Tales from a Marriage

Priorities or Lack Thereof

One night last week, Nike and I had a long discussion about finances. Rather, I launched into a long monologue about finances while Nike pretended to listen. We expect some big changes in our life in the second half of the year - a possible shift of jobs and cities – and I am worried that we will be in a tight spot financially for the next one year after that. Which led to the monologue where I spoke about how I was worried about finances and how we need to manage finances better; at the end of it all Nike said I worry unnecessarily and promptly went off to sleep!

The next day, he noticed a single strand of grey hair. And fell headlong into depression. I told him a single strand did not a whole head of hair make. I told him that he would look very sexy with grey hair - an Indian George Clooney, if you will (I don't actually think he will look anything like that but you're allowed to lie in extenuating circumstances). That day, he poured half a bottle of oil on his hair and then made his mother put some sort of hair pack on his head. When I came back home from work that evening, he had a long talk with me about how worried he was about his grey hair, and what steps he would take to prevent more grey hairs! 

If ever there was a case of messed up priorities, it is this!

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Of Course, it’s a Competition!

Last week, Nike made banana walnut muffins. I was not happy about this at all. I made a banana cake just a few weeks ago and was still basking in the glory of all the praise I received for that. Now Nike was making banana walnut muffins. And since he is a much better cook, I was sure his muffins would taste better than my cake. I couldn’t let this happen. So I bombarded him with recipes for vanilla muffins, apple cinnamon muffins, red velvet cupcakes and anything else that did not have banana in it. But he was adamant that it would be banana walnut muffins only and rejected all the other recipes I sent him.

I then tried to sabotage the muffins by hovering around him while he was baking and giving him all sorts of incorrect advice. However, he banished me from the kitchen so I went and sulked instead. He called me to come and taste once the muffins were done, and I was forced to admit that they tasted better than my cake. Even though the walnuts were burnt. But, but, but, but, but…..my banana cake looked WAY better than his muffins. So we’re even now, no?

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Great Expectations

My birthday is this Sunday. I am so excited and hyper about it that one would be forgiven for thinking I’m going to be eight, instead of twenty-eight (As an aside, I am rather anal about spelling out numbers, instead of simply writing them down in number format. They look so much more beautiful when spelt out fully. Twenty-eight. 28. You tell me, which looks better? End of aside.) And so for my birthday, I thought long and hard and discussed with friends and colleagues and finally decided I would ask Nike for a diamond pendant for my birthday gift.

Instead, Nike gave me vouchers worth Rs.7000 at Landmark. This is much worse than it sounds because (a) These were vouchers left over from the gift he bought me for our anniversary, not vouchers he specifically purchased for my birthday (b)We (though Nike says I) managed to lose half the vouchers so in reality, I have vouchers worth only Rs.3500 (c) Despite my insistence on going and shopping alone for books, Nike accompanied me and then ruined the entire experience by being in a bad mood, snapping at me, and hurrying me through the shopping so that I ended up buying books that I am not sure I want.

Consequently, I feel cheated and gift-less. I am telling Nike that he needs to buy me another gift. Something that I can show off on Facebook, on my blog, and to my family and friends is thoughtful and considerate.

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And so the countdown starts to Sunday. Happy weekend, you guys!

Of Sex Tapes and Banana Cakes

So our esteemed ministers in Karnataka have been caught watching porn during an assembly session. I’m not surprised; rather, I’m much more surprised at the outrage that has followed. I mean, what more did you expect from our ministers? That they would actually participate sincerely in an assembly session that is paid for by the taxpayer? Don’t be ridiculous!

On a serious note, I have three major issues with the whole controversy.

1.       I have no moral objections against pornography as long as the acts were performed by mutual consent. And I don’t think there is anything wrong with anyone, minister or not, watching porn. However, I do take issue with their watching porn while the assembly is in session. My firm isn’t going to be happy if they find out I am watching porn during office hours; for all I know, they may even be well within their legal rights to fire me if I am watching porn in office. Similarly, as a taxpayer, I am not happy to find out that my representative in assembly is watching porn instead of doing his job.

2.       More worrying is the fact that the minister is now trying to prevent all news from reaching his constituency – the cable lines have been blocked in the village; newspapers aren’t distributed there. Firstly, I am fairly sure this is unconstitutional because an MLA does not have the right to censor/filter the news that reaches his constituency. Secondly, this sets a very dangerous precedent – I can imagine other MLAs and MPs deciding to follow this tactic the next time they are in the limelight for all the wrong reasons.

3.       The hypocrisy of the ruling party (and its allies and associates), and of the ministers involved, infuriates me. They are all up in arms about the attack on our great Indian culture if couples want to celebrate Valentine’s Day. If women dare go to pubs, our lofty traditions are under threat. One of the ministers of the ruling party went ballistic when the topic of introducing sex education in schools was brought up, saying that it was ‘against Indian culture’ (of course!). But these arbitrary moral standards are only for the rest of the population apparently, while these gentlemen engage in behavior which would be considered amoral by their own standards.

That said and done, I’m more amused than angry by the whole rigmarole. I think it’s because I have reached a point where nothing our politicians do angers/shocks/upsets me anymore. I just shrug and move on with my life. I am now officially a cynic who believes there is no point in caring about what happens in the world around.

Meanwhile, it looks like the media is milking this for all its worth. And I am thoroughly sick of the media sensationalism these days – so much so that I never watch the news on television and barely read the paper anymore. It either makes me depressed, or it annoys the hell out of me or it makes me furious, and being aware and up-to-date isn’t compensation enough for all the anger, frustration and sorrow it causes (enough to shorten my life by a few years, I am sure!).

And so, as this news slowly gathers dust, and the media waits for the next grand controversy to come up, I have said my piece, and I too shall move on to better things. And so, I leave you with this, a banana cake I baked last week. Remember, one of my resolutions this year was to learn to cook? Well, last month I made coffee cake, and now this. Both of them came out alright, though they could have been much better (I am also apparently my sternest critic when it comes to cooking!) – nevertheless, I am very chuffed! What do you think?

The One in Which I Italicise. A Lot.

The Pondicherry trip was okay. I would have enjoyed it a lot more if Nike hadn’t cribbed through the two days. Sure, we didn’t get anything to eat on the train to Chennai, and the bus to Pondicherry broke down, and the next bus we got on to had standing space only, and Auro beach was dirty and stinking and Auroville was closed by the time we got there, but STILL.

In Pondicherry, we didn’t do much. We stayed at a lovely heritage home. I love these old heritage homes, with their high ceilings, wide open courtyards, wooden beams and heavy doorknobs, and this one was all that and more. They served vadas and dosas and idlis for breakfast and it was all just perfect (see how I italicise all those words like I’m an Indian Writing in English, which I am, but I meant like a published author writing literary stuff, you know).

Anyway. We ate a lot in Pondicherry. We went to all these places where they served Creole cuisine. The food was expensive but very good. Nike complained that Creole cuisine seemed no different from the generic Continental cuisine but I said that was okay because Creole = French, and France is a part of the continent. He wasn’t reassured so on the final day he said we should eat the local cuisine which was Chettinad cuisine. And I said no, the local cuisine is Karaikudi cuisine. No matter, he said, and took me to Anjappar where we asked for Chettinad Chicken and got served Pepper Chicken instead. We enjoyed it until we found out it was Pepper Chicken and not Chettinad Chicken, and then we felt quite betrayed and disappointed. I theorised that we should never eat at chain restaurants that open branches abroad because then their focus is on their foreign branches, while the poor locals have to deal with sub-standard food and service.

We drove down to Auro Beach one evening, and it was dirty and stinking and Nike said “Gah! Vizag beach is a hundred times better than this” and I felt inordinately pleased; though in retrospect, I’m not exactly sure that was a compliment. We then drove to Auroville which was closed by the time we reached there but I was determined to enjoy the tiny little villages we drove through, except that Nike started a long discussion about why people would want to leave everything to come and live in an ashram in the middle of nowhere, and I gave him millions of reasons why people would want to do so, but he didn’t find any of the reasons convincing so I told him sternly that he shouldn’t judge other people by his own warped world view, but I don’t think he cared much for my words of wisdom. Oh well!

We walked up and down the promenade quite a bit, and it felt good to just sit and watch the waves crashing against the rocks. We also drove around the quaint French Quarter, which was simply lovely, and it made me want to go and live in France. Though I suppose I could as well go and live in Pondicherry! Apparently, Pondicherry is also home to 153 temples – which isn’t really surprising because there is a temple.on.every.single.street – but we didn’t visit any.

Our bus ride back to Chennai was eventful, to say the least. We got on to a bus which went by the bypass road instead of the ECR, and then the conductor convinced us to get off at this place called Perungalathur which is on the outskirts of Chennai. The auto drivers asked for 500 bucks!, yes you read that right, 500 bucks! to take us to the city.

Instead, we decided to take the local train, which cost only 12 bucks for the two of us, and where I had my own Alaipayuthey/Sakhi/Saathiya moment. I got into the ladies’ compartment and Nike got into the adjoining general compartment, and then I realised that my phone, wallet and ticket were all with Nike. And so at the next stop I ran into the adjoining compartment, which could as well have been a men’s compartment since it had only men (duh!), and pushed my way through the men, all the while urgently calling out for Nike. Every single person in the compartment was staring at me, and when I finally found Nike, there was a hushed silence, and I felt like they were all waiting for me to do something filmy, (like maybe hug him and burst into tears?). Instead, I took my wallet, phone and tickets from him, and ran back to my own compartment, leaving our audience very disappointed. Such drama in our lives, I tell you!

After this, we reached Chennai safe and sound, and made it to the wedding in time. The bride was looking absolutely radiant and lovely, and the groom was looking decent, which is saying a lot for him (BJ, I hope you’re reading this). We congratulated the happy couple, thulped the yummy food and headed back to the hotel for a night out with the gang. It shows how much we have matured over the years that everyone stayed sober that night. Well, that’s not really true, but nobody got drunk either and we all turned in by 2.30 that night, and some of us even woke up at 5am that morning and made it to the wedding on time, while the rest trooped in for breakfast. This new-found discipline and punctuality is a sure sign of old age.

So that’s all about Pondicherry and Chennai. I had more adventures on my way to Bhubaneswar and I had a great time at home in Vizag for Deepavali but for now, I’ll leave you with this much. How was your Deepavali?