aisha quietly arranged the wardrobe toward my right. I could tell from her demeanour, her mind was elsewhere.

             
‘Ronit, um…,’ she began. My throat tightened. ‘I was just wondering if we could shift to a new home, you know where no one else is around.’

             
‘Why would you say that?’ I asked, looking up and meeting her eyes. ‘What is the problem here?’ I didn’t even remember when was the last time I looked at them, probably last Saturday when I yelled at her and gave her a piece of my mind.

             
‘You don’t see any problem here?’ she said, raising her voice by an octave.

She always began softly but the conversation would always culminate with her yelling. I wasn’t too far behind in that now. I had so
me male ego after all. Every morning, every afternoon, every evening, the devil had something to bicker about. Then last Saturday I completely lost it and yelled back at her causing thick tears to emerge from her eyes. That didn’t deter me and I continued my rant. All I told her was to maintain cordial relations with my sister for a few more weeks. Things were finally settling in at her place and she would move out of our house. She was anyway depressed with her own marriage falling apart and a kid, the least you can do is give her that consideration, I told her. To this she said why does mom not take her side at least? My mother was obviously worried about Priya and so naturally she always took her side. But Aisha had a problem with that as well.

             
I asked her to keep her anger to herself and just be polite with both of them. To this she yelled back saying why should she be taking Priya’s nonsense?

There we go aga
in
. So I yelled back louder, ‘bitch! Did I not tell you the reason just now? Because she’s having problems in her own house, you bimbo, do you never understand?’

And then she sobbed louder.

              Why do women never understand? I have lived with them for twenty five years, how can I not support them for a woman I have known just seven years? And isn’t marriage all about compromises. She keeps flagellating me with her bullshit of what she expects from me, what a woman wants, how a good husband should behave and related crap, then why doesn’t she get this little thing. That’s the
only
thing I want from her. Only thing
any
married man wants as opposed to the long list of women.

             
So what does she do the next day - she tells my grandmother if Priya can’t get up in the morning for the prayers, even she can’t. And there was a tinge of rudeness in her voice as per my mother who narrated the incident to me that evening. So again, we had another fight, and I yelled at her. That yelling did another thing. It made the devil disappear, only temporarily though, as she was not the one who would stay quiet. With her yelling, the devil always returned but with my counter yelling, it disappeared. So lately we had started playing this little game I liked to call, ‘Who can yell louder?’

             
‘HEY! You don’t see
any
problem here?’ she repeated when she observed I wasn’t listening.

Of c
ourse, the devil was back and so was the squelching sound of the straw.

             
I tried suppressing my fury. I didn’t want to be increasing my blood pressure every now and then and get a damn heart attack. I understood then, the primary reason for heart attacks amongst men. Women!

             
‘Alright Aisha, look,’ I said. ‘Firstly, I don’t have money to get a house for myself, and secondly, even if I had, WE ARE
NOT
MOVING OUT FROM HERE!’

Damn, the
devil was out.