26-02-2023, 08:35 AM
I stared at the last message in the text chain with my wife Ritu for the thousandth time in 45 minutes.
- changing into The Kaftan! xoxo
I tried her cell for the 4th time in 10 minutes. I had given her half an hour. She should have sent at least an "ok" by now. But at 45 minutes, I was officially starting to worry. I picked up the keys and ran to my car. I would call my boss and client and cancel the meetings tomorrow while driving home, which was 3 hours away. I was a bundle of nervous energy, a bizarre combination of trepidation and arousal. It had all happened so fast. Or at least it seemed that way.
In reality, it started a while ago. To be precise, eight months ago. The ball was set off by two almost simultaneous career events for us in our mid 30s. My wife was laid off from her longtime job, and had no other offers in hand. And I had been promoted, which meant we were financially okay, but it meant dividing my time between two cities that were three hours away. It also happened to be the time our son Che turned 12 and built such an active extra-curricular life and friends circle for himself, that it felt like we only saw him when he had to sleep or eat, and sometimes not even that. He got that from his mom whose picture albums from childhood sports events and competitions and award functions almost filled a room in her parents' home.
So Ritu, by nature a very hyperactive and type A person, for the first time in her life, found herself with a lot of free time. We had an arranged marriage a couple of years after college when we were both in the same city in similar tech companies. The story of a million 21st century Indian couples unfolded the same was for us. Long hours at work, long commutes, early morning or late night or weekend conference calls, release deadlines, paid leaves that go untaken etc.
In the middle of this, you're trying to get to know the stranger you were married off to just because they are from the right caste, not bad to look at, and have a well paying job. Get to know them physically as well as emotionally. But before you know it, your parents' constant demands for grandchildren start weighing on you. And the conventional "the earlier you have one, the better it is for the mother" wisdom. So by the time the pregnancy happens, even after a year or two of technically being husband and wife, you are no closer personally than a couple in the western world would be on their 7th date.
From the time we got pregnant to the time Che announced that he did not want a party for his 11th birthday, just treat his friends at the mall, the dozen years are a blur. Ritu and I were together in the journey, earning the dough, and turning it into bread and also climbing corporate ladders. But more like business partners from a corporate merger than spouses. Or maybe that's what arranged marriage is. A corporate merger of sorts. The due diligence is very similar.
But enough of social commentary. Let's get to the good part. Cut to about seven months ago.
"Sorry, I better take this." I said as I saw Ritu was calling for a third time in the middle of my meeting, even after I declined the previous two. My colleagues nodded as I swivelled the chair away, crouched down, and answered.
"The fucking kitchen sink is leaking again! I told Shafi there was a bigger problem!"
Ritu's voice was so loud that I am sure the entire room heard it even without the speakerphone.
"I'm in a meeting, honey." I said, with forced patience. She had worked in this industry until a month ago. She should know better. What could I do about the plumbing from 3 hours away?
"Yeah, I know. But I need you to call them right after and yell at them in your jatt voice that..."
That's when the conference room door opened, and another colleague came rushing in.
"Sorry sorry sorry everyone! So sorry! Got stuck in traffic!" she said.
I nodded, as did others. Ritu's voice on the phone, after this interruption, went from angry to chilly.
"Is that Denise?"
"Yeah." I said.
"Can't be a very important meeting if she can waltz in late. Or does she get special consideration because she threw herself at you?"
"Not now, Ritu. I'll yell at Shafi. Bye."
And I hung up, not rising to the bait. The meeting resumed.
- changing into The Kaftan! xoxo
I tried her cell for the 4th time in 10 minutes. I had given her half an hour. She should have sent at least an "ok" by now. But at 45 minutes, I was officially starting to worry. I picked up the keys and ran to my car. I would call my boss and client and cancel the meetings tomorrow while driving home, which was 3 hours away. I was a bundle of nervous energy, a bizarre combination of trepidation and arousal. It had all happened so fast. Or at least it seemed that way.
In reality, it started a while ago. To be precise, eight months ago. The ball was set off by two almost simultaneous career events for us in our mid 30s. My wife was laid off from her longtime job, and had no other offers in hand. And I had been promoted, which meant we were financially okay, but it meant dividing my time between two cities that were three hours away. It also happened to be the time our son Che turned 12 and built such an active extra-curricular life and friends circle for himself, that it felt like we only saw him when he had to sleep or eat, and sometimes not even that. He got that from his mom whose picture albums from childhood sports events and competitions and award functions almost filled a room in her parents' home.
So Ritu, by nature a very hyperactive and type A person, for the first time in her life, found herself with a lot of free time. We had an arranged marriage a couple of years after college when we were both in the same city in similar tech companies. The story of a million 21st century Indian couples unfolded the same was for us. Long hours at work, long commutes, early morning or late night or weekend conference calls, release deadlines, paid leaves that go untaken etc.
In the middle of this, you're trying to get to know the stranger you were married off to just because they are from the right caste, not bad to look at, and have a well paying job. Get to know them physically as well as emotionally. But before you know it, your parents' constant demands for grandchildren start weighing on you. And the conventional "the earlier you have one, the better it is for the mother" wisdom. So by the time the pregnancy happens, even after a year or two of technically being husband and wife, you are no closer personally than a couple in the western world would be on their 7th date.
From the time we got pregnant to the time Che announced that he did not want a party for his 11th birthday, just treat his friends at the mall, the dozen years are a blur. Ritu and I were together in the journey, earning the dough, and turning it into bread and also climbing corporate ladders. But more like business partners from a corporate merger than spouses. Or maybe that's what arranged marriage is. A corporate merger of sorts. The due diligence is very similar.
But enough of social commentary. Let's get to the good part. Cut to about seven months ago.
"Sorry, I better take this." I said as I saw Ritu was calling for a third time in the middle of my meeting, even after I declined the previous two. My colleagues nodded as I swivelled the chair away, crouched down, and answered.
"The fucking kitchen sink is leaking again! I told Shafi there was a bigger problem!"
Ritu's voice was so loud that I am sure the entire room heard it even without the speakerphone.
"I'm in a meeting, honey." I said, with forced patience. She had worked in this industry until a month ago. She should know better. What could I do about the plumbing from 3 hours away?
"Yeah, I know. But I need you to call them right after and yell at them in your jatt voice that..."
That's when the conference room door opened, and another colleague came rushing in.
"Sorry sorry sorry everyone! So sorry! Got stuck in traffic!" she said.
I nodded, as did others. Ritu's voice on the phone, after this interruption, went from angry to chilly.
"Is that Denise?"
"Yeah." I said.
"Can't be a very important meeting if she can waltz in late. Or does she get special consideration because she threw herself at you?"
"Not now, Ritu. I'll yell at Shafi. Bye."
And I hung up, not rising to the bait. The meeting resumed.
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