my wife

(this is from my journal and it is an entry i made long ago. i chanced upon it a few days ago and found it nice. i likes!)

My wife

And what a companion she is, my wife. Through thick and thin. I led her round and round the fire. It was wee morning – I had wanted to pee so badly. But on and on we went, around the sacred, purgatorial, cathartic fire. And the pundit swore and shrieked profundities into the universe; we were shaking and sweating and he was hurtling nuclear arsenals, armoury from the Upanishads, and a softer voice was translating into Hindi for the audience’s pleasure. And Om Namo Swaha he went, the rabid pundit, much against our protest, our jaded minds tired, we sleepy, but he’d slap and wake us up … it’s your marriage, he’d scream! And – the drums did roar, the stars did explode and we were union-ed. It was our marriage. It was solemnized and to be consummated shortly thereafter. My wife, her brother, sisters, mother, father, all cried when I took her away. I looked around. Everyone was crying. I felt odd, strange, a pariah. So I joined them. I too cried. Through thick and thin the pundit had said and the words rang in my ears in the hotel. Through this life and the beyond. They rang, so painfully they rang, in my eardrums. I was wearing a turban. I was on a horse. I had been caricaturized, as was due to me. It was my nemesis, ha, ha, that funny little attire and lipstick! That was the conjugation due to me, ha, ha.

The pundit and the rites were all hogwash. I was aware of my duties from much before. I had rehearsed my marriage many times over. And I was expecting no love between my wife and I. Love was juvenile. There was no such thing. And I cared for my wife. I indulged her and gave her companionship. She reciprocated and we procreated. And I lived happily ever after. This is love I’d feel, although it isn’t described as such. And that, that is lust I’d say when I looked at the picture of Madhuri Dixit on TV. Sometimes I’d forget. I’d stray ‘cos I had leisure. And I’d think: love, lust and something more? Was I missing something? Was there something more? Yes there was, by God, and I’d jump, let me taste its fruit, I can smell it! No, no, no husband, my wife would countermand, there isn’t. Look at me, I am so happy with this universe and you in it … why can’t you be like me? Why breach faith? But no there is, I’d shout, and jump in the air trying to seize it (like a buffoon) and she’d shout, No there isn’t! That’s your own self! That’s a mirror! Conference of the Birds! Fariduddin Attar! Don’t you remember? And I’d say, Oh! You’re right and fall. Wife, let me be … with you, here, right here, in your arms, forever, like this, and, yes, please forgive me. Forgiven, she’d lament. Forgiven. You men are all the same. Yes, yes, it’s all the same, all the same, I’d rant. And we’d live happily ever after.

Good write up. Question is. Between you jumping to catch those fruit, and you falling back to your wife, were those fruits held temporarily? And if yes, how many fruits are we talking about?

Huzefa Kapasi wrote: You’re right and fall. Wife, let me be … with you, here, right here, in your arms, forever, like this, and, yes, please forgive me. Forgiven, she’d lament. Forgiven.

Hujju, when did this realization dawn on you? Is it before or after 'even' the married aunties would make you their e-bhaiyya?

Cute account. Your wife shld read it.

Natalia Romanova wrote:Good write up. Question is. Between you jumping to catch those fruit, and you falling back to your wife, were those fruits held temporarily? And if yes, how many fruits are we talking about?

ha ha. only one to be honest. i had a brief e-fling just before i joined sulekha in 1998. my wife caught me after a few months and i apologized and promised never to repeat it. i had actually written this for the girl even before i'd get caught!

kinnera wrote:

Huzefa Kapasi wrote: You’re right and fall. Wife, let me be … with you, here, right here, in your arms, forever, like this, and, yes, please forgive me. Forgiven, she’d lament. Forgiven.

Hujju, when did this realization dawn on you? Is it before or after 'even' the married aunties would make you their e-bhaiyya?

Cute account. Your wife shld read it.

great! i'll make her read it tonight. i haven't shared this with her yet.

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:(this is from my journal and it is an entry i made long ago. i chanced upon it a few days ago and found it nice. i likes!)

My wife

And what a companion she is, my wife. Through thick and thin. I led her round and round the fire. It was wee morning – I had wanted to pee so badly. But on and on we went, around the sacred, purgatorial, cathartic fire. And the pundit swore and shrieked profundities into the universe; we were shaking and sweating and he was hurtling nuclear arsenals, armoury from the Upanishads, and a softer voice was translating into Hindi for the audience’s pleasure. And Om Namo Swaha he went, the rabid pundit, much against our protest, our jaded minds tired, we sleepy, but he’d slap and wake us up … it’s your marriage, he’d scream! And – the drums did roar, the stars did explode and we were union-ed. It was our marriage. It was solemnized and to be consummated shortly thereafter. My wife, her brother, sisters, mother, father, all cried when I took her away. I looked around. Everyone was crying. I felt odd, strange, a pariah. So I joined them. I too cried. Through thick and thin the pundit had said and the words rang in my ears in the hotel. Through this life and the beyond. They rang, so painfully they rang, in my eardrums. I was wearing a turban. I was on a horse. I had been caricaturized, as was due to me. It was my nemesis, ha, ha, that funny little attire and lipstick! That was the conjugation due to me, ha, ha.

The pundit and the rites were all hogwash. I was aware of my duties from much before. I had rehearsed my marriage many times over. And I was expecting no love between my wife and I. Love was juvenile. There was no such thing. And I cared for my wife. I indulged her and gave her companionship. She reciprocated and we procreated. And I lived happily ever after. This is love I’d feel, although it isn’t described as such. And that, that is lust I’d say when I looked at the picture of Madhuri Dixit on TV. Sometimes I’d forget. I’d stray ‘cos I had leisure. And I’d think: love, lust and something more? Was I missing something? Was there something more? Yes there was, by God, and I’d jump, let me taste its fruit, I can smell it! No, no, no husband, my wife would countermand, there isn’t. Look at me, I am so happy with this universe and you in it … why can’t you be like me? Why breach faith? But no there is, I’d shout, and jump in the air trying to seize it (like a buffoon) and she’d shout, No there isn’t! That’s your own self! That’s a mirror! Conference of the Birds! Fariduddin Attar! Don’t you remember? And I’d say, Oh! You’re right and fall. Wife, let me be … with you, here, right here, in your arms, forever, like this, and, yes, please forgive me. Forgiven, she’d lament. Forgiven. You men are all the same. Yes, yes, it’s all the same, all the same, I’d rant. And we’d live happily ever after.

Everything IS GOOD- in this write up..well, really honest and great, and me likes it too E-friend!

The descriptions are vivid..and paint the pictures..

For those of us who fall madly in love, the beginnings-expectations are just a little different..there is nothing juvenile about "Love and Lust", the expectations are way higher..but beyond that- the journey of marriage-emotions you describe (for those who want it to last until eternity) are just the same!

And funny, a man like you who says you had expectations of a "practical/realistic and matter of fact" marriage is such a poetic/romantic soul!

No matter how many Madhuris, fruits and flowers are around..may come and go..

May you both live happily together until eternity !

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:he’d slap and wake us up … it’s your marriage, he’d scream!

100 times:

it’s your wedding, he’d scream!

it’s your wedding, he’d scream!

it’s your wedding, he’d scream!

Maria S wrote:

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:And funny, a man like you who says you had expectations of a "practical/realistic and matter of fact" marriage is such a poetic/romantic soul!

no poetry or romance here. all hoozay meant is that he wanted his daily dose of aloo-gobi for lunch, and gobi-aloo for dinner. nothing could be more practical. and for that, he would marry her. and why would he? because his large joint family ordered him to. he might as well have married ganpat ram.

The old SOB (i.e. dog) was a revolutionary for his time. You see, he did NOT have an arranged marriage.
Wait, actually he did.

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:...we went, around the sacred, purgatorial, cathartic fire.

the words in bold text are synonyms, and should not be used one after the other; you're not obliged to use every synonym in your thesaurus, and you're not required to use the thesaurus every minute of the day.

Hellsangel wrote:The old SOB (i.e. dog)...

hahaha. inspired translation! new thesaurus?

Jeremiah Mburuburu wrote:

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:...we went, around the sacred, purgatorial, cathartic fire.

the words in bold text are synonyms, and should not be used one after the other; you're not obliged to use every synonym in your thesaurus, and you're not required to use the thesaurus every minute of the day.

what if he wants to?

Jeremiah Mburuburu wrote:

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:he’d slap and wake us up … it’s your marriage, he’d scream!

100 times:

it’s your wedding, he’d scream!

it’s your wedding, he’d scream!

it’s your wedding, he’d scream!

Flim flam

Your arrogance clouds your fading faculties. The people in this story used marriage day to mean wedding day. So in this context the usage was proper. However it would be interesting to see you standing on a street corner in India and shouting "it is not marriage day. It is your wedding day".

Maria S wrote:

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:...I was expecting no love between my wife and I. Love was juvenile. There was no such thing.

hahaha, the joint family had done quite a job on you! brainwashing at its best! by the time they were done, your thoughts were as independent as a zucchini's!

Jeremiah Mburuburu wrote:

Maria S wrote:

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:...I was expecting no love between my wife and I. Love was juvenile. There was no such thing.

hahaha, the joint family had done quite a job on you! brainwashing at its best! by the time they were done, your thoughts were as independent as a zucchini's!

Jerry, do u believe in love?

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:...And I was expecting no love between my wife and I.

100 times:

I was expecting no love between my wife and me.

I was expecting no love between my wife and me.

I was expecting no love between my wife and me.

...

note: americans have been correctly cautioned for decades about their frequent use of "me" where they should use an "I," as in "my wife and i drove to seattle" (correct) vs "my wife and me drove to seattle" (incorrect). now they're confused, and they overcorrect and indiscriminately use an "i" whenever they have a tendency to use a "me," even when the "me" is correct. this is one of those instances.

suggestion for hoo: abandon all thoughts of appealing to prof. jagdish bhagwaty for certification that you're right.

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:I was wearing a turban. I was on a horse.

hahaha. i saw the wedding photographs you displayed at chat some months ago. hahaha... excuse me... i'll describe that horse and you on it later.

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:...I had been caricaturized, as was due to me.

did you know that charvak gets very upset when someone uses "caricaturized" rather than "caricatured?"

Jeremiah Mburuburu wrote:

Maria S wrote:

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:...I was expecting no love between my wife and I. Love was juvenile. There was no such thing.

hahaha, the joint family had done quite a job on you! brainwashing at its best! by the time they were done, your thoughts were as independent as a zucchini's!

i was addressing hoozay, not maria, in the above post

Jeremiah Mburuburu wrote:

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:...I had been caricaturized, as was due to me.

did you know that charvak gets very upset when someone uses "caricaturized" rather than "caricatured?"

since when did u start quoting others to make your point? rashu influenced u so much?

Maria S wrote:
Everything IS GOOD- in this write up..well, really honest and great, and me likes it too E-friend! The descriptions are vivid..and paint the pictures..

aw, you make me blush (if that were even possible). for you e-friend!

For those of us who fall madly in love, the beginnings-expectations are just a little different..there is nothing juvenile about "Love and Lust", the expectations are way higher..but beyond that- the journey of marriage-emotions you describe (for those who want it to last until eternity) are just the same!

yes. i believe both love and arranged marriages proceed along the same path after marriage. what has happened before the marriage ceases to matter (after marriage).

And funny, a man like you who says you had expectations of a "practical/realistic and matter of fact" marriage is such a poetic/romantic soul!

ha ha! i am feeling a bit flattered now.

No matter how many Madhuris, fruits and flowers are around..may come and go..

May you both live happily together until eternity !

thanks!

Jeremiah Mburuburu wrote:

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:I was wearing a turban. I was on a horse.

hahaha. i saw the wedding photographs you displayed at chat some months ago. hahaha... excuse me... i'll describe that horse and you on it later.

please do. if possible do describe newer things in the pic. over what you already have (starving horse & my glum face). i hope i am not asking for too much.

btw, thanks for copy editing my vignette for free. i admire your altruism. but have a . i hope you won't mind my posting a few longer pieces hoping the same service from you?

FB gem:

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:FB gem:

Sometimes it's better to be a woman. So much easier to throw your hands up in the air, look confused, maybe shed a tear, and say, 'I love u', or 'I don't love u any more', depending on whatever u wanna say, and still hold the rights to be held, hugged, and consoled.

nats.

HK, stream of consciousness attempt?

Came across honest. Liked the style (of course, some editing is called for) except for the "wee-pee" rhyme.

Do post more from your journal.

thanks BW! yes, streams of consciousness attempt. i'll post more in time now that i have been encouraged!

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:thanks BW! yes, streams of consciousness attempt. i'll post more in time now that i have been encouraged!

"stream-of-consciousness attempt," not "streams of consciousness attempt."

JM, this offering is dedicated to the great love between you and (i) my babbii. please oblige.

Mohini

Mohini got engaged while she was giving her B.A finals. Shortly after her exams, she got married to Rohit. Rohit was the owner of a travel agency that had travel desks in a few posh hotels in Bombay. Mohini’s parents were sure that Rohit would give Mohini all the material comforts of life - like flying to Ahmedabad where they lived, owning washing machines, 21” colour TVs, cars, servants etc. Then, they had thought, the prospective groom was such a fine, soft-spoken gentleman with no bad habits at all. Rohit would not disappoint them.

Mohini had never known that marriage could mean so much bliss. Her mother-in-law treated her like her own child. Rohit was the most caring and sensitive man she had known. The first two years of marriage were like a prolonged honey moon, an extended love affair. They did not fight, except on one occasion. It had led to Rohit sulking. After one and a half days of sulking, he had nestled his head in Mohini’s breasts and they had both cried their hearts out. It was sweet for they both learned, for the first and hopefully the last time, what agony distrust could bring. They fell in tune with each other as time passed.

Once while leaving his house for office, Rohit caught a glimpse of Mohini from across the road, leaning over the balustrade of his 1st floor verandah. He saw how beautiful Mohini looked: plump breasts, glowing skin, chewing something, betel mint perhaps, vermillion in her hair. She looked happy, contended, housewife-ish. From the way she observed whatever she was observing, it seemed that her heart was still fifteen. He hadn’t found Mohini so pretty when he had first seen her photo on a flight to Calcutta three years ago. With two tiny braids and dressed in her college uniform, she had looked gawkish. He had dragged his affirmation by about a year, and, as the story goes, had his parents delayed their affirmation to Mohini’s folks by even one day, Mohini would have gotten engaged to a retailer in Surat. What if this was Surat, he thought suddenly. The thought obsessed him. He began to explore, in his mind, Mohini’s course of life that had been preempted. He saw Mohini in Surat, leaning over a balustrade, with plump breasts, looking happy and he saw bed room scenes too. Rohit was dissatisfied that day for no matter which way he looked at it, Mohini was happy in Surat, quite as she was happy here.

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:JM, this offering is dedicated to the great love between you and (i) my babbii. please oblige.

Mohini

Mohini got engaged while she was giving her B.A finals. Shortly after her exams, she got married to Rohit. Rohit was the owner of a travel agency that had travel desks in a few posh hotels in Bombay. Mohini’s parents were sure that Rohit would give Mohini all the material comforts of life - like flying to Ahmedabad where they lived, owning washing machines, 21” colour TVs, cars, servants etc. Then, they had thought, the prospective groom was such a fine, soft-spoken gentleman with no bad habits at all. Rohit would not disappoint them.

Mohini had never known that marriage could mean so much bliss. Her mother-in-law treated her like her own child. Rohit was the most caring and sensitive man she had known. The first two years of marriage were like a prolonged honey moon, an extended love affair. They did not fight, except on one occasion. It had led to Rohit sulking. After one and a half days of sulking, he had nestled his head in Mohini’s breasts and they had both cried their hearts out. It was sweet for they both learned, for the first and hopefully the last time, what agony distrust could bring. They fell in tune with each other as time passed.

Once while leaving his house for office, Rohit caught a glimpse of Mohini from across the road, leaning over the balustrade of his 1st floor verandah. He saw how beautiful Mohini looked: plump breasts, glowing skin, chewing something, betel mint perhaps, vermillion in her hair. She looked happy, contended, housewife-ish. From the way she observed whatever she was observing, it seemed that her heart was still fifteen. He hadn’t found Mohini so pretty when he had first seen her photo on a flight to Calcutta three years ago. With two tiny braids and dressed in her college uniform, she had looked gawkish. He had dragged his affirmation by about a year, and, as the story goes, had his parents delayed their affirmation to Mohini’s folks by even one day, Mohini would have gotten engaged to a retailer in Surat. What if this was Surat, he thought suddenly. The thought obsessed him. He began to explore, in his mind, Mohini’s course of life that had been preempted. He saw Mohini in Surat, leaning over a balustrade, with plump breasts, looking happy and he saw bed room scenes too. Rohit was dissatisfied that day for no matter which way he looked at it, Mohini was happy in Surat, quite as she was happy here.

rohit, mohini, plump, glowing skin, servants, washing machines & 21inch color tvs, surat, dissatisfied, betel leaf chewing...how quaintly and stereotypically northindian!

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:JM, this offering is dedicated to the great love between you and (i) my babbii. please oblige.

Mohini

Mohini got engaged while she was giving her B.A finals. Shortly after her exams, she got married to Rohit. Rohit was the owner of a travel agency that had travel desks in a few posh hotels in Bombay. Mohini’s parents were sure that Rohit would give Mohini all the material comforts of life - like flying to Ahmedabad where they lived, owning washing machines, 21” colour TVs, cars, servants etc. Then, they had thought, the prospective groom was such a fine, soft-spoken gentleman with no bad habits at all. Rohit would not disappoint them.

Mohini had never known that marriage could mean so much bliss. Her mother-in-law treated her like her own child. Rohit was the most caring and sensitive man she had known. The first two years of marriage were like a prolonged honey moon, an extended love affair. They did not fight, except on one occasion. It had led to Rohit sulking. After one and a half days of sulking, he had nestled his head in Mohini’s breasts and they had both cried their hearts out. It was sweet for they both learned, for the first and hopefully the last time, what agony distrust could bring. They fell in tune with each other as time passed.

Once while leaving his house for office, Rohit caught a glimpse of Mohini from across the road, leaning over the balustrade of his 1st floor verandah. He saw how beautiful Mohini looked: plump breasts, glowing skin, chewing something, betel mint perhaps, vermillion in her hair. She looked happy, contended, housewife-ish. From the way she observed whatever she was observing, it seemed that her heart was still fifteen. He hadn’t found Mohini so pretty when he had first seen her photo on a flight to Calcutta three years ago. With two tiny braids and dressed in her college uniform, she had looked gawkish. He had dragged his affirmation by about a year, and, as the story goes, had his parents delayed their affirmation to Mohini’s folks by even one day, Mohini would have gotten engaged to a retailer in Surat. What if this was Surat, he thought suddenly. The thought obsessed him. He began to explore, in his mind, Mohini’s course of life that had been preempted. He saw Mohini in Surat, leaning over a balustrade, with plump breasts, looking happy and he saw bed room scenes too. Rohit was dissatisfied that day for no matter which way he looked at it, Mohini was happy in Surat, quite as she was happy here.

Jealous of even a prospective alliance! What would he do if she actually had a boyfriend? Now I think there's a good reason why as a 11-year-old kid I was given evil-eyes by others (and scolded later) when I began telling my cousin's new bride about other prospective-brides that my cousin had seen and liked before her.

Natalia Romanova wrote:Jealous of even a prospective alliance! What would he do if she actually had a boyfriend? Now I think there's a good reason why as a 11-year-old kid I was given evil-eyes by others (and scolded later) when I began telling my cousin's new bride about other prospective-brides that my cousin had seen and liked before her.

no, i don't think it was jealousy he (rohit) was seized with. he was seized with the frustrating and gnawing thought that he had little role to play in mohini's happiness. he was, in a way, dispensable, rather, easily replaceable.

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:JM, this offering is dedicated to the great love between you and (i) my babbii. please oblige.

Mohini

Mohini got engaged while she was giving her B.A finals. Shortly after her exams, she got married to Rohit. Rohit was the owner of a travel agency that had travel desks in a few posh hotels in Bombay. Mohini’s parents were sure that Rohit would give Mohini all the material comforts of life - like flying to Ahmedabad where they lived, owning washing machines, 21” colour TVs, cars, servants etc. Then, they had thought, the prospective groom was such a fine, soft-spoken gentleman with no bad habits at all. Rohit would not disappoint them.

Mohini had never known that marriage could mean so much bliss. Her mother-in-law treated her like her own child. Rohit was the most caring and sensitive man she had known. The first two years of marriage were like a prolonged honey moon, an extended love affair. They did not fight, except on one occasion. It had led to Rohit sulking. After one and a half days of sulking, he had nestled his head in Mohini’s breasts and they had both cried their hearts out. It was sweet for they both learned, for the first and hopefully the last time, what agony distrust could bring. They fell in tune with each other as time passed.

Once while leaving his house for office, Rohit caught a glimpse of Mohini from across the road, leaning over the balustrade of his 1st floor verandah. He saw how beautiful Mohini looked: plump breasts, glowing skin, chewing something, betel mint perhaps, vermillion in her hair. She looked happy, contended, housewife-ish. From the way she observed whatever she was observing, it seemed that her heart was still fifteen. He hadn’t found Mohini so pretty when he had first seen her photo on a flight to Calcutta three years ago. With two tiny braids and dressed in her college uniform, she had looked gawkish. He had dragged his affirmation by about a year, and, as the story goes, had his parents delayed their affirmation to Mohini’s folks by even one day, Mohini would have gotten engaged to a retailer in Surat. What if this was Surat, he thought suddenly. The thought obsessed him. He began to explore, in his mind, Mohini’s course of life that had been preempted. He saw Mohini in Surat, leaning over a balustrade, with plump breasts, looking happy and he saw bed room scenes too. Rohit was dissatisfied that day for no matter which way he looked at it, Mohini was happy in Surat, quite as she was happy here.

i read only a few words of that. it sounds boring. sorry, boobsy.

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:

Natalia Romanova wrote:Jealous of even a prospective alliance! What would he do if she actually had a boyfriend? Now I think there's a good reason why as a 11-year-old kid I was given evil-eyes by others (and scolded later) when I began telling my cousin's new bride about other prospective-brides that my cousin had seen and liked before her.

no, i don't think it was jealousy he (rohit) was seized with. he was seized with the frustrating and gnawing thought that he had little role to play in mohini's happiness. he was, in a way, dispensable, rather, easily replaceable.

ya, I got what rohit felt. I could only think of the word jealousy to describe it at the time.

Jeremiah Mburuburu wrote:i read only a few words of that. it sounds boring. sorry, boobsy.

you mean the earlier one was not boring?

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:

Jeremiah Mburuburu wrote:i read only a few words of that. it sounds boring. sorry, boobsy.

you mean the earlier one was not boring?

miss the good ole days of chat when we would team-tag him to admit stuff.

Jeremiah Mburuburu wrote:

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:...I had been caricaturized, as was due to me.

did you know that charvak gets very upset when someone uses "caricaturized" rather than "caricatured?"

Ah, I see that that one stung. Nice.

Jeremiah Mburuburu wrote:100 times:

I was expecting no love between my wife and me.

I was expecting no love between my wife and me.

I was expecting no love between my wife and me.

Jeri miyan, you don't have to say that a hundred times, once is more than enough. When an anti-caste crusader like you marries within the old caste to keep the family happy or because you think your caste is the bestest, it is not about what you expect any more; it is about what your parents set you up with, and how you distort your reality to keep yourself happy.

PS: From the emphasis on me, one might infer that you were expecting love between your wife and someone else. I hope that is just me (or is it I?) misreading your comment.

Natalia Romanova wrote:miss the good ole days of chat when we would team-tag him to admit stuff.

I haven't been on chat in ages. Did vee unkil stop spending all night on chat waiting for HK and BW to show up, then?

panini press wrote:

Jeremiah Mburuburu wrote:100 times:

I was expecting no love between my wife and me.

I was expecting no love between my wife and me.

I was expecting no love between my wife and me.

Jeri miyan, you don't have to say that a hundred times, once is more than enough. When an anti-caste crusader like you marries within the old caste to keep the family happy or because you think your caste is the bestest, it is not about what you expect any more; it is about what your parents set you up with, and how you distort your reality to keep yourself happy.

PS: From the emphasis on me, one might infer that you were expecting love between your wife and someone else. I hope that is just me (or is it I?) misreading your comment.

not happening. for that, he needs to morph into rajnikanth.

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:(this is from my journal and it is an entry i made long ago. i chanced upon it a few days ago and found it nice. i likes!)

My wife

And what a companion she is, my wife. Through thick and thin. I led her round and round the fire. It was wee morning – I had wanted to pee so badly. But on and on we went, around the sacred, purgatorial, cathartic fire. And the pundit swore and shrieked profundities into the universe; we were shaking and sweating and he was hurtling nuclear arsenals, armoury from the Upanishads, and a softer voice was translating into Hindi for the audience’s pleasure. And Om Namo Swaha he went, the rabid pundit, much against our protest, our jaded minds tired, we sleepy, but he’d slap and wake us up … it’s your marriage, he’d scream! And – the drums did roar, the stars did explode and we were union-ed. It was our marriage. It was solemnized and to be consummated shortly thereafter. My wife, her brother, sisters, mother, father, all cried when I took her away. I looked around. Everyone was crying. I felt odd, strange, a pariah. So I joined them. I too cried. Through thick and thin the pundit had said and the words rang in my ears in the hotel. Through this life and the beyond. They rang, so painfully they rang, in my eardrums. I was wearing a turban. I was on a horse. I had been caricaturized, as was due to me. It was my nemesis, ha, ha, that funny little attire and lipstick! That was the conjugation due to me, ha, ha.

The pundit and the rites were all hogwash. I was aware of my duties from much before. I had rehearsed my marriage many times over. And I was expecting no love between my wife and I. Love was juvenile. There was no such thing. And I cared for my wife. I indulged her and gave her companionship. She reciprocated and we procreated. And I lived happily ever after. This is love I’d feel, although it isn’t described as such. And that, that is lust I’d say when I looked at the picture of Madhuri Dixit on TV. Sometimes I’d forget. I’d stray ‘cos I had leisure. And I’d think: love, lust and something more? Was I missing something? Was there something more? Yes there was, by God, and I’d jump, let me taste its fruit, I can smell it! No, no, no husband, my wife would countermand, there isn’t. Look at me, I am so happy with this universe and you in it … why can’t you be like me? Why breach faith? But no there is, I’d shout, and jump in the air trying to seize it (like a buffoon) and she’d shout, No there isn’t! That’s your own self! That’s a mirror! Conference of the Birds! Fariduddin Attar! Don’t you remember? And I’d say, Oh! You’re right and fall. Wife, let me be … with you, here, right here, in your arms, forever, like this, and, yes, please forgive me. Forgiven, she’d lament. Forgiven. You men are all the same. Yes, yes, it’s all the same, all the same, I’d rant. And we’d live happily ever after.

e-bhaiya, what was for lunch on the day of the aforementioned ceremony? see, i read attentively, sometimes:-)

ha ha ha! i don't remember for i did not attend the buffet and was served on a thali instead but i was not in a mood to eat either so i just nibbled. but one of our relatives, who did feast, got a nasty heartburn on the return journey by train the next day that kept him awake and walking up and down the aisle the whole night in our bogey; he confessed that he had gorged, a bit excessively, in the delhi chaat stand.

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:ha ha ha! i don't remember for i did not attend the buffet and was served on a thali instead but i was not in a mood to eat either so i just nibbled. but one of our relatives, who did feast, got a nasty heartburn on the return journey by train the next day that kept him awake and walking up and down the aisle the whole night in our bogey; he confessed that he had gorged, a bit excessively, in the delhi chaat stand.

damn I want to feast on a desi wedding menu. Not the haiya-faiya weddings that take place now-a-days, but the medium-upper level kind, specially some pandit-maharaj is arranged for food.

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:ha ha ha! i don't remember for i did not attend the buffet and was served on a thali instead but i was not in a mood to eat either so i just nibbled. but one of our relatives, who did feast, got a nasty heartburn on the return journey by train the next day that kept him awake and walking up and down the aisle the whole night in our bogey; he confessed that he had gorged, a bit excessively, in the delhi chaat stand.

MD is related to you? :-) now, i am seriously interested. shh, don't tell him.

Natalia Romanova wrote:damn I want to feast on a desi wedding menu. Not the haiya-faiya weddings that take place now-a-days, but the medium-upper level kind, specially some pandit-maharaj is arranged for food.

yeah! in my marriage wedding, the caterer was from amritsar (though i remember nothing of the food -- the caterer was decided through my in-laws' trade relationships) but i remember all the subsequent weddings of that house and the food (caterers changed to being those of kolkata, ranchi and, in the last wedding, to that of patna) was exquisite! munna halwai, of kolkata used to charge rs 600 a plate then for catering. very very pricey then! he catered for one of their weddings (he was still a small fry then). munna halwai is a kolkata product; owns erstwhile bluefox and one more restaurant in park street, kolkata, now, and was the chief caterer in l. n. mittal's daughter's wedding in france! (the saamiyar will definitely respond now -- i have touched his nerve.) mittal flew munna out with his troupe and spices. so, you are right. the experience of sampling the fare of a famous halwai/maharaj in an indian wedding cannot be found in restaurants or hotels.

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:and walking up and down the aisle the whole night in our bogey...

bogie.

panini press wrote:

Jeremiah Mburuburu wrote:100 times:

I was expecting no love between my wife and me.

I was expecting no love between my wife and me.

I was expecting no love between my wife and me.

Jeri miyan, you don't have to say that a hundred times, once is more than enough. When an anti-caste crusader like you marries within the old caste to keep the family happy or because you think your caste is the bestest, it is not about what you expect any more; it is about what your parents set you up with, and how you distort your reality to keep yourself happy.

PS: From the emphasis on me, one might infer that you were expecting love between your wife and someone else. I hope that is just me (or is it I?) misreading your comment.

Impedimenta wrote:

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:ha ha ha! i don't remember for i did not attend the buffet and was served on a thali instead but i was not in a mood to eat either so i just nibbled. but one of our relatives, who did feast, got a nasty heartburn on the return journey by train the next day that kept him awake and walking up and down the aisle the whole night in our bogey; he confessed that he had gorged, a bit excessively, in the delhi chaat stand.

MD is related to you? :-) now, i am seriously interested. shh, don't tell him.

On the one hand, I resent that you think of me as a glutton. On the other hand, you thought of me. And you are seriously interested. Here, a for making my day.

Merlot Daruwala wrote:

Impedimenta wrote:

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:ha ha ha! i don't remember for i did not attend the buffet and was served on a thali instead but i was not in a mood to eat either so i just nibbled. but one of our relatives, who did feast, got a nasty heartburn on the return journey by train the next day that kept him awake and walking up and down the aisle the whole night in our bogey; he confessed that he had gorged, a bit excessively, in the delhi chaat stand.

MD is related to you? :-) now, i am seriously interested. shh, don't tell him.

On the one hand, I resent that you think of me as a glutton. On the other hand, you thought of me. And you are seriously interested. Here, a for making my day.

the gluttonish reference was to get your attention. see, i am sometimes smart as well and ADD free when i want to be:-)