The Homecoming

It’s been a while since I even tried writing something to add to my blog. I’ve actually missed our communication through my posts - your comments and my responses that happen over the first few days of posting, by which time all the readers have either read the piece or have forgotten about it. 

It’s not as if I’ve been really busy or really lazy or anything else of the sort. I just haven’t had anything I’ve been inspired to write about. No interesting memories that came to mind, no new adventures I could put into words that would make a for a good read. With the pandemic, hopefully behind us, I’ve been getting into the rhythm of travel again, which as always has been exhilarating but not something that resulted in stories that I particularly wanted to share. I will however, share a picture of Riddhi, the tigress who I was fortunate enough to spend about 20 minutes with in the jungles of Rajasthan. Definitely one of this year’s travel highlights.

Having lived in various places over the period of my life, I’ve written multiple posts about ‘home’, even though home is more than the building one lives in. Everyplace I’ve lived in has obviously been unique in many ways. And each time I’ve thought that this will be where I’ll live for the rest of my life, for some reason I move out and move in elsewhere. The joys of being single and weird!

A couple of days ago I started watching an Indian series that caught my attention and kept my interest (not a particularly easy thing - my ‘Continue Watching’ list is enormous). A short while back, as I was watching Episode 5, it struck me as to how many parallels the show had with me and my life. One of the characters is ‘Ratan’, another characters last name is ‘Sethi’, one of the characters used to live in Chicago, moved back to India and was running a cafe with a personality that is uncannily like mine (just from the scenes in the cafe). It kind of started making me feel like the writer of the show must be someone I've actually met. There are actually two writers, neither one has a name that sounds familiar. Of course I do meet a lot of people in the cafe and have had extended conversations with many, so who knows?

The protagonist of the series is a guy who lives in Bangalore (yup, Bangalore), loses his job and moves back to his parents home in Indore, where he plans to live until he finds another job. Coincidentally enough I’m headed to Indore on Friday. 

Without giving away too much, the story is about him returning home, adjusting to the family who he had been seeing barely for a week during the holidays over the years, not having the freedom that he had gotten used to and subsequently not just adjusting to the new way of life but preferring it to the alternative of another career in a bustling city like Bangalore. While I still have one last episode left to watch, I pretty much know where the show is headed.

Many of us feel like our lives are unique - at least I rarely come across anyone from my generation with a similar story as mine. However, I do come across a lot of younger folks who seem desperate to retire early and live a life that isn’t driven by their employment. Easier said than done when you have a family but I hope that at least some of them are able to do it. 

Although It’s been forever since I gave up my life in Chicago, I still get asked the question as to why I moved back. Earlier I would fumble through my response because you think that there isn’t one single reason but a host of them. Over time though, I’ve learned to tell them what the single most important reason for my being back was. It’s not as if I was unhappy in the US - I really had a great life but even after living there for 11 years, I realised that something very important was missing. 

More than anything else in the whole wide world, I missed that warm fuzzy feeling of being home. 

For those of you who watch Hindi shows, the one I’ve written about is called ‘Ghar Waapsi’ and can be viewed on Disney Hotstar. I just got done watching the final episode and am hoping that there will be another season. 

Solo Trips, Serial Killers and Goa

And just like that, once again we are under the power of Covid-19, the virus that has been screwing up our lives for the past couple of years. Can someone tell me why China has no cases of coronavirus? Or are people dropping dead but nobody is allowed to tell?

So here I am, once again spending most of my time indoors. Thankfully last year I finally went ahead and indulged in some home improvements, so at least my apartment is a nicer place to hang out in. The plan is to make some additional improvements but I no longer have faith in plans.

This morning I was going through some old pictures and came across a bunch from my solo trip to Goa in August 2015. On an impulse, I had booked myself an Airbnb in South Goa, not completely remote but still very serene. It’s a part of South Goa that has mostly 5 star hotels and I was most definitely not in one of them. Instead I had an entire apartment to myself. A fairly large, almost spooky place on a quiet residential street, surrounded by trees and about a 5 minute walk from the pristine beach. 

Landing into Goa late afternoon, by the time I reached my living quarters for the next few days, after an almost 2 hour scenic cab ride, the sun was starting to go down. I quickly changed into my shorts and rushed to make sure I wouldn’t have a single ‘beach-free’ day. The white sand and the golden sunset was a sight to behold. There were a few couples walking around and as always I ended up playing photographer at their request. 

The gold and ....

The silver of Goa

As it started to get dark, I began heading back to my apartment, took a quick shower and walked over to a little restaurant across the street. The plan was to drink a couple of beers, have a fish dinner and turn in early, after having had a long day. 

The restaurant turned out to be larger than it looked from the outside, was nicer than I expected with some al fresco seating. I picked a small table in the outside section for myself, the sea breeze feeling good on my face and ordered a chilled beer. Just a few minutes later, a man, probably in his mid 30s came and sat at the table in front of me. We nodded at each other and I began looking at the menu. 

“I recommend the calamari,” he said. 

I smiled, put the menu away and responded that I would take him up on his recommendation. 

“I quit my job a few minutes ago,” he said out of the blue. He put his hands behind his head and stretched out his back, like he was trying to relieve all the stress from his body. “Oh man it feels so good to say that. I almost can’t believe I finally quit!”

“Sounds like I should be saying congratulations,” I replied.

“You’re the first person I’ve said this to,” he laughed. 

Now I was even more intrigued, invited him to my table and offered to buy him a beer to celebrate his recent state of being unemployed. 

So apparently he had been working at one of the big hotels close by as a sous chef, absolutely hated the management and had been thinking about leaving for a while. After exchanging some unpleasant words with the Executive Chef, he just wrote out his resignation and walked out of the place.

“Sounds very dramatic,” I said.

He laughed, harder and longer than I would have expected. “It totally was!”

The laughter continued for a bit and he was wiping tears and nodding his head. I figured it was the relief, the finality of something he had been wanting to do for a while, but didn’t have the courage to, until now. 

After about an hour of discussing life, food (especially sea food), travel and being free spirits, he asked if I would be interested in getting out of the place we were at and visiting some of his favourite restaurants. Clearly, I didn’t need to be asked a second time. 

So instead of having dinner by myself and going to bed early, I now had a chef guide who was introducing me to places I would never know about. We went to 3 different restaurants, all charming, small, local hideouts, places that were big on taste and small on hype. The delicious tiger prawns, the king fish and even some lobster that I would never have tried if I hadn’t made a solo trip to Goa, run into someone who became a friend and took a leap of faith that this friend in actuality wasn’t a serial killer.

Photographs aren’t just about sceneries and people. They’re also reminders of stories that are behind them. Stories that make our lives a little more special and interesting. 

I’ve always believed that friendships can be lifelong or just for a day. That was the only time I met Rajat. Although we did exchange numbers and a few texts the next couple of days, neither one of us made any effort to meet again. Six years later, I can barely even remember what he looked like. I had almost forgotten about that evening until I came across the photos from the trip. 

This third viral wave has made me extremely restless. I want to be out there, adding more stories to my life, without having to worry about infectious diseases and social distancing. While I probably have a repository of stories to tell from my life, I am greedy for more. 

This is a poem I wrote that some of you may have seen already. It's about the serial killer that has been hovering around our lives the past couple of years and seems appropriate to end the piece with. 

Live in joy or live in fear

Omicron why did you come here?

The choice to stay at home

Should be made by us alone

Not by an annoying bug

Who disapproves when people hug

Twenty twenty two please set us free

Covid nineteen go climb a tree

Christmas in Chicago

Every year in the month of December, I start to get nostalgic about the years I spent celebrating Christmas in Chicago. The memory of my first Christmas party in the city always brings a smile to my face for so many reasons. Hosted by the company I worked for, it was a fairly intimate evening since at the time we probably had approximately 50 employees. Most people brought their spouse or a date so while it wasn’t small, it was the smallest office party that I ended up attending. 

Fresh off the boat and living in the city, I was nervous about driving to a Western suburb that I was completely foreign to. With the days being short in December, no GPS, nobody I could ask for a ride and with snow flurries that I was experiencing for the first time in my life, I plucked up every ounce of courage in my body and made my way to a beautiful party hall in a poorly lit suburb.

The dress code was black tie and having only the one suit that I had brought from India, which had been worn for every interview and to every meeting that required me to wear a suit, there was no way in the world that I was about to also wear it to our Christmas party. Our office was located across the very upscale Oakbrook Mall and having only been in the US for about 4 months, I didn’t know much about where to shop etc. A colleague who had become a friend, walked across to the mall with me but all the stores there were way out of my league as a fresh migrant who had only recently started working. 

Eventually I went to the party in a black and red sweater that I picked up from The Gap with black dress pants and shoes that I wore to work everyday. It was probably the last time I was underdressed for any occasion. I remember walking in awkwardly and while everyone looked incredibly sharp in their suits and cocktail dresses, they never once made me feel like a freak in a sweater! The word of the evening at our table, after a couple of drinks, was ‘marvellous’ and every once in a while one of the ladies would come up to me and say ‘you look marvellous darling’, until we all started saying it to each other. The phrase ending up being stuck with us for a fairly long while. One of those things that I’ll never forget and still makes me grin. 

As the years went by, December was all about attending Christmas parties, exchanging gifts, eating way, way, wayyy too much sugar, fighting traffic and crowds to buy gifts, parking much too far from the mall entrance on snowy days, the family dinner on Christmas day and of course the annual office Christmas party. 

I don’t have much recollection of most of the holiday parties that the company threw, but I do remember the last one, eleven years later. This one was a daytime affair at a large, beautiful home, that looked like it was straight out of a fairy tale. By this time I had a closet full of sharp suits but ironically, the dress code was ‘smart casual’. Maybe I should have worn a suit to make up for my first year there!

The dress code may have been casual but the food and liquor were of the highest class, with the serving staff passing around oysters, jumbo shrimp and caviar amongst other decadent h’ordeuvres, the buffet table laid out with a huge main course and of course more desserts than we could ever eat. My ‘farewell’ Christmas party was truly one that I would never forget.

The food however, was not what made that party especially memorable. With all the liquor flowing, many of us were ridiculously drunk in a couple of hours (there’s just no polite way to say it). And since I was leaving the country shortly after, I was as obnoxiously drunk as I could possibly be. To the point where, when Terry, our COO came out to give a speech, I would keep interrupting him, until he invited me to the podium and probably asked me to shut up in the nicest way he could. I don’t remember what he said to me but as a much loved employee, I’m sure there were no swear words. It’s one of the most embarrassing afternoons of my life but if you had been there, you would know that its a story that deserves to be shared!

Every year, as Christmas gets close, I bring out my fake Christmas tree, add some red to the apartment, put up string lights and make it as festive as I can. This year my man Friday and I made some fudge, reminding me of my colleague and friend, Evelyn, who I used to call ‘the fudge lady’. When I moved back to India, she wanted to send me a box for Christmas but I refused to give her my address as it would cost way too much. A few years later when I was having my New York adventure, she made me happy with a big batch of her famous fudge. 

I could go on and on with all the memories I have of Christmas in Chicago and the friends who made the holiday season so special for me during those eleven years that I lived there. It warms my heart each time I think of the laughs, the love and even the turkey.  I was also always extremely pampered with gifts and one year when boxes of presents were literally spilling out of my office, my friend Elsa stopped by, rolled her eyes and said, “I don’t understand why so many people love you.” Which of course was a complete lie since she was the one who referred to me as her ‘beloved’.

To all my friends and family, who have given me more than my share of love, I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

The Hydrangea and a Bottle of Single Malt

After covid-19 changed our lives and there was no entertaining happening in our homes, my coffee table slowly got converted into what my friend, Priya, refers to as a 'botanical table'. From having no plants on it to pretty much being covered by them, I felt it added a lot of character to my living room and every time some masked person did come over, they always described it with a complimentary adjective.

The botanical coffee table

Recently for my birthday, the same friend Priya sent me a beautiful hydrangea arrangement that I’m sure cost her a pretty penny. When I was returning from lunch that included several beers, with my friend Anand, it was waiting for me at the building security desk. Anand, the ever practical man immediately made a comment about how money spent on flowers was such a waste and they should just give you the cash instead.  I chose not to say anything in response and just smiled as I picked up my beautiful gift. 

A couple of days prior to this day, I had rearranged my coffee table a little. There was a large glass bowl that I owned when I lived in Chicago, that I ended up bringing back with me to Bangalore. The only time this bowl was used was when I had an annual party where I invited most people that I knew. The last time I had one of these parties, the guest list went up to more than fifty and this really beautiful bowl was used to serve punch. 

Since then, the bowl had been sitting on top of one of my kitchen cabinets, collecting dust. Recently I got on a ‘home lightening’ spree, where I was going through every storage space in my apartment from the largest to the smallest and discarding things that I was no longer using. While there was no noticeable difference in how the apartment looked, each time I emptied something out, I felt a little lighter on the inside. 

The bowl was brought down from above the cabinet and I carefully washed it, having forgotten how incredibly beautiful it was. I felt that having been ignored for such a long time, it now deserved a prominent place in my home and what better spot than the botanical coffee table. A few days later when Priya’s hydrangea arrived, I placed it inside the punch bowl. It was almost as if I had been preparing a spot for these flowers. For the next 2 weeks this arrangement brought me a little extra happiness. The flowers would eventually die and the money spent on it would be considered by some as a waste but would I have wanted some ‘thing’ instead that would take up space, be forgotten and eventually discarded? 

The bowl and the hydangea

I’ve never believed in being overly practical ever in my life. Which is why frequent travel has always been so important to me (I was up to 8 trips in a year when we got hit by the pandemic). The money I spend on travel obviously doesn’t give me any kind of physical return. A practical person would instead take one holiday in a year and invest the rest of the money in something that would keep growing the amount with time. If I did that, I would sit at home and die a slow death counting how much I had made each month disinterestedly (I know I’m being a little dramatic but you get the gist).

Forget that - I’m packing my bags to have some new experiences, to create some new memories, meet new people, see new places, soak in the beauty of nature etc etc, while my bank balance becomes a little bit smaller and my life becomes a little bit richer! Damn you covid-19 for slowing down my plans!

Each one of us has to live our lives the way we think is right for us. I understand that a lot of our obsession for money and the need to invest all of it in property, gold, stocks comes from different reasons such as insecurities of a difficult past, keeping up with your peers etc. It’s a shame though if we don’t use a portion of it and spend it on intangible ‘things’ that keep adding to our memory bank of joys. For all you overly practical folks, be impulsive more often. You might discover that spending money on experiences brings happiness in all kinds of ways. 

The hydrangea is long gone but I still have the vase. Anand, who made the comment about the flowers, got me an expensive bottle of single malt as a birthday gift which will also be gone soon. So I guess I was wrong about Anand being extra practical. I got lucky with both gifts. One was a feast to the eyes and the other is a feast to my senses. Let’s just say ‘cheers’ to that.

P.S. Did anyone notice that I got a new rug between the time the two photos were taken? 

Every Story has a Moral

Last evening I was chatting with someone in Toronto, who I've been following on Instagram for a while. It was the first time we had connected directly other than commenting on each others posts and keeping it mostly impersonal. 

Chatting with her brought back some interesting memories of the many times that I've visited Toronto, sometimes as a tourist and most other times as a consultant for work. One of those personal memories is what I'm going to share in todays post. 

Growing up in Calcutta, my dad had a fairly close friend who I always found to be intimidating. He had this booming voice, an aristocratic air and for some reason always seemed like he was inebriated. Later I found out that he had a serious alcohol problem. 

My parents and I had been living in Chicago for a few years when my sister came to visit and we decided to spend a few days in Niagara Falls and places around there. My dad had got to know that a brother of this friend I spoke about earlier, had moved to Toronto, so he called the gentleman with the intention of meeting for a meal or something. 

Now this friends brother was several years younger and I vaguely remembered him and his wife from parties that our parents would drag us to. Parties where there was a considerable amount of liquor flowing and not someplace people take their kids to, but it was a whole different time. All the kids were bustled into one room and we had to pretend to get along with each other. 

So basically my memory of this uncle and his wife were hazy at best. Except that they seemed very posh.

When my dad called and informed this gentleman about our trip, he (I thought) was unexpectedly excited and insisted that we stay with them for a couple of days at least. And since we were in no great rush to head back and he sounded so nice on the phone, my dad took him up on the offer.

My sister and I weren't exactly thrilled with the developments, since we expected them to be snobbish. But like good Indian (grownup) kids we went along with the plan.

After spending a couple of nights in Niagara Falls and doing everything that Asian tourists are supposed to do, we headed to Toronto City.

The best thing for me about staying with these friends of the family was that they lived in the heart of the city and not some boring suburb. In the city one can just walk to places, there are people around you, restaurants that aren't chains to eat at and generally a much more fun time. Although they lived in a little two-bedroom apartment, we as Indians are used to cramming ourselves into smaller spaces, sleeping on mattresses laid out on the floor and being in line to use the bathroom. Maybe not so much anymore but a lot of great memories have been created in these small spaces. Even when I lived in a one-bedroom, one bath apartment in Manhattan, there was a night when I had 10 guests staying over. Thankfully just for that one laughter-filled night!

Back in Toronto, the 'uncle' was now a limo driver and the 'aunt' worked at a Greek bakery. The same people that lived in a large home with adequate help were now 'the help'. The change in lifestyle had also changed their demeanour considerably. They were such warm and wonderful hosts and we were having such a great time together, that we ended up spending an extra night with them. I remember one time when we packed ourselves into the limo and drove out for a picnic. Picnics were a big thing when I was growing up and this certainly felt nostalgic of our time in Calcutta. Except that the picnic basket had all Greek treats but nobody was complaining!

It's funny (not the haha kind of funny) how our circumstances, our environment and our affluence or lack of, has an effect on our behaviour. They probably were always really nice people and it was my vision of them that was distorted. Or they had to put up this front of being a part of the upper echelon of society. Or they were actually the way they were and their lives getting upturned made them who they had become. It's something I'll never know for sure. 

I'm guessing that my dad and the uncle stayed in touch for a while but we never met again. Sometimes a short connection and leaving on a happy note is all that's needed for a lifetime of good memories. 

Is this piece just another snippet of my life or does the story come with a moral? To me there is more than one moral, which I don't need to get into. Each of you is clever enough to figure these out for yourselves. I would however, love to hear from you in the comments section as to what you got out of it. Don't be shy to share. 

Silly Things That Make Me Happy

Since over a decade my birthday has become an event of sorts. It all started with a dear childhood friend who flew down to spend a few days and celebrate my birthday with me. My sisters and family would also be around. And on the actual day a few local friends would drop by and we’d end up being a group of highly inebriated people, eating, drinking, senseless talking, dancing, singing etc. 

One of the years we did multiple shots along with our regular drinks, which of course had us so high that after a point everything was hazy. Including the pictures that were taken. We named it the 'epic year' and since then we’ve been slightly more mature but not considerably. 

As time went by the group of people that would come down and spend near a week with me for my birthday grew, with friends and family flying in from across the country and in 2019, my niece from the US also joined us. It had now became an international affair. What used to be an unplanned week became much more, with my Man Friday and I making the menu and sourcing the ingredients for every meal ahead of time, meals being sponsored from restaurants we love, additional household help being hired, a WhatsApp group that would plan flights so multiple people would land in Bangalore around the same time, logistics, sleeping arrangements at my sisters place, since my 3 bedrooms were no longer enough etc. We joked about hiring a ‘Birthday Planner’ maybe the next year.

This however, is not the silly thing that makes me happy. This is a huge thing that makes me extremely joyous. It’s probably my favourite week of the year and I feel truly blessed for having all these people in my life. 

Sadly the next year was the year of the pandemic that continues to screw up our lives and our minds. Thanks to which the birthday event could not happen last year. Instead everyone was masked up or cooped up in their homes. A multi hour virtual call where a cake was cut and drinks were drunk was the best we could do. And while it wasn’t close to the experience of all of us being together, thank goodness for technology. My sister and nephew drove down from Chennai, my sister and family in Bangalore organised a little party and we made the best of what we had. 

On the morning of my birthday last year, I was sitting in my living room, answering the many calls and texts that I was getting when all of a sudden two sunbirds came into my balcony. 

I should probably talk about my balcony a little bit here. Unlike most balconies that have plants and flowers, my balcony has trees. I have two large frangipani trees and a lime tree with a mango tree thats grown to about 3 feet or so now. There are also smaller to mid-size plants all over, which makes the entire space very lush green. 

Unfortunately until that day, as far as I was aware, the only birds (pests) that would visit my balcony were pigeons, who we were always trying to get rid of. Occasionally there would be butterflies but never any other birds. And then on the morning of my birthday, these two sunbirds hopped from branch to branch, having conversations with each other (and I like to think) attempting to communicate with me. As sneakily as I could, I got up from the couch and brought my camera from the other room, worrying the entire time that I would scare them off. 

And while I couldn’t get the greatest shots since I had to observe them from a distance and with them constantly moving, they stayed on and kept playing. The mini forest in my balcony has been around for a few years now but I’d never had these visitors earlier. Were they trying to fill in for the folks that didn’t have the freedom to fly in that these beautiful creatures had? Were they the carrier of wishes from the group that couldn’t make it to our annual event? I like to romanticise things so thats what I believed and its what I continue to believe. 

It may sound silly but for me it was a big deal. Silly things make me happy and thats what matters eventually. There are always degrees of joy that we feel. While it may not have made me as happy as travel does, it certainly made me happier than material acquisitions. 

I don’t need the big home, the swanky automobile or an expensive phone. Just give me more of the silly joys that I can treasure, store in my memory and smile about forever! Meanwhile, I have my fingers crossed that we can at least have a portion of the group back in my home this year, bringing back a sense of normalcy and loads of laughter. 

Unsent Letters

 A couple of years ago I decided that I would publish a book of short stories and began writing them as and when I came up with an idea. Well, I haven't made too much progress and with all the uncertainty we've been going thru this past year, who knows what's in store tomorrow. And so I figured that I would begin sharing the stories on my blog instead. Here's the first one. I hope you enjoy it. 

Dear Vinay

I can’t remember the last time I actually wrote a letter using a pen and paper. There’s a perfectly good reason why I am handwriting this. Or at least it sort of makes sense to me. I don’t want to go back and change something or make corrections to what I’ve written, like I could on my laptop or phone. The first words that come to me are the words that I want you to read. Yes, I could trash the page and start again but this is beautiful hand-made paper that I’ve bought and it deserves more respect than being in the trash.

It’s been exactly one month and three days since the two of us decided to take a sabbatical from our respective jobs so we could think about our situation without being distracted by work emails and conference calls and deadlines and our self importance in organizations that would replace us in no time if we quit. 

It’s been almost a month since we’ve taken a sabbatical from each other. Every morning when I wake up, I think of you being somewhere in the hills and I can’t help feeling a teeny bit jealous. Not because I wish I was also in the hills - you know I’m too much of a city girl - but because I feel that the surrounding beauty may make you forget me. As for me, I’m back in our apartment where everything reminds me of you. Doesn’t seem quite fair, does it? Of course, I could be elsewhere, just like you but after a couple of weeks of scampering around, I needed to be back in my comfort zone.

Six years of being together isn’t very long. Our parents have been together a lifetime without seeming unhappy or restless. Does ‘restless’ best describe how we’ve been feeling about being with each other in a committed relationship? Should we have become a habit by now and be satisfied with going through the motions of everyday life? Is it unrealistic to expect us to continue to be madly in love after all these years? I’m aware that the answer to the last question is that of course it is unrealistic and we should have transitioned seamlessly into the next phase of our relationship. 

I just wish we knew what that phase is supposed to be. 

Together we made a decision to not have kids, since we seem to be missing the parental instinct that most couples apparently have. It hasn’t been easy with all the questions and the probing, but we were prepared for all of that. ‘Our lives our choice’, right? We’ve always been very sure about the two of us being enough for each other. So then what happened all of a sudden? Why this strange restlessness?

I was talking to Aarti about us yesterday. You know I tell Aarti everything, so yeah I told her about our current situation also. Don’t worry though - everyone else thinks that you’re off to write a book and I’m just taking some time off from work. Aarti on the other hand gets regular updates about what I’m feeling. She said to me that she has never been more sure about any couple as she is about us. And that you and I were meant to spend our lives together. While I usually don’t take such comments seriously, it made me wonder a little about the day that we first met. 

It was on the day of Aarti’s 25th birthday. After being the one who had planned the party, I found out the day before that I had to travel to Mumbai the very same night as her birthday for an early meeting the next morning. Makes me smile now but I was so mad!! So I booked myself on the absolute last flight and found myself sitting next to this charming young man who I ended up marrying. Just like in the movies!

The meeting got scheduled at the last minute. Never one to take a red-eye, I made an exception on that day. I reached the airport at the last minute, didn’t do a web check-in and ended up getting seated next to the cutest guy on the flight. Who I may remind you, had missed his original flight thanks to traffic! Coincidence or meant to be?

Last week I was watching a show on Netflix in which a couple with two young children, were discussing their marriage and how the spark had gone out of it. The woman asked her husband how invested he was in their marriage, which really made me laugh. How does one even answer that question? It’s not a retirement fund that you can decide on a percentage of your investment. The husband, in typical film jargon (or is this how people are talking now?) said that he was processing what she had asked and would let her know the answer when it came to him. I honestly could not stop rolling my eyes.

Vinay, I don’t know when you’re coming back home and if this will still be home for you when you return. I’m trying really hard not to overthink but this mind doesn’t take a break. I try to think of each day of those 6 years that we’ve spent together and the ones that come to my mind are some exceptionally good days and some not so great ones. The ‘not so great’ ones seem silly and immature and I honestly only have a fuzzy recollection of them. The good ones on the other hand, I remember clear as day. 

There have been times, I admit, when I wished that I was still carefree and single. And knowing you as well as I do, I’m sure that you have the same thoughts. We’ve always known that we aren’t like conventional couples and we like being who we are. They say that opposites attract but it’s our sameness, our way of thinking, what we both expect from life (to continue to evolve and be happy) that makes us such perfect partners. I honestly don’t think that the restlessness is in our marriage. It’s in everything else around us. 

Without a doubt, it’s time for some changes. Those changes though are not in how we are with each other. We’ve got into a rut that we have to get out of. How did our careers and earning money get in the way of what we really want in life? We both want more, even if it means that we have less. I have no doubt in my mind that you feel the same way. 

Our time apart has made one thing completely clear to me. I definitely don’t want to wake up next to anyone besides you. I miss having you around. I miss your presence. I miss our conversations about everything and nothing. I miss our silences together. I miss going to the movies with you. I miss not agreeing on which movie to watch. I bought a chocolate covered ice-cream bar and missed sharing it with you. I could go on and on. I just miss you and I want you back. Our marriage isn’t broken or breaking. We just have to figure out what the next phase is. 

I will accept whatever decision you come back with. Or I will fight for you to be mine forever, though I hope that it won’t be necessary. Please come back home.

With all my love

M

*** 

With a smile on her face, Maya watched Vinay sleeping without a care in the world. She folded up the letter and put it back into its unaddressed hand-made paper envelope.