To be honest, I haven’t tried anything more potent than alcohol to harm myself yet. Alcohol, though, is the closest friend and enemy that I have. It is a crassly poignant symbolism of the unbalanced relationship that I have with myself. I can drown my soul in a bottle.
Unfortunately life with its singular determination to upset your carefree living thrusts responsibilities in your way. I have a child. I remember its name often enough when I am sober. Otherwise it is just a reminder of a hasty unwanted decision made in stupor. You may have realized by now that I am not the best parent. Nor am I the best partner for that matter.
I wasn’t always like this in the nature versus nurture debate, though. I had been on the winning side for most part of my life. I was an excellent student and a successful professional. There was even a time when I was the most eligible suitor in the region. My mother used to find herself inundated with proposals for me. I used to laugh them off and assure her that I would find my own wife.
Then I found him.
It was a cold breezeless night. The train had come to a halt at my stop. I stepped out onto a near deserted platform. It had been a good day at work and I had a spring in my step. All of a sudden, there was a commotion behind me. Before I could turn around I was ambushed by a gang of eunuchs. Trust the railways to shock you at whatever opportunity they get. I wasn’t really clear as to what they wanted – some of them grabbed at my bag, some at my watch and the others at the chain around my neck (a gold family heirloom). It was a half-crazed frenzy when I saw my saviour step in.
I will refrain from describing him as the God that he was. The wounds still haven’t healed. Nevertheless, that night he managed to pull me out of their grasps and into safety. Even though I knew that if It wasn’t for that initial shock I could have easily taken care of myself, the look in his eyes gave me a comfort and hope that made me feel that this was the thing I had been missing in my life so far. Of course, at that point I did not realize that what I had been feeling was more than just admiration for a fellow man. It was a far deeper emotion. We then shared small talk over a cup of coffee.
People were not lying about the fruits of forbidden love – its veracity has never been more of an enigma in my eyes. I was lost. Like any half-decent Bollywood plot, I was torn between two worlds – one that advocated my heart’s desire and the other the defining duty of upholding the family name in the community. I am still befuddled by how every time we take one step into modernity, we place
the other in the archaic.
It didn’t help that the man that I had fallen in love with did not have a twisted bone in his body. It turns out he was as straight as a rod and happily married.
In the ensuing despair and to stop the emotional blackmail our families are so good at, I met my wife on one of those online marriage portals that mother had signed me up on through a nuisance of a cousin. Apparently the logistics deemed it a ‘perfect’ match. They served coffee at the first meeting. She was dressed beautifully and seemed sweet and demure. However, she was so nervous she accidently mixed salt in my cup instead of sugar. Or maybe she was also in love with a boy somewhere and those were just tears in my coffee.
If life was fair, we would have gone our happy separate ways.
Over the years she has realized her situation. Even age did not make our married life any better. The few times I managed to make love to her sober, I saw his face in hers. Sometimes, I just pity her.
We are a society of dreamers and believers. Yet more often than not we fail at the things that we do. If they were to see life as a journey from one happiness to another, I would be the eternal nomad. I guess that feeling that I should have been born in another time will never elude me. Several years ago, in 2030, the institution of ‘different-sex’ marriage had been buried. To control the reckless rise in population, same-sex marriage had been advocated as the way forward. Orphanages were slowly disbanded as the remaining children of the world were adopted. In our family I have played the roles of husband, wife, mother and father - as the need arose. They called it survival.
I was a strong independent woman but it was my mistake that I had fallen in love with a man. A mistake for which society unknowingly condemned me, love betrayed me of my senses and joy forever eluded me.
Every day I make a cup of coffee for both of us. I put salt instead of sugar in my cup. My wife thinks I am still teasing her about our first encounter all those years ago. Little does she know that I have always preferred some salt in my life.
Unfortunately life with its singular determination to upset your carefree living thrusts responsibilities in your way. I have a child. I remember its name often enough when I am sober. Otherwise it is just a reminder of a hasty unwanted decision made in stupor. You may have realized by now that I am not the best parent. Nor am I the best partner for that matter.
I wasn’t always like this in the nature versus nurture debate, though. I had been on the winning side for most part of my life. I was an excellent student and a successful professional. There was even a time when I was the most eligible suitor in the region. My mother used to find herself inundated with proposals for me. I used to laugh them off and assure her that I would find my own wife.
Then I found him.
It was a cold breezeless night. The train had come to a halt at my stop. I stepped out onto a near deserted platform. It had been a good day at work and I had a spring in my step. All of a sudden, there was a commotion behind me. Before I could turn around I was ambushed by a gang of eunuchs. Trust the railways to shock you at whatever opportunity they get. I wasn’t really clear as to what they wanted – some of them grabbed at my bag, some at my watch and the others at the chain around my neck (a gold family heirloom). It was a half-crazed frenzy when I saw my saviour step in.
I will refrain from describing him as the God that he was. The wounds still haven’t healed. Nevertheless, that night he managed to pull me out of their grasps and into safety. Even though I knew that if It wasn’t for that initial shock I could have easily taken care of myself, the look in his eyes gave me a comfort and hope that made me feel that this was the thing I had been missing in my life so far. Of course, at that point I did not realize that what I had been feeling was more than just admiration for a fellow man. It was a far deeper emotion. We then shared small talk over a cup of coffee.
People were not lying about the fruits of forbidden love – its veracity has never been more of an enigma in my eyes. I was lost. Like any half-decent Bollywood plot, I was torn between two worlds – one that advocated my heart’s desire and the other the defining duty of upholding the family name in the community. I am still befuddled by how every time we take one step into modernity, we place
the other in the archaic.
It didn’t help that the man that I had fallen in love with did not have a twisted bone in his body. It turns out he was as straight as a rod and happily married.
In the ensuing despair and to stop the emotional blackmail our families are so good at, I met my wife on one of those online marriage portals that mother had signed me up on through a nuisance of a cousin. Apparently the logistics deemed it a ‘perfect’ match. They served coffee at the first meeting. She was dressed beautifully and seemed sweet and demure. However, she was so nervous she accidently mixed salt in my cup instead of sugar. Or maybe she was also in love with a boy somewhere and those were just tears in my coffee.
If life was fair, we would have gone our happy separate ways.
Over the years she has realized her situation. Even age did not make our married life any better. The few times I managed to make love to her sober, I saw his face in hers. Sometimes, I just pity her.
We are a society of dreamers and believers. Yet more often than not we fail at the things that we do. If they were to see life as a journey from one happiness to another, I would be the eternal nomad. I guess that feeling that I should have been born in another time will never elude me. Several years ago, in 2030, the institution of ‘different-sex’ marriage had been buried. To control the reckless rise in population, same-sex marriage had been advocated as the way forward. Orphanages were slowly disbanded as the remaining children of the world were adopted. In our family I have played the roles of husband, wife, mother and father - as the need arose. They called it survival.
I was a strong independent woman but it was my mistake that I had fallen in love with a man. A mistake for which society unknowingly condemned me, love betrayed me of my senses and joy forever eluded me.
Every day I make a cup of coffee for both of us. I put salt instead of sugar in my cup. My wife thinks I am still teasing her about our first encounter all those years ago. Little does she know that I have always preferred some salt in my life.
