The New Bride - Part 2

Sell the house? A house that I had made a home out of for my husband and kids.

“Come on Seema, the movie is about to start.” I would hurry as sitting on the love –seat he would stretch one hand to welcome me and the other hand in the bowl of freshly made popcorn. Sell that love-seat?

How was I going to do it?

“Ouch!”
“What happened?”
”I think I bruised my shoulder”
“Oh! I am so sorry!” The corner where he had hit his shoulder while we made out. Sell that corner?

What was I going to do? No! I was not ready for this yet. I knew the safe sanctuary of my parents was the best place for me at that time, but was I ready to give up my home for that. Well did it matter? I had not been ready for the changes that destiny seemed to have willed for me, now was I? But this was not destiny. This decision was in my hands and that was the most difficult part of it.

That evening I sat on the love-seat all alone by myself in the house. It is uncanny how I could not bring myself to call it a home. Help me Raj! Help me! I sobbed in the pillow. I was so angry. Angry at my parents for trying to force my decision, angry at God for reducing me to such a pathetic state , angry at Raj even for leaving me in a lurch. The sobbing just grew harder. I looked next to me. I wanted to see him there. Feel him next to me. I could almost smell the popcorn he’d have been munching. But there was no popcorn. There was no him. Just me on the love-seat. What did the love-seat matter if there was no Raj sitting next to me on it? He was gone. What was I going to do clinging to a lifeless thing when life itself had been taken away? Was that how I was going to keep him with me? With a corner and with a love-seat? A corner that did not have Raj leaning against it. What was I going to do with the corner?

I put the house on market the next day. To give a chance to someone else to make good memories out of it instead of just serving as a symbol of memories laced with tragedy!

I hugged my mom tight. I thought I had shed all the tears I could possibly have. Boy! Was I wrong! I was crying torrents as she held me close. What is it about grief that it seems to take on gigantic proportions when someone you love is around? It was like I was crying for the first time after his death. They just would not stop. There sat my mother and me in my childhood home as once again I donned on the role of being a child bawling its head off in its mother’s arms. Even becoming a mother yourself does not make any difference to this pact.

I was relieved at the early morning light filtering through the windows. Went out hoping to make myself a fresh cup of coffe when I stopped dead in my tracks. My parents were sitting next to each other, their backs towards me. My mother’s head rested on my father’s shoulder and he had an arm around her.

I did not need voices to let me know what she was whispering to him.

“What is going to happen to her?” How many times had I heard that? How many years had it been since I had heard that? Once again I was in the same position. How naively I had thought that I would never ever see my parents in that position again and yet here they were, only frailer. I turned back noiselessly.

“The decision is already made mamma. If you want me around then let me do this. Otherwise I might have no option but to go back.”

No, this time I was not going to allow myself to be humiliated. Life had landed me in a position where it was not in my control not to make my parents unhappy. But I was going to be damned if I was just going to sit there and fell sorry for myself. I had two adorable children to take care of. I could not let my parent’s defeatist attitude influence the way I lived. After all what is it about a woman that makes everyone around her think that if she does not have a male partner in her life then she cannot make it. That she need to be pitied and sympathized with? No one could imagine the deep sense of loss I was feeling at Raj’s passing away but if everyone around me thought that I was going to just wallow in self pity and give up, they were horribly wrong. I was not a new bride anymore. I was a grown-up woman and I was going to be damned if I would just allow anyone to walk over me. Did not matter if they were my own parents. They had to learn that this was not the end of my life. Living with Raj had taught me one thing – that was I not going to die with him.


So I moved. Once again. To another house. This time there were no grand plans of making it a home. As long as I could be alone in my grief, with my children without anyone looking at me as if I were the unluckiest woman in the world alive was enough for me. It is amazing how expectations can crash. From hoping to go on a two week trip to Disneyland with husband and kids in tow, I was not down to thanking God just for having a place where I could grieve in peace. The packed boxes lay strewn everywhere. The children were asleep with make-shift sleeping arrangements that I had made for them on the floor. I looked at their faces. My little girl, a heavy breather, her mouth open, lost to the concious world. My youngest sleeping in a fetal position, his face brushing his sister’s shoulder. I watched them for a while. How traumatic this must have been for them! Loosing their dad, moving countries, moving homes, new places, new people – had to hand it to them, they seemed to be handling it much more beautifully than their mother. Ah! The adjusting capabilities of a young child. Far exceeding the elders’ – far exceeding mine.

How long had it been since I had slept like a sane human being? I was either falling asleep too exhausted or had cried myself to bed. I looked at my children sleeping like babies. What did they have for dinner? I tried to recall. I was horrified to realize that I could not. What was it? I thought racking my brains. Nothing turned up! We did have dinner didn’t we. I looked up towards the kitchen. Surely, I would not have let them go to bed hungry. I walked towards the kitchen. Nothing on the table, nothing on the stove. I opened the fride. Nothing there either. I was sweating now. The tears had stopped. This could not be happening. I could not have allowed my children to go to bed hungry. This was crazy. I was crazy. How could I? How could I? The phone rang making me jump.

“How are you Seema?” asked my mom.
“Mom…I…”
“Is everything all right dear?” the concern getting bigger.
I could not say anything.
“Hope the children ate the food I had packed for them…”

Relief! Huge relief at those words. At the corner of the room I saw a carrier. Next to it stood 2 small plates with a few morsels of food. Thank God! Thank God!

“Yes Ma, they did.” Thank you ma.
“And you dear…”
“I am going to ma…”
“Make sure you do…”
“I will ma, I will”

Suddenly I was ravenous. I attacked the food. Rice, Dal and Fried Brinjal. My favourite. Raj’s favourite. I think I ate his portion too. After finishing, I walked to the children. I curled up next to my daugther. My face brushing her shoulder and I feel asleep. I was going to be back for my children. There was no other choice.

Things became so hectic the next few days that I did not have time to pause and think. I was so out of touch with the system that I did not have the slightest clue as to how things were supposed to work. But with the help of old friends and family members, I was able to manage somehow. There were so many decisions to be made that I was completely overwhelmed. How easy it is for two people to sit and make a decision and how damn difficult for a person who has gotten used to that scenario to be suddenly making decisions about things that ranged from hiring which doodh-waala to which schools to enroll the kids into! I anguished over everything. The maid, the newspaper, the car, the color of the walls – each small thing was enough to drive me to start tearing my hair out in frustration. I had no clue how the system worked and here I was trying to make it into the system – all on my own.

“Today our new daughter is going to make food for all of us.”
Like a bolt of lightning striking you when you least expect it. A bride of just 7 days and my mother-in-law had decided to test my skills.
“oh! Yes she cooks like a professional chef. She’s always loved to cook.” Professional chef? I’d be happy if I could make tea without any accidents and sat with a horrified expression as mom doled out the details. Half of the dishes I did not even recognize the names of. Her explanation or should I be saying her excuse was that once things were finalized I could be given a crash course and she had been true to her word. 2 months of rigorous training under the professional chef – my mom.
Yet I had been skeptical. How was I going to determine which things were kept where. Which vessel to cook in. Which bottle held which exotic masala. Decisions. The same feeling of being overwhelmed. There was one difference though…

“But Mother…”
A stern look from the said mother had stopped Raj in his tracks.
“OK fine…but I am going to help her.”
Laughter all around as he had said that. I did not know why at that time but later I did when I realized that it was his first time ever in the kitchen.


(..to be continued)