Because I am Bloody Pissed...

         With the entire world and its uncle telling me I am setting myself up for a huge disappointment by daring to believe in a beautiful life after marriage to my boyfriend of several years. They warn me of disillusionment and predict high chances of V turning into a monster/dragon/male-chauvinist/inconsiderate bloody pig and foresee events of absolute doom considering my tolerance towards the above mentioned categories.

       Yes, I do know that – all of 24 – both of us are young and excitable. And this marriage is probably happening in a surge of emotions and excitement. Some people might call us raw and naïve. Yet it would only be too true to say that I am enjoying every second of this naivety.

      And that is why I want to capture this moment. So that, ten years down the line, when V turns into a crabby old man and I am an inch away from murder – I can pull this out to remind myself exactly why I married him!

       Turning back time, it was on a crowded railway platform – that we first met. V was a self-obsessed (still is!), comically arrogant nineteen year old with the worst possible taste in dressing. If I remember right – he was wearing a baby pink ill fitting tee-shirt and an old, faded, holey jean paired with a sandal that was clearly past its heyday. When I look back at old pictures, I am amazed that I fell in love with the messy-haired kid in florescent green shirt. And then I catch his full smile and I am reminded.

      It was that full laughter, his easy confidence and absolute lack of tact which was my undoing. At nineteen, I was bookish, dreamy and grave, reminiscent of art movie heroines. I could have bored you with the details of the pseudo-intellectual book that I had just finished or tire you with my grand plans to change the world (!)  

       But it so happened that the upbeat and the passionate had a lot in common. From sunsets on Marina beach eating molaga bajji, whispered conversations while watching nonsensical movies, heated arguments in coffee-days to even an uproariously catastrophic attempt at learning Salsa – V and I managed to annoy and infuriate each other – all the falling irresistibly and naturally – in love.

        You know you’re in love when you suddenly catch glimpses of the other in yourself. I found my wardrobe full of mauves and peaches suddenly specked with splashes of reds and yellows. I found myself turning to the sports section in newspapers. And attempting to eat Pongal (which I still hate).  I saw V acquaint himself with Salman Rushdie, Vikram Seth and Amitav Ghosh.  I laughed at him gingerly speaking out his first few Malayalam words. I watched as he attempted to understand poetry (unsuccessful till date).

          Five years of laughter, tears – much craziness and a whole lot of fun bring the kind of comfort that allows daily life to settle around you, yet permit sparks to fly at a stray touch or an impromptu compliment.

 I have come to love the man V has become.

The boy-man with a temper that hangs precariously at the tip of his big nose. The illayaraja lover. The Beatles fan. The movie buff. The book lover. The cricket devotee.

But most of all my very own version of Salman Khan who thoughtlessly jumps at a crowd of six just to salvage the hurt ego of his sensitive fiancé!

I love the way we have grown together and I love the way we connect so seamlessly. Almost like breathing. Involuntary. It is merely in our nature to be in love.

We are beginning our life in a brand new city in an empty apartment on the seventh floor  – with a lone beanbag for furniture! I cannot see the future from this vantage point.  Maybe we will have a big car and lots of money or maybe not. Maybe we will both go high up in our careers or maybe not. Maybe we will have a lot of friends or maybe not.

But as long as we share what we have now, we have nothing to worry.

Here’s to us – and a lifetime of togetherness!