All our life is about the choices we make every day. Would you choose to marry someone if you knew they didn't love you but would always give you the peace you desired? Would you choose to be with someone who loved you but chose never to marry you?
My choice then was to get married. I believed in the noble institution that two people can belong to each other and fight all of life's battles together.
Marriage, as I have learnt, is just two people fighting with each other most of the time, so much so that the outside battles at work or with other friends and family seem to be a relief.
Abhay and I had an arranged marriage. It was because the person I had wanted to marry for love had declared he didn't want to get married. Ever. So I broke up with him and came back to India. And in a fit of rage agreed to an arranged marriage. Stupid? Yes. But people with heartbreaks don't always make smart choices. Not that age gives any wisdom either. Evident from the fact that there are far more people in their forties still looking for love and marriage on dating apps today than ever before.
I'd just finished my graduation from Yale and had come back with a heartbreak that I didn't tell anyone about. I was unable to do anything. My parents thought I did not have anything to do. So they felt a wedding would be 'interesting'.
'There will be some singing and dancing at least,' my mother had insisted as a good enough reason for me to agree to the match. 'You're always so morose. Sitting in your room. Reading away your life. You'll age quickly and then no one will marry you.'
'I'm just twenty-four,' I had said to my mother.
'Exactly. And before you know it, you'll be thirty-four.'
'So?'
'So no one wants to marry a rigid, over-smart, thirty-four- year-old woman.'
'Why not?'
'Because you won't be ...'
'What?'
My mother raised her eyebrows and stared at me. My teenage sister, Samaira, who spent most of her time in the bathroom applying make-up and making videos of it, said loudly what my mother could not, 'Because you won't be a virgin at thirty-four. She thinks you're a virgin!'
'Maybe you should get her married,' I remarked to my mother. 'She might lose her virginity before me.'
'Don't talk nonsense. She's just fourteen. She doesn't have a boyfriend.' My mother slapped the back of my head while Samaira winked at me. 'We are going to meet Hitesh and Kamini Patel tomorrow. You'll love Abhay, their son. He's a good boy.'
I guess I got married to get away from my mother. I'm not sure if most women do that, but it's a pretty believable reason to move into another household if your mom nags the fuck out of you daily.
When I had met Abhay in an arranged-marriage setting, he was kind, gentle, sweet, loving. Abhay gave me space. But I knew for sure that he wasn't in love with me. He allowed me to do everything I wanted, except find a job.
