Looking for 'Me'

The four of us were talking, silences falling faster. One shed silent tears, the other two stern and firm had already taken the decision, and there was one for whom it was hard to let go. Can you actually taste it in the air, the defeat before the battle's done? The intention before a breath is exhaled? The thought before the blink of an eye? It was all the end result of an evening when the tongue spoke before the mind, and perhaps the misfortune of misjudging the men of a stagnant society.

That afternoon in 2008 when I accepted 'A' as more than a good friend, I had laid down all my conditions neatly over the carpet. His patience, ever-beaming countenance, quiet support had all won me over. He didn't have a problem with any of my 'conditions'. Surprising, I should say, since the very first was that I wouldn't stay with his mother after marriage. Shocking to most in a culture where girls accept their in-laws without a stray thought strand. Here I was, putting that most forbidden and blasphemous of conditions and, here he was, acquiescing. Needless to say, I was giddy with that drug called love. But, like all good, dependable drugs, it had started charting out it's path of destruction.

Four months sailed past and we prided ourselves on getting by without so much as a harsh word. During our fifth, a ring followed and I knew that this was the person I wanted to be with. That's when the world decided to turn and with it, mine too. A family holiday and with each breathtaking eyeful, I missed taking in the sights with him. That was the night I asked him to marry me and everything changed in an instant. According to him, I was not ready for marriage, and vague answers met confused hurt. His doubts, confusion, and the wait dragged on for over two years, over which I tried breaking the bond that severs more than just hands held. And then it dawned. He would never take anything forward until I agreed to stay with his mother. Hurt, betrayal, shock, bitterness - they are a terrible concoction to the head. Simply because to get out of them, we end up making all the wrong choices.

I convinced myself that I'd try staying with the lady who wedged her hostile presence between us. Everything - from the engagement to the living arrangement depended on one nod, a single smile, an unspoken silence. It made me think hard - Why do women in India take it for granted that we have to move to the man's place after marriage? Don't we earn? Don't we get tired managing the house as well as the office? And, most importantly, don't we have parents to look after? Why then do we take for granted the imminent movement when we know that staying together entails a lifetime of adjustment and fault-finding? Why do we agree to leave those two people who have loved, looked after, sacrificed almost everything for us, to look after two others who have virtually done nothing of the sort? Simply because they have come together to bring to the world the person who we're married to? Is that reason enough? What happened to equality and fairness here? What happened to the presence of intellect? Are we so gullible as to be swayed by two words of love and a flower that will wither away? I refused. My happiness could not be weighed with another's. It was my own.

There is no right or wrong in this world when it comes to matters like these. It is simply perception. For me, I don't believe in leaving the ones who, by giving up so many opportunities in their life, have made me the person I am today, and living with a man's mother just because she is his mother or she has lost her significant other. Sometime in future, I cannot discount the fact that my mother or father could be alone too. Who looks after them then when they need company? Who fills that void in their life? Or, is that also taken for granted?

I made my decision. A man who cannot understand my beliefs and principles, views them as trivial, and goes back on his word just to have someone in his life is not a person I can be happy with. Probably this is what all Indian men do. They see a girl who supports them, keeps them happy, refuses to cook and adjust. Love is the cure. Give her months of your love, convince her that there can be no other more wonderful option, and then when she is ripe to spoil, drop the axe. Mother is old, mother is ill, mother is lonely, and when that doesn't work, I am lonely, I have no friends, I'll love you till I die, and my condition has just gotten worse. It works like a charm. That independent, individualistic streak fades with each coating of 'love'. Someday, when the flush of first love passes and reality seeps in, you have compromised and don't recognise yourself. Like all good Indian women, convince yourself that you've done it for love. Only, was it worth it?