Monday, 20 July 2009

Nocturnal Habits

I love my husband...love him to bits…

that's why we got married actually- all in love, stars in our eyes and bit o' pain in the backsides (those of you who know me know what i am talking about) Anyhoo...this is not why I am filling up precious space of this blog. What I want to address today is whether love conquers all... inequities, shortcomings, faults... ok ok before you switch off I am not here to discuss moral issues but some very basic ones, that of Snoring and Talking in your sleep... No not me you doubting Thomases! I, I am perfect, the perfect bed-partner, ask my husband! :D It's him we are talking about.

Like I was telling you earlier...I love the husband lots, all his good bad and handsome... but a girl can only take so much. I draw the line at stertor and somniloquy. I try to snooze off before he does, unfortunately he beats me to every time except when he gets work home... and he never brings work home! My sensitivity to this malady is inexplicable because I come from a family of chronic snorers.The mater and pater can start their own naso-phil-harmonica- but then I could shut the door on them and drift away dreaming of the time when my non-snorer husband and I would live happily ever-after. But cupid had other plans.

Cutting to the chase -So here I am stuck with at the snore-grunt-snoreathon, lamenting my fate when I suddenly hear the zzz...ss turning into abcds into codes and binaries! The husband codes in his sleep! And I thought he never brought work home! Karthave!

If this wasn't a shock enough, the next night he WAKES me up, pay attention here, WAKES ME UP, from my hard-to-get slumber to tell me that he's just confirming if I am on the right flight? (all with his eyes closed mind you!) Flight!!! i am flying outta my mind here! Anyone of you dream interpreters here, is there some underlying subconscious Freudian message here that I am missing. By and by I come to know that there are certain tones, reserved for different subjects/people. Mom-in-law n I get the shouting and the rant! Ha! So much for being a peacenik, I don't-like-to-fight, Mr K! I tried to be optimistic about this development! No longer would there be any more secrets between us (his secrets, of course!). I kept my ears peeled but to no avail- hmmm...so better to put an end to all this nocturnal chats and snoring!

So then I go hunting for easy to implement remedies (those worried please rest assured he has no sleep apnoea) on the world wide web. For snoring it says, avoid sleeping flat on you back. Ah! That sounds easy, oh but no... apparently that's the ONLY way he gets good sleep! Selfish bum! And after many-an-unsuccessful attempts, which included gentle nudges, pushes, shoves, nose pinching, it is me sleeping buried under pillows with a prayer on my lips for this torture to end. Along with all this the nightly dream-induced solilquy continues unabated, much to my useless consternation, with no solution in sight.

This is where you, my dear readers come in! Please HELP ME! Tell me how to remedy this problem, before I take to sleep deprivation induced violence and beat him up ( I do love him, but like i said, even that has limits!)! And no, sleeping on the couch doesn't help! The snores transcend concrete, mortar and wood! This is an SOS, a desperate plea for help from someone who loves her 8-hour shut eye but is getting by on only 6! And the reasons keeping me up are not even ones I like!

Thursday, 16 July 2009

Auld Lang Syne

Never thought I would get caught up in the wave of nostalgia that is sweeping across the class of 2004 from my post graduation course in Manipal.

...the thrill of leaving home for the first time- heady with excitement but shit scared deep down, masked well by a brave smile; the first nervous smile shot to a fellow sufferer at the hands of the seniors; the first night alone, away from home; the first cup of tea brought by a friendly room-mate; the mad rush toward college not to miss the first class; the excited chatter in the classroom towards the end of a lecture; the quick tea and smoke break after the end of the first lecture for some; the Manipal monsoon, the pitter-patter of rain on the tiled roof dulling the drone of the lecturer's, the sweet anticipation of whether we'll get to savour the spicy dal or tangy sambar with the sana/idli at press carts, spending an idle hour over chai and snacks at press cart uncle's or Suresh bhai's taking in the sweet aroma of someone else's cigarette; the endless hours of mirth intermitted with a brief slog over an assignment, in the comp lab; whiling away your time day dreaming in the library; rushing for dinner to the mess only to find yourself wading through the oily mess; wishing the cook would learn to well..cook, ending up in the middle of the night at press carts to eat something palatable to compensate for the awful fare earlier in the evening.

Scooter rides across the lush verdant into Udupi, to enjoy a spot of dosa and brilliant coffee at Kediyoor , or the noisy busy ride from Tiger circle to the city bus stop to lay your hands on some trashy novels or comics (the proprietor's mom would insist on talking to me in Konkani for some reason!), the rush to submit assignments at the last minute on the last day of submission, the three monthly march to the warden's office to protest against moving us out of our cushy staff quarters, a privilege we girls hung on to fiercely because it afforded a total disregard for deadlines of any sort, you came and went as you liked! Kaup, Marvanthe, Kody - we spent some mad, some serene times there...once with the entire class in the middle of the night...(for those totally at sea these were beautiful beaches, in and around Manipal ).

And then there were the weekends. In fact it was here I figured out why weekends are so sacred to some! DT- the place where I rid myself of my tee-totaller ways, where I sat philosophising and analysing the bane of the world, where I found love for the first time; Sphinx- where I picked up my dancing shoes; and the night rides into Parkala. This was the place where I went out for my first and final Valentine's Day date, where I learnt the true value of friendship, the meaning of being lonely, the horror of failing and the triumph of succeeding; my education in life began here...

This was seven years ago...life's changed so much ever since… but there's some part of me that's still stuck in time long gone, the place I retreat to when the going gets tough, a time when hope reigned supreme and even the bad days were good and the good times great.

Wednesday, 8 July 2009

Till death do us all part

I have finally figured out why in India one is always invited to another’s “marriage”- The secret was revealed to me when I (not held aloft my mighty sword, fellow He-man buffs) tied the knot (or is it the noose?) a few months back. If you are an Indian or getting married to one, and think that the marriage is between you and the person concerned, perish the thought… It’s an open house for all and sundry to intrude and enquire and yes, you do marry the family. The cozy twosome universe is only for the sitcom galaxy; real life is altogether a different story. Hear my story out...

Everyone from every where in the family extending to the fifth cousins to aunt’s cousin’s brother-law’s sister’s son knows what you have been up to right from the moment you step into your marital house. “Oh so you went to the church yesterday and uncle’s place after that and to the city for a spot of shopping…how’re you liking it here?” asks one random gentleman who I have never seen in my life ( who I am appraised later is a neighbor-cum-relative!) before today! After that kind of intelligence on me doing the rounds, the visit just became decidedly spooky! And what takes the cake is that you are expected to know every one from everyone. Now those who know me would think coming from a family of bearded and turbaned Sikhs that shouldn’t be difficult, but dear friend, with names like Lijo, Jojomon, Bobbin, Jinni, and every second cousin or aunt being a Susan or an Annie, relatives’ names can be difficult to remember. “Hi Susan aunty, meet Susan chechi, Susan amachi’s grand-daugther and this is Susan ammayi, my uncle’s wife!” (Sathyam! This actually happened to me once).

If the run up to getting married to the husband was trying, what came after was a steeper climb up the marital hill. “Pennene malayalam mansallayo? Illa!?!…paddikanam!..(Does she know Malayalam? No!?! You should learn to, beta!” ) I am all for learning new languages but this kind of pressure kind of adds to the inherent difficulty imbibed in learning the mater tongue (yes my mom’s a Malayali too, and NO I don’t know how to speak, read or write Malayalam!)

“Cooking in north is so different than what we eat in the south…you will have to learn “(I can't cook ANYTHING! Duh!)

“Ummm….you mind wearing some more gold ornaments…that aunty may comment on how much gold you are wearing” (no kidding! The woman DID!)

“Don’t cross your legs when you sit there, they are old fashioned people, they will not like it! (you can not be serious!!!)”

“Only daughter, eh?” nudge nudge, wink wink, the poor husband had to bear… "Of course no dowry…but only daughter, eh…” you get the drift

These are just a couple of examples of incidents that happen when you invite people to your marriage.

I lived 28 idyllic years thinking, my marriage would be different- well, thought it would be an extension of jolly ol’ bachelorette days! Boy was I wrong! Last few months have yielded many a surprise….some funny, some irritating but all very interesting and entertaining. Stories like these (and then some more…) are what I plan to regale you with in the coming months…Comments welcome and awaited eagerly