I was forty when I decided to end my marriage. Needless to say, everyone was shocked and wondered at my audacity in ending a twenty-plus-year-old marriage. But the fact was my marriage was a sham, a farce right from the beginning. I started disliking my husband a few days after marriage, and now it has turned into a worse emotion: indifference. I wanted to be free…. and alive.

I was a starry-eyed nineteen when I married. I was full of dreams à la Mills & Boon. I was in the second year of my undergraduate studies. I had no mother, and all my relatives pressured my father to get me married to a man who was ten years my senior.

Looking back, I feel that if my mother had been alive, she would have hesitated to get me married to such a person. He was rich, managing a flourishing business, and to my juvenile mind, he was sophisticated, suave, and charming.

I happily looked forward to being a radiant bride. I was of average height, slim and quite attractive, though not beautiful. My dream man never spoke to me before or at the time of the wedding. I was blissfully unaware of this disinterest, and we tied the knot on the fateful day in October.

My first disappointment was when there was no honeymoon. I had dreamt of an exotic honeymoon, for after all, I had married money, but my dream was squashed when my husband of twelve hours made it clear in a curt tone,

“It’s better we get this thing straight, Nita. Our family business is demanding and time- consuming. So be prepared to spend your time without many expectations of me.  I hope you’re not the clinging vine type.”

I think my mother-in-law felt a little sorry for me. Her gentle “Come on, Bahu” and a slight squeeze on my shoulder said it all. I  did not know the concept of a workaholic.

My husband was rarely at home. If in town, he was in the office, which was just adjacent to my palatial house, yet I rarely saw him. I tried desperately to please him in a hundred different ways. I lovingly laid out his clothes, sometimes he wore what I had laid out, but most often not; he discarded them in favour of his own choice. I gave up. I tried anticipating his needs till one day he snapped,

“I’m sure you’ve better things to do than hover around me.”

I often wondered why he had ever married at all. Why did he seek a life partner when he didn’t feel the need for one until my MIL made a cryptic remark, “I should have listened when he said that he had no time for a wife. I didn’t think he meant it.”

I was sorely tempted to snap “Why would people make a comment if they didn’t mean it?” but refrained since the poor dear was my only ally. Anyway, a strong-willed person like my husband could never be forced.

Even our relationship behind closed doors was nothing to be envied. He was the “ Wham, bang, thank you, Ma’am’ kind of lover. It was just another chore to be endured as far as I was concerned. The night Nimisha was conceived was the night I started to dislike him. It was the eve of his departure to Europe for three months. My MIL tried desperately to convince him to take me too, but both her husband and mine vetoed her. I naturally expected a wee bit of tenderness from a man who was leaving his wife of barely six months for a long duration. He just took me without a vestige of tenderness. He disengaged himself and promptly went off to sleep.

I sobbed silently for the great chasm between my dreams and reality. Soon thereafter, I found myself pregnant. I was not overjoyed. How could I be? I wondered how I could bring a little one into my imperfect marriage. I contemplated divorce, but with no educational backing and no parental support, it was just wishful thinking. I was provided with everything except emotional support. Maybe he found me immature. Maybe I was. My mental makeup was years younger than what I was, and his years older. He laughed but rarely. He wasn’t there for me. Period. Slowly, as the baby grew bigger, it was a difficult confinement for me. He took care of all that money could buy. The best doctors in town, bed rest when needed, were all provided for me. I wanted him to hold me close, wanted him to comfort me when the physical problems increased. I wanted all the sweet talk and ‘love you much’ kind of words. Nimisha came into the world on January 16th after an arduous labor. My MIL was there holding my hand with my father hovering outside the room. At least I had their support.

Rakesh was disappointed that it wasn’t a son. He would have liked a boy to carry forth the mantle of business. I was fiercely and sadistically glad! Fate managed to give him disappointment! Tripti was born soon afterwards. She was an easier baby to have.  His disappointment was complete. He provided them with all the care and education money could buy. It wasn’t that he neglected the children. The warmth and the family feeling were never there. Surprisingly, the strange atmosphere in the house did not affect them as much as I feared. My MIL continued to be a source of strength in her own quiet way. With her encouragement, I went on to complete my graduation and also my post-graduation. She was the one who suggested that I acquire my B. ED degree, too. Was it that she was far-seeing? I don’t know.

The years flew by. It was the year of my MIL‘s death that I felt lost. Maybe my unhappiness and the ennui in me led to my severe depression and hospitalization. I was under psychiatric treatment. The Psychiatrist tried telling my husband about the emotional needs of all people, but my husband rudely cut him short

“Come to the point, doctor, and spare the lot of medical euphemisms.”

The doctor, too, lost his cool and I heard him say, “I don’t think you deserve a family!” The poor doctor had to face his superiors because he dared to speak the truth.

It was around that time that Rakesh arranged the marriage of Nimisha to Nitin, a business tycoon’s son. To make matters worse, Nimisha was completely uninterested in the alliance and wanted to study further. She pleaded with her father, but he remained unmoved. I do not know how and where the ‘spineless me’ became strong. I sold my MIL’s jewelry and managed to finance her for the initial period. Tripti was already pursuing her medical in AFMC. On the eve of my daughter’s departure abroad, I told both of them of my decision…. Tripti too had come down from her hostel to give her sister a send-off.
“I’m leaving your father. I don’t think that I can take any more of his indifference. I hope you both will forgive me …” I couldn’t continue as tears choked all my words.

“I cannot understand why it took this long for you to reach this decision..” said my ever-pragmatic Nimisha. Their complete lack of surprise shook me.

“I had no educational background. I had no parental support either. You two are the best that could have happened to me out of this union… but once you leave, I’ll be very lonely. As a matter of fact, the cold treatment will be worse as I have been responsible for your departure.” I thought of all the ways he had tried to stop Nimisha’s decision. Our final “we will seek legal intervention” stopped him. But that did not prevent him from showing his disapproval and displeasure.

“But what will you do? Where will you live?” asked my softer Tripti.

I then told them of secretly applying to a residential school. I also told them of my appointment over there. I told them of how my friend from the social work group managed to convince the principal to give me an opportunity despite having no experience.

“so accommodation is no problem. Maybe I’ll have my job cut out in the initial stages…. But I am determined to succeed. I cannot live in this emotional iceberg.”
I confronted Rakesh the next day. His “Don’t be childish” irked me no end!
“ For once, you stop being a human zombie and listen to me !”

He was aghast at my temerity.” But you have everything “, he tried to brush my words aside in his usual roughshod manner.

“Yes, but how long can a person live in an igloo? I need a warm person, a man with whom I can cry, laugh, and shout without feeling childish! Childish, how I hate that word! You never noticed the immature me turning into a cynical one, right? I hated you, Rakesh. My admiration for my dream man turned to disappointment. My starry-eyed dreams turned to dust! I put up with all…. Just like how you said now… I had money, status, and wonderful daughters. By the way, they are the best thing you gave me, despite our union being the most disappointing of all. It’s always a wonder how an iceberg like you was sired by two very warm persons.” I shook my head wonderingly. I continued giving vent to years of suppressed emotions. Funny, a person like my husband never had time for me when I spoke all these years – but now my tirade was making him listen!

“Where were you when I needed you? Your mother held my hand when I had Nimisha. The poor doctor who tried telling you the truth was ticked off. You weren’t even there when I was serious. I don’t need you now. I needed you, Rakesh…. How I needed you to show me your love, respect for the person me!” My voice became louder, and I was afraid I would snap again … I took a deep breath. “I didn’t want that to happen to Nimsha. That’s why I stood up to you. God forbid, their lives should never be mine.”

I turned to pick up my bags as I saw that the taxi had arrived outside. My entourage of servants beat me to it. Rakesh came out of his stupor. He frowned “That kind of life is only in movies … You’re being c……. ” My look stopped him. I continued going outside, leaving my house of 22 years.

I climbed into the taxi. Tears blurred my eyes for all that could have been and for all that I had lost. I turned back to see my past life for one last time. I felt a slight pang seeing my husband in the foreground with many a servant crying openly in the background. I had a tough time explaining to them that I was not coming back. They wept and somehow seemed to appreciate my decision. I felt a faint touch of remorse seeing him standing lonely and incongruously out of place in front of his own house. I was almost tempted to ask the driver to stop…

I saw him glancing at the watch… Maybe, thinking of the time lost. Strangely, all my hatred fell off like a cloak at the sight. I felt sorry. Sorry for the lone man, whose heart and emotions were in cold storage- the one who had never heard about the glass balls in his life. Despite being rich, he was one of the poorest. That was the irony of life.

 

 

This post is a part of ‘Beyond the Desk Blog Hop’ hosted by Manali Desai and Sukaina Majeed under Every Conversation Matters blog hop series

This also is a part of:
This blog post is part of ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’
hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla
in collaboration with Mister Tikku.

This story was originally published in New Woman way back in 1997.  Brought to life for the theme of work-life balance.

Photo by Jeremy Beadle on Unsplash