Wednesday, 30 September 2009

And to think!

How can there be hate in the marriage? You make room- Thus spoke the wise Marie Barone. One of my favourite characters on TV. Well to be honest most of my marriage wisdom comes from the great sitcom that is Everybody loves Raymond. But this time the topic of discussion is not to exalt the virtues of this great work of art but to gripe…yet again. And the famous words of Mamma Barone make my head nod fervently.

This has to be the soonest I have ever posted an entry after I have made one for the week. There is good reason for it... for I don't want to contradict the very wise saying that Hell hath no fury than a woman scorned (or her blog, in my case!)

Researching for some scathing sentiments from neutral parties (read online quote resources) I came across the following gem. "If they can send one man to the moon why can't they send them all?" My sentiments exactly! And while we are on the subject, please make sure my husband is on that flight. Fit him in the cargo if the seats are full!

A sudden change from my last post, you say! Let me tell you why. I finally understood why someone once said love is a temporary insanity cured by marriage. In my case I am sure it must have been a superbug that addled my brains!

Because no matter what you do, something’s don’t change. Night follows day, bees sting, dogs bite, flu sucks and men remain men.

For no matter how taken in you may be by the love shuv and the rest of the rigmarole, reality comes sauntering back and bites your hiney, eventually.

After writing the last post I made His highness VTK, aka as the husband, read the entry. As he read, I looked upon him fondly, caressing his sparse hair… telling myself how lucky I was and how much I loved him. This sweet sweet man. As his finger scrolled the page down, and the words flowed reflected in his hypermetropic eyes, my heart overflowed with love for him. He finishes reading it, gives me a peck on the cheek and says,

“Not as good as your earlier ones!”

I will give you a moment to let it sink in… another few moments to feel sorry for me…and those pigs among you, moments to laugh.

Ah so this is what a sucker punch feels like.

SO much for, the cuddles and cooings and love yous and faux gallant efforts at looking after me. The second the mercury dipped to 98.6 degree F, it was business as usual in the UPPAL-Kallarackal household! (He had a problem with this nomenclature as well!) Foolish foolish girl And for the record, it will REMAIN Uppal-Kallarackal!HA!

Why are they such a thankless lot! Does it kill them to keep their ill-formed opinion to themselves and do the right thing by keeping their gobs shut!

After months of ribbing about how my blog is my way of venting off ire, and teasing me about how made fun of him publicly, I decide to do the decent thing and thank him PUBLICLY for being…. (it now kills me to say it) nice! So much for Mrs goodie two shoes!

No more Mrs Nice guy (I guess there’s no fear of that happening!)!From now on I stick to my guns and fire away at these ungrateful punks!

And now that the honeymoon is over folks, I need to go back and resume doing the household chores .

Of all the ungrateful, thankless, muleheaded….grrrr… And oh yeah… The breakfast wasn’t all that great! HA!

Tuesday, 29 September 2009

Who would have thought!

After a week-and-a-half of sniffling and feeling generally miserable thanks to the flu, I thought it was time I distracted myself with a spot o' blogging. While I am much better, thanks for asking, I am feeling a bit dull. So pardon me if the wit is not biting enough and I seem soppy in this particular entry.

Well the last few days may not be what you call exciting, they were enlightening in a way. For starters I was pleasantly surprised to discover a sensitive side to the husband which has been very well hidden (of the buried in the backyard with a tree growing on the spot types.) till some days back.

The outbreak of the flu in the Uppal-Kallarackal household meant a retirement to bed on a more or less day-long basis. With no mom to fuss over me and no dad to needlessly worry, I was feeling the pain acutely. To think of all the cooking to be done and clothes to be washed and house to be cleaned, the ground couldn't get deeper for me to bury my head in. As I lay mulling these unsavoury thoughts in my head stuffed with phlegm, and shedding copious tears for the good old carefree days when your problems were your mom's, a silent metamorphosis of sorts was taking place in the house. Read on to discover.

I felt a gentle nudging trying to shake me up from a despondency and cough syrup (almost) overdose induced sleep. Upon opening my rheumy eyes, I see an apron adorned husband holding a breakfast tray in his hand. "Oh crap, I am going to die," I think. Surely this is worse than even swine flu, because I don't remember hallucination being one of the symptoms.

Then I try calming down. "must be the effects of the cough syrup... let me sleep if off," I try convincing myself as I turn over. However, the nudging resumes and as I reopen my eyes I see that the apparition persists and is now wearing a worried look on his face.

Apparently (later I realise actually) it IS INDEED the husband standing there with a carefully laden breakfast tray.

HA! Who would have thought!

Wondering if there is catch, I chew (might I add with great difficulty, not because of the quality of food, which was par excellence even to my fevered state) and move around the house a bit, I almost faint. Now now, don't worry, it wasn't the fever, in case you are worried. The house was actually tidy. The man who used to step out of his clothes and leave them to pick up after themselves had tidied up the house!

“Either I am already dead or my husband has been possessed!”

“Typical man,” I tell myself, “He had to go invite foreign spirits in when I am sick,” I curse as I try to remember the local priest’s phone number.

“Sweetie, I will be back early in the evening. So don’t worry about anything,” I am told as gets ready for work. “He sounds the same…,” I think.

A very very worried me gets crawls into bed exhausted by the turn of events when I see him pick up that dreaded deodorant of his. Now I am all for nice smelling men and women, but I take exception to the kind that mistakes the said perfumed aerosols for room freshners. Unfortunately for me, I am married to the variety. Most of our mornings are spent debating the pros and cons of unchecked spraying and I sit prepared for another one. Only to stare at V’s retreating back as he takes the bottle out of the room to spray himself. HA, again!

Having gone through these 600-odd words you must have pretty much figured out that this time V has earned himself the right to be lauded! Not that I ever believed I had married a monster, maybe an occasional ogre, yes, my first post marriage seasonal flu helped me realise my ogre is a Shrek! I have been fed, pampered, had my aching limbs massaged, bucked up, indulged despite tight deadlines, hectic schedules and screaming bosses at work.

Now there maybe some of you who know where I have embellished facts, but the truth remains that my man came through at a time when I was miserable (I am worse than a colicky baby when I am sick) and I was reminded once more why I fell in love with him… Because he is a good man and that when the need truly rises, he has donned that shining armour and rescued me. V, we may have had our disagreements and I may scream at you because of the dishes, and you may storm out of the house because of the mess the house is in and I may sass about it in the blog, but know this that I love you and that I know I made the right choice.

P.S: If you continue being the angel you have been, I will wax eloquent about you in every blog! So pl pl pl pick up after yourself on a regular basis and not just when I am near death! Love ya!

Wednesday, 16 September 2009

Marriage is a circus, embrace your clown!

So here I am all dressed up and ready to catch up with a friend who spent an exciting two weeks in France over a bottle of wine. We were meeting up at her place and the wine was my responsibility, while the poor thing slaved over the hob preparing lunch, a thoroughly lip-smacking fare, I may add! Having cinched the easier part of the deal, I sauntered over to the local store in quest of a refreshing Rosé to compliment our afternoon fare. OK OK I am no wine connoisseur, I just read the label at the back of the bottle. As I bagged a seemingly enticing bottle of red (instead), I proceeded to the counter to pay. So this good man takes a look at the bottle and then at me a couple of times, quizzically. “That’s wine,” he tells me helpfully.

“Uh yeas,” I reply, beaming at him, hoping to mask the”duh” in my head.

“You are buying this, yeah?”, he asks, frown in place.

“Yes, please,” I reply, still beaming.

It was his question next that stumped me clean.

“how old are you?” the frown deepening.

“I am __” ah well suffice to say old enough to vote my friend! (Ha you thought I would reveal my age! Oh wait or have I mentioned it) Anyhow…

Despite my calm outward appearance I may inform you, I was a bit taken aback… actually no… I was maha flattered! It began to dawn on me that the guy thought I was younger than I looked. But why should that stop him from selling me the wine, i wondered. After all it's legal to buy liquor even if in your very very early twenties, right?! Of course my answer came seconds later.

“Heh, you sure? You look 15 – 16,” the man says! Now I am all for receiving compliments on my youthful looks, but this is taking it too far.

So after reassuring him that I was from the neighbourhood and not an underaged alcoholic, he agreed to let me buy the wine, on the condition that the next time I visit there, I should have an ID handy.

(But he was mighty sweet about the whole thing, so he’s forgiven)

Well I may protest at being considered a juvenile, truth be told I was actually thrilled at being considered younger than my age…ah well numbers are just numbers, 15 or 20 or 22, how does it matter, as long as the figure was under 25.

But this post is not about my looks, as young as they might be. So read on.

Having spent a generally happy day, I met up with the husband at the tube station on our way back; I from my friends’ and he from office (Pray bear with the details because I don’t want you distracted!) and I recount the incident to him.

He takes one look at me and points to my face saying, “It must be the acne.” No ladies and gents, he was not kidding. He said it with a deadpan look and with complete sincerity.

I would have pushed him off the train but there were too many witnesses and yeah the doors were closed.

Flabbergasted I gave him a wan smile and wondered what happened to the man who a scant 10 months back couldn’t stop going on and on about how lucky he was to have a pretty girlfriend! Which bring me to the question- why is it so difficult for men to appreciate their wives.

You plan weeks ahead to organise your child’s first birthday party and create an event everyone can’t stop raving about. You make the costume and the party hats, prepare the food, manage the decorations, and still manage to look like a hot mama for the shindig. The party turns out great, and all your husband can spare at the end of it all is, “Oh good choice on the emcee, he was pretty good!” Can you be blamed for wanting to smash the cake in his face!

Or you slave in kitchen cooking up a meal fit for a king, in this case the husband, feeling guilty for having fought with him, only to be told later, “Next time we go home, ask mom to teach you how to make the biryani the way she does!” You sit and wonder why you bothered.

And then there is the four course anniversary dinner you cooked hoping to be appreciated for the effort and love that went behind it. The mood is right, the place is set, you serve the hor ‘doeuvers awaiting the compliment with bated breath.

“Eww… is that fish? I don’t like fish”

Would you like some knuckles served instead?!

Would it have been too hard to say, “Great party honey!” or “Loved the food” or get some nice flowers and a diamond pendant for the effort? So what if you don’t like fish, would it be too hard to hold your tongue for a change?

Now please don’t think I am asking you menfolk to be insincere, all I am saying is that a little sensitivity goes a long way in keeping the wife happy and the house quiet. So what if she’s put on a little weight or still sports youthful acne, she’s still thinks she’s the princess you fell in love with!

Tuesday, 8 September 2009

I'll tell you what's cookin'!

I have been ignoring the urge to write about this certain topic because honestly I thought my reaction was a reflection on what I felt. Well this time I threw caution to the wind and decided to vent my ire nonetheless.

But before I launch into my diatribe, let me give you a background. I have been a working professional (a better phrase escapes my incensed state of mind for now!) for the last five years and quite proud of it. So it was quite a difficult decision to make when life being a B*T$% it usually tends to be, put forth a choice between matrimony and temporary (oh How I hope it is temporary) unemployment! Having dealt with the predicament over six months or so and telling myself ki naukri toh mil jayegi but I will lose out on this handsome devil, I decided to tie the knot instead and kissed my pay cheques goodbye.

Now before you tell yourself that it serves me right, let me clarify something. The husband is not a medieval tyrant who can’t stand working women. It’s just that marriage came with the compulsion of moving out of the country. With many a snigger and tut-tuts I was asked if I was serious about quitting my job in peak recession time, to which I gave them an enigmatic smile and nodded a confident yes.

Needless to say after the initial days of bliss the scary scepter of the unemployed status began rearing its ugly head. I know many young women who made the same decision as I. Some were smart enough to have back ups (the option to work from home), others were happy taking a break. I being a worry wart love to obsess. You see having accomplished the first half of fat and complacent in the last 28 years or so, I have a mortal fear of the onset of complacency!

In fact, the blog was a result of the resolution not to let my skills go to waste. Anyhow I digress… So while I was trying to look to earn a living, I had to perform certain domestic duties, such as cooking. Now I had never cooked before getting married. It’s not something I am proud of, but is a statement of fact. I just couldn’t get my head around chopping the aromatics… anyhooo I digress yet again. Cutting the long story short, soon I realised that I am a mighty good cook (you see modesty was never a virtue with me), and have the flair etc. Heady with excitement after the first perfectly cooked batch of pepper chicken and navrattan korma, I went and proclaimed it to the world!

One other thing you need to know about me that while modest I am not, naïve I am plenty. Here I am thinking people will tell me how proud they are of me and my prowess, I had actually given some a handy weapon to undermine my unemployed ego! Now no longer am I asked how life is, but how is the cooking coming along, or “oh what did you cook today”, or how cooking is my new found love, you get the picture. Now the ones who genuinely feel for me don’t make the entire cooking escapade an issue but then there are those who never fail to rattle my nerves, with their constant kitchen bitchin’. How else do you explain, “you are so lucky to have the time to experiment, I am so pooped after work, I can barely manage to eat!” This from a former fellow reporter who claims to be an epitome of bharatiy naarihood! Or this other person who recently earned her colours as a doc and a new boyfriend but can only find time to ask “kya pakaya” or what’s the new thing you are experimenting with in the kitchen" or "A hyrdocoele kept me busy today, anyhow you tell me what did you cook today". Nothing nutty enough, I should have told her! These are just a couple of examples, and while the list of such people may not be long but the constant kitchen queries are no less irritating.

Initially these jibes would hurt. Mainly, I thought, because this dramatically changed situation was new to me and it was all in my head. Then I tried ignoring the barbs. In fact began giving these folks enough details to shut them up. Then recently this irritating person popped up again with the same smug attitude, which pissed me off. Then a funny thing happened - I laughed. I laughed at myself for being a fool. For letting this bunch making me resent something I enjoy doing. Well yes there I said it. I LOVE Cooking and for their information I am jolly good cook. I make a mean meen curry and I am proud of it. You can take all your articles and shows on well being and your stethoscopes and shove it up where the sun don shine ‘cos my sambar rules!