Indian Wedding Tales

R U D R A : part III

I hated it. I absolutely hated the way I couldn't confront my wife about her actions. I didn't know living with another human being meant such drastic change. The list of changes were endless.

Her hair was everywhere as if marking territory. They would be on the pillows, in corners under my desk, hanging from the window sill. Why couldn't she pick it up?!

She would forget which of her clothes leaked color and I ended up getting two white shirts drenched in purple and red dye.

She would leave her desk -the one I made especially for her near the window because she liked the natural air- all messy and refused to clean up until her entire project finished.

She would forget to put salt in the food and would overcook the dal.

She would leave the bed unmade until noon if I wasn't in the house and could sleep right in the middle of a mess as if it was the most natural thing.

She would fill the bird feeder to the top but wouldn't look down to check her spillage and clean it.

She would........ AAAhhhh.

I managed not to confront her about these things but I couldn't act like it wasn't bothering me. So when Hardika walked in watching me the mess she had left, she looked at me with wide eyes and an embarrassed face. I turned my back to her and set my jaw in place and continued to clean. She dropped her work bag and immediately started scooping up papers and collecting them but she stopped when I told her not to.

I didn't look at her for the entire night and I could feel how hurt she was.

Well, lucky for her, I was hurt as well. I had to go through the trouble of getting new copies, stapled and stamped before I presented it to my boss. It was fortunate that the glass bottles she had left lying on the floor didn't shatter and break my skin. It would've a real night mare then.

But this was no less. Hardika kept her head low and walked cautiously around me after that. Her big sad eyes would watch me silently as if begging me to forgive her. I didn't look at her though. Somewhere inside me, a boy of fourteen was upset that she couldn't keep up our house standards of cleanliness.

My mother watched the both of us with questions in her mind, my ticking jaw and Hardika's soft calculated steps around the house. She knew something was wrong and even signaled me to not be so harsh on her.

Really, Mom? You're saying this?

We finished dinner quietly with the t.v in background playing a singing reality show. As I got up to put my plate in the sink, Hardika was already beside it with her hand stretched to take it from my hand.

"Move," My voice wasn't harsh but it wasn't kind either.

Hardika looked heartbroken but stepped aside nonetheless. I washed all the plates, wiped the kitchen clean and walked back into the living room while wiping my wet hands on the napkin.

My mother was back in her room, Hardika in our and I was here, in the silent living room wondering how I would adjust with a wife that was a polar opposite of me. Sure, our dates as a part of the arranged marriage bureau were nice. She would talk carefree and give the goofiest smile and pretend the world was full of light and laughter. It was cute and attractive.

It made me think my life wouldn't be so boring after all. I never once thought what actually living with her will be like.

I want to give her the benefit of doubt and reason with my very cranky side that it's been only two months. Only two months of being husband and wife. She possibly had to change so many of her habits alredy.