11 lanuary 2008
Wear only Indian clothes. Can you believe this? This is what
Rohan’s mom said to me today.
‘If it makes her happy, do it. What difference does it make?’ Rohan
had said, as he chose from his two-dozen pairs of shoes this morning.
‘Why?’ I said. It isn’t like I don’t like Indian clothes. The point is,
why does she get to tell me what to wear?
'You can get the best Indian designer clothes. You want me to send
the hotel concierge? He will take you to the boutiques.’
‘That’s not the point, Rohan,’ I said.
‘Stop fussing. Her friends have certain expectations of her bahu.
You nudged in yesterday wearing a short dress.’
‘It was a regular dress, almost to my knees. Anyway, what if it was
short? What is this? A family dress code?’
He snapped his fingers at me.
‘Do it. Don’t argue.’
This is what they call marital bliss, I guess.
18 March 2008
I made a mistake. A big, big mistake. I can’t be in denial anymore.
I made a mistake marrying Rohan.
11 June 2008
He slapped me in front of his mother, thrice. She didn’t stop him.
She kind of liked it. He even pulled my hair.
Should I go into the details? I don’t think so. What is the point?
Drunk husband, mother-in-law finding something to be pissed off
about. This time it was about me seemingly ignoring her when she
called me five times (I had headphones on, and was listening to my
music tapes). Mother and son lectured me on how lucky I was, that
Rohan was at least twenty times richer than my dad, and if I didn’t
behave there would be consequences.
But now comes the real news. Rohan was sleeping when his plum,
buzzed at 3 a.m. He didn’t wake up. It buzzed again. I feared if he
woke lif he would fight with me again. I was enjoying the night’s
ff
(ff)
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