I am told that the institute of marriage should have it's license revoked or expire at seven years. Not less, because there is a certain freshness that exists even at five years of marriage that somehow and strangely disappears at seven. Not more, because experts tell me that after 10 years of marriage, the spouse is more sibling-like and less better-half...they fight over old wounds, they develop selective hearing and worst of all, husband and wife start to look like each other thus reinforcing the sibling theory. Thus after 10 years, it seems pointless to dissolve one union only to get into a fresh one and have to slowly metamorph into yet another person's sibling-like being!
Seven years , wow that's a long time, says my good friend (lets call her SAS for Short And Sweet).
We are in fact attending a wedding and chatting to fill time while we wait for the bride to arrive. The groom is already in the church, sweating a wet patch through his pristine white shirt. The heat? Could be. But my bet is that he is nervous and wondering if he has foolishly killed any last minute chance of sprinting out of here. I pray (being in church and all that) that the video recording of the service does not capture any snippets of our talk. SAS however has no such concerns as she states her opinion in a loud stage whisper which I swear can be heard three pews down.
How can seven years be a long time? I ask, bewildered. When you have promised "till death do us apart", you should be hoping for 50 years upwards. Do you really want death just seven years later? Should the priest modify his sermon to include "till death do you apart or till the first seven years, whichever comes first". And what about the astrologers who joyously tell you that you'll be together for the next seven lifetimes?
With certain people seven years can feel like seven lifetimes, SAS says, her voice no longer qualifying as a whisper (it is now gaining strength in terms of decible level and speed).
I hush her but it only fuels her enthusiam for the subject.
Besides, she continues, marriage and life span should not be so intricately connected. When the priest says - till death do you apart - he may not be talking about physical death but death of the marriage.
Her warped logic strangely makes sense and even I cannot argue it.
So how do people move beyond the seven year barrier? Is it like pretending it does not exist? Does one go from celebrating their sixth wedding anniversary directly to celebrating their eighth?
Oh well, says another friend sitting in the pew behind (I'll call him SAM for Semi Automatic Marriage), I decided to give the seventh year all I had. I had been flying on auto pilot for so long that I decided it was time to romance my wife, I wrote her poetry, I took her out, I complimented her.
Did it work? I was so curious. Could the seven year itch be appeased if enough effort was put into it?
The problem, SAM says, is that she continued to itch while I tried to be the emotional equivalent of soothing lotion .
Effort from his side did not equal effort from her side. It's a lesson hard learnt. Six years of being a bad partner could not be itched away so easily.
No one says marriage is easy.
The wedding on the other hand, proceeds without a hitch. Vows are exchanged in nervous voices, rings are exchanged with only mildly shaky hands, the kiss takes place (an unfortunately short one keeping in mind that parents were watching!). SAS sighs in disappointment over the last one. As the couple walk down the aisle after the ceremony is over, the bride is busy straightening her dress and veil and pushes the grooms hand away with a grimace as soon as he tries to help.
Trouble in paradise? I wonder aloud.
Oh no, SAS says gleefully, that's the seven year itch getting an early start on things.
Everything would have been just fine had the couple not heard us!
As I came home that night, I could not help but wonder - do all marriages go through this? If yes, the future looks kind of bleak.
Nonsense, says ALIA (stands for nothing, it really is just her name), best friend and confidant, married for 15 years. The seven year itch is a misnomer. It is actually pre-wedding jitters which are proven right over the course of the next seven years.
I am sorry I asked. And I rest my case.
A few nights later, I sit with MBH (that's Married But Happy!). She's the sister of the bride and the one who had to convince the bride not to beat SAS up in front of all the other guests.
How did you manage the seven year itch? I ask her.
She thinks about it. She looks at me and then decides that I deserve the truth.
I got my seven year itch in my second year, she says. I did everything one dreams of doing during this time. I gave into it completely. It was unadultrated hedonism 101. I got close to another man, I ignored my home, I went back to study, I went into therapy hoping to find myself, I travelled around the world pretty much for the same reason. I finally came back home 8 months later, completely spent and with the startling clarity for the very first time in my life that my husband and my marriage were absolutely perfect for ME. No other man and no other marriage would do it for me. The seven year itch saved my marriage and taught me more about life and choices than anything else ever will.
As for me, I dont know what the future holds. Does bliss today ensure an itch-proof tomorrow? I'm taking my chance with time, love and marriage. I'll learn my own lessons along the way.
But this much I know for sure - SAS should no longer be invited to weddings!
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
Perfection
Ice cold beer and Tom Petty's Walls. Savoring the cold liquid trickle down the throat while listening to Tom Petty tell you that "Some days are diamonds, some days are rocks".
Laughing so hard over silly jokes with friends that you get an ache in your side. Then looking at each of their faces and feeling a love so profound, so fierce, that you know you would rather give up your life than lose the friend.
Saying sorry even when you know you are right. Because ego melts away in the face of love so strong.
Riding in the rain, feeling not cold or wet, only the rain on your face and more free than you have in years. Riding in the rain with no looking back.
The morning after...still feeling loved and cherished.
Reading Toni Morrison's Beloved. Re-reading passages because they are so beautifully written, unable to read ahead until you have savored each precious word a 100 times as it lilts off the page.
The first kiss, awkward, hands dont know what to do, eyes half shut, heart beating wildly. Beautiful with promise.
For the first time, not worrying about finger positions or the complexity of notes, but playing Beethovan's Moonlight Sonata on the piano and getting absorbed in a music so powerful that you fear nothing else will ever compare. And nothing else ever will.
Sitting with a man, having the best conversation you have had in a long long time, thoughts, opinions, secrets flowing back and forth. Laughing. Realising. Knowing that you'll never be as attracted to anyone as you are to this man who matches you sentence for sentence with a twinkle in his eye.
Achieving everything you have ever wanted and then giving it up for the freedom you truly desire.
Spending time with your partner, an intimacy so deep that words seem superflous, a silence so comfortable it lulls you, a peace so profound it moves you to tears.
Sitting on a hot hot day, drinking an ice cold beer.
Sometimes perfection is as simple as an ice cold beer.
Laughing so hard over silly jokes with friends that you get an ache in your side. Then looking at each of their faces and feeling a love so profound, so fierce, that you know you would rather give up your life than lose the friend.
Saying sorry even when you know you are right. Because ego melts away in the face of love so strong.
Riding in the rain, feeling not cold or wet, only the rain on your face and more free than you have in years. Riding in the rain with no looking back.
The morning after...still feeling loved and cherished.
Reading Toni Morrison's Beloved. Re-reading passages because they are so beautifully written, unable to read ahead until you have savored each precious word a 100 times as it lilts off the page.
The first kiss, awkward, hands dont know what to do, eyes half shut, heart beating wildly. Beautiful with promise.
For the first time, not worrying about finger positions or the complexity of notes, but playing Beethovan's Moonlight Sonata on the piano and getting absorbed in a music so powerful that you fear nothing else will ever compare. And nothing else ever will.
Sitting with a man, having the best conversation you have had in a long long time, thoughts, opinions, secrets flowing back and forth. Laughing. Realising. Knowing that you'll never be as attracted to anyone as you are to this man who matches you sentence for sentence with a twinkle in his eye.
Achieving everything you have ever wanted and then giving it up for the freedom you truly desire.
Spending time with your partner, an intimacy so deep that words seem superflous, a silence so comfortable it lulls you, a peace so profound it moves you to tears.
Sitting on a hot hot day, drinking an ice cold beer.
Sometimes perfection is as simple as an ice cold beer.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Teething Trouble in Kindergarten
Child's play, I think to myself, secretly thrilled at the pun. I am all set to give a talk on teeth and dental care at a kindergarten class. My research tells me I should wear wear pink and blue (does not bring a very fashionable image to mind, I know, but appearently these are the soothing colours for children). I carry my doctor's coat and I'm off. In my mind I practise easy ways of explaining complicated dental situations-
Scientifically: Caries is the breakdown of tooth structure caused as a result of pathogenic bacteria which in the presence of sugar produces acid which degenerates the enamel and deeper structures of the tooth.
Modified for kindergarten kids: A cavity is formed when you eat chocolates, and all the chocolatey gunk gets stuck between your teeth and you forget to brush it away. That is what creates a hole in your tooth.
Piece of cake.
Subconsciously I wonder if 3 & 4 year olds know the meaning of create. Never mind. I am brilliant. I'll think of something. I am good with on-the-spur-of-the-moment situations.
30 minutes later:
18 pairs of curious eyes stare at me. I smile back at them, confident that I am about to change their life, motivate them towards better dental health forever, give them a lifetime of good oral habits. It is such a bouyant feeling. I hope that they are not shy or uncomfortable around me. A cute as button girl grins back at me and then out of the blue and for absoutely no reason that I can fathom:
Where do babies come from, she asks.
Huh, I say, my smile fading just a little bit. I was under the impression this was to be a talk about teeth...
I mean, she continues paying no attention to my growing confusion, do they fall from the sky? My mommy told me they come from the penguin.
I'm guessing she actually means the stork, unless ofcourse mommy thinks the stork is a penguin in disguise...
I look helplessly at the teacher. Were the children told the gynaecologist was coming today and got the dentist by mistake? Had one orifice been exchanged for the other? But she's tending to her cuticles, oblivious to the disaster unfurling around me. This is probably the most peace she's had in her class and she is determined to dedicate the precious time to her fingers while her mind takes a nap.
Ah, I said, babies, er..., well, you see..., they come from mommy's stomach. Er..., they're a gift from God, I add for good measure.
(I again wonder how a dentist has ended up in the strange position of explaining such a delicate matter to a bunch of precocious babies.)
While most of the kids are looking dubiously at me, one boy who was earlier busy digging his nose now peeps up to declare - No, I know, babies come from Preity Zinta's stomach.
My eyes are as wide as saucers now. My only hope is that he has recently seen Salaam Namaste.
I am thankfully prevented from answering by another little boy who chooses just this moment to tell me - My father is Superman.
Wow, I say, grateful that we're headed to firmer ground. I nod encouragingly at him. I am thinking, this cannot be as bad as all the baby talk.
Yes, the boy says in all seriousness, he walks around in his underwear, with a towel on his back.
I wish my firm ground would just open and swallow me whole. This is Nightmare on Kindergarten Street. I have yet to say a single word about dentistry and teeth and all those exciting things that I had planned to say. Instead I have been swept into a world of the birds and bees and unlikely Supermen by a bunch of 3-4 year olds. Why? How? Most importantly Why Me? And were my special soothing colours really doing nothing to help me?
As if to answer my questions, a little girl with pigtails tugs on my trousers.
Are you a dentist, she asks.
Yes, I say hopefully, wondering if this was finally my chance to get back on track, to strut my stuff.
Can you take me to the bathroom, she asks shyly.
I take my coat off. The coat seems rather superflous considering the way things have turned out. The teacher has finally got her cuticles exactly as she likes them. She looks up at me and smiles - all done? I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
Parents have come to pick up their kids. As I leave the classroom, I see Mr. Superman claim his child. He weighs about 200 lbs and has a gravity defying paunch. Much as I try not to, I cannot but help imagine him in his underwear and towel cape, dashing around the house. It is not a pretty picture I assure you.
I get a call a few days later from the school. Apparantly the children were saying they had not heard anything about teeth from me. Would I care to come in and speak to them once more. I said I would love to, as soon as I have recovered from my previous visit. In the meanwhile I volunteer the name of a gyneacologist who say I am sure the kids would love to meet....there is stony silence on the line....the school has not gotten back to me since.
Scientifically: Caries is the breakdown of tooth structure caused as a result of pathogenic bacteria which in the presence of sugar produces acid which degenerates the enamel and deeper structures of the tooth.
Modified for kindergarten kids: A cavity is formed when you eat chocolates, and all the chocolatey gunk gets stuck between your teeth and you forget to brush it away. That is what creates a hole in your tooth.
Piece of cake.
Subconsciously I wonder if 3 & 4 year olds know the meaning of create. Never mind. I am brilliant. I'll think of something. I am good with on-the-spur-of-the-moment situations.
30 minutes later:
18 pairs of curious eyes stare at me. I smile back at them, confident that I am about to change their life, motivate them towards better dental health forever, give them a lifetime of good oral habits. It is such a bouyant feeling. I hope that they are not shy or uncomfortable around me. A cute as button girl grins back at me and then out of the blue and for absoutely no reason that I can fathom:
Where do babies come from, she asks.
Huh, I say, my smile fading just a little bit. I was under the impression this was to be a talk about teeth...
I mean, she continues paying no attention to my growing confusion, do they fall from the sky? My mommy told me they come from the penguin.
I'm guessing she actually means the stork, unless ofcourse mommy thinks the stork is a penguin in disguise...
I look helplessly at the teacher. Were the children told the gynaecologist was coming today and got the dentist by mistake? Had one orifice been exchanged for the other? But she's tending to her cuticles, oblivious to the disaster unfurling around me. This is probably the most peace she's had in her class and she is determined to dedicate the precious time to her fingers while her mind takes a nap.
Ah, I said, babies, er..., well, you see..., they come from mommy's stomach. Er..., they're a gift from God, I add for good measure.
(I again wonder how a dentist has ended up in the strange position of explaining such a delicate matter to a bunch of precocious babies.)
While most of the kids are looking dubiously at me, one boy who was earlier busy digging his nose now peeps up to declare - No, I know, babies come from Preity Zinta's stomach.
My eyes are as wide as saucers now. My only hope is that he has recently seen Salaam Namaste.
I am thankfully prevented from answering by another little boy who chooses just this moment to tell me - My father is Superman.
Wow, I say, grateful that we're headed to firmer ground. I nod encouragingly at him. I am thinking, this cannot be as bad as all the baby talk.
Yes, the boy says in all seriousness, he walks around in his underwear, with a towel on his back.
I wish my firm ground would just open and swallow me whole. This is Nightmare on Kindergarten Street. I have yet to say a single word about dentistry and teeth and all those exciting things that I had planned to say. Instead I have been swept into a world of the birds and bees and unlikely Supermen by a bunch of 3-4 year olds. Why? How? Most importantly Why Me? And were my special soothing colours really doing nothing to help me?
As if to answer my questions, a little girl with pigtails tugs on my trousers.
Are you a dentist, she asks.
Yes, I say hopefully, wondering if this was finally my chance to get back on track, to strut my stuff.
Can you take me to the bathroom, she asks shyly.
I take my coat off. The coat seems rather superflous considering the way things have turned out. The teacher has finally got her cuticles exactly as she likes them. She looks up at me and smiles - all done? I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
Parents have come to pick up their kids. As I leave the classroom, I see Mr. Superman claim his child. He weighs about 200 lbs and has a gravity defying paunch. Much as I try not to, I cannot but help imagine him in his underwear and towel cape, dashing around the house. It is not a pretty picture I assure you.
I get a call a few days later from the school. Apparantly the children were saying they had not heard anything about teeth from me. Would I care to come in and speak to them once more. I said I would love to, as soon as I have recovered from my previous visit. In the meanwhile I volunteer the name of a gyneacologist who say I am sure the kids would love to meet....there is stony silence on the line....the school has not gotten back to me since.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Some Days
some days like today
are meant not for
talking or
working or
even loving
they're meant
for doing nothing
and doing it
blissfully
are meant not for
talking or
working or
even loving
they're meant
for doing nothing
and doing it
blissfully
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
The Friendship With A Noose Around It's Neck
I shot a friendship in its foot. It was a classic case of homicide. I planned it, went armed with carefully constructed sentences aimed to maim if not kill, I took aim when least expected and fired. I imagined the friendship would cry out like a wounded animal or flap its tail helplessly and struggle to stay alive. But no, it just smiled and said – No problem darling. Whatever you are comfortable with, I’m always there for you. And just like that, the friendship flipped over on its side and I suppose it died.
I met him 3 years ago; we worked together on a project. We lost touch really quickly that time – a direct result of really having nothing in common between us. We met again a year ago at the most unlikely of places – he came in to the practice to get some work done on his teeth. He was obviously more in need of a friend this time around – he started calling regularly, he messaged me good morning every morning, he invented exciting things for me to do (specifically involving movies, Thai food, lots of cola spiked or otherwise, drives, random flattery and stories of his advertising world – I am susceptible to all of these and not necessarily in this particular order!).
We still had nothing in common. We didn’t have great conversations - mostly I spoke and he didn’t listen very well. The few moments that our conversations actually showed sparks of depth in it, we would quickly kill it lest it became a regular thing. The friendship initially hung by a very fragile thread and then slowly became something more tenacious - Habit. But what a habit it was – we spoke of nothing, every single day.
He would say – So what’s happening?
I would tell him.
His only reply would be – So what else is happening? (Though sometimes when he was feeling
creative he would vary it by saying – You’re crazy.)
And I would tell him some more.
He would always end by saying – Lovely, lovely – irrespective of what I told him.
That was the sum total of our conversations, except when the tables were turned and he complained about life and I got my sadistic chance at saying “Lovely”. Yet he called or messaged no matter where in the world he was. And I do have to thank him for some outstanding gifts.
No one in his life knew I existed – not his family or friends. I was his escape from the inane. I was the bubbly cheer that made him feel good about himself and pulled him up from the quicksand of his negativity (his words, not mine and in a rare moment of introspection). I gave him job advice (he didn’t need it), I gave him house hunting tips (he did need it), I gave him relationship advice (he said he didn't need it but I didn't know a person who needed it more). Mostly I just gave him my shoulder to moan on.
We stayed friends for a year. In a friendship that was by turns symbiotic, infuriating and frustrating, one that threatened to morph into something else or nothing at all. Or worse, one that would be at a stand still for the rest of our lives, unable to go back, yet refusing to budge ahead. And thus, one fine afternoon I shot it and walked away.
It’s been 1 month now. I’m ashamed to say I don’t miss it much. I guess there is nothing to miss when there is nothing to cherish. I do miss the convenience of it but when was friendship ever supposed to be convenient.
Some days I wonder if I should call and say – how are you? Because I do care. But then what? Relive history again? I don’t even know if my aim to kill will be as good the next time around.
I met him 3 years ago; we worked together on a project. We lost touch really quickly that time – a direct result of really having nothing in common between us. We met again a year ago at the most unlikely of places – he came in to the practice to get some work done on his teeth. He was obviously more in need of a friend this time around – he started calling regularly, he messaged me good morning every morning, he invented exciting things for me to do (specifically involving movies, Thai food, lots of cola spiked or otherwise, drives, random flattery and stories of his advertising world – I am susceptible to all of these and not necessarily in this particular order!).
We still had nothing in common. We didn’t have great conversations - mostly I spoke and he didn’t listen very well. The few moments that our conversations actually showed sparks of depth in it, we would quickly kill it lest it became a regular thing. The friendship initially hung by a very fragile thread and then slowly became something more tenacious - Habit. But what a habit it was – we spoke of nothing, every single day.
He would say – So what’s happening?
I would tell him.
His only reply would be – So what else is happening? (Though sometimes when he was feeling
creative he would vary it by saying – You’re crazy.)
And I would tell him some more.
He would always end by saying – Lovely, lovely – irrespective of what I told him.
That was the sum total of our conversations, except when the tables were turned and he complained about life and I got my sadistic chance at saying “Lovely”. Yet he called or messaged no matter where in the world he was. And I do have to thank him for some outstanding gifts.
No one in his life knew I existed – not his family or friends. I was his escape from the inane. I was the bubbly cheer that made him feel good about himself and pulled him up from the quicksand of his negativity (his words, not mine and in a rare moment of introspection). I gave him job advice (he didn’t need it), I gave him house hunting tips (he did need it), I gave him relationship advice (he said he didn't need it but I didn't know a person who needed it more). Mostly I just gave him my shoulder to moan on.
We stayed friends for a year. In a friendship that was by turns symbiotic, infuriating and frustrating, one that threatened to morph into something else or nothing at all. Or worse, one that would be at a stand still for the rest of our lives, unable to go back, yet refusing to budge ahead. And thus, one fine afternoon I shot it and walked away.
It’s been 1 month now. I’m ashamed to say I don’t miss it much. I guess there is nothing to miss when there is nothing to cherish. I do miss the convenience of it but when was friendship ever supposed to be convenient.
Some days I wonder if I should call and say – how are you? Because I do care. But then what? Relive history again? I don’t even know if my aim to kill will be as good the next time around.
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