marriage

I first realised the error of my ways when, out of sheer boredom, I typed my married name in Google. It promptly asked me to think it over, and asked me in with full seriousness: did you mean Aastha Atray ‘Banana’. No, obviously I didn’t mean that. But then there are many things you don’t mean, but still end up saying or doing once you get married — that too if you’re a North Indian married to a South Indian. Now, I am not being prejudiced. I wouldn’t. Because, here, I am the victim of prejudice. I, who has been labelled a stuck-up North Indian and an incorrigible “Delhi brat” — all by my own husband.
I am also loud, domineering, spoilt, irresponsible, an insufferable snob and a show off, vain to the bone and also completely useless around the house — again, all because I am from Delhi. According to my husband, it’s because of my North Indian mentality that I am immune to what is truly life. My inability to pay the bills, get the rice cooker repaired and monitor our errant bai, form the basis of my spoilt existence. Our fights usually begin with small sparks, which are obviously set off by my ‘Delhiness’ —food being the biggest drawback. If I refuse to eat yellow dal for the 3rd time in a week, and order pizza instead, I am sure to be greeted with the brat expletive. And though he indulges my shopping sprees, if there are no vegetables or bread or butter or milk in the fridge next day, the favourite rebuke is, “You can remember to buy yourself unnecessary clothes, but this, you don’t have a clue. So Delhi!” And God save me if I ever interrupt his lectures addressed to me with an “okay, okay, I get it now”. Because, according to him, that is where I show my Delhiness the most — being a little miss know-it all.
My defense to all his misconceptions has always been the same — does living in a city with wide roads Mumbaiites couldn’t even begin to imagine, affordable real estate, honest to God dal makhni and ample parking space make me an arrogant know-it-all?
Most of the times, I squeeze out of these North-South squabbles with my sweet Delhi drawl and fluttering North Indian eyelashes. Anyway, love conquers all, doesn’t it? Just in case it doesn’t, I’m going to hide this edition. If my husband dearest does manage to read it, I have just one thing to say, in the words of George Bernard Shaw, “Marriage is an alliance entered into by a man who can't sleep with the window shut, and a woman who can't sleep with the window open.” Sp I guess, we will be, just alright.