We have moved!

We have moved to www.priyankajoshi.in

Please do let me know your feedback on the new site, content or anything that comes to your mind

This is my kind of romance after marriage

My hubby hates shopping with all his heart. Before we married, I used to frequent malls with my dad and mom (sometimes friends too) for relaxation. Though we never over-spent but loved the window-shopping that was much more relaxing than real shopping. We just enjoyed being together as a family and eating our lunch in mall restaurants or food stalls as we meandered around. Hubby couldn’t understand my thought process in the least.

But my first few shopping trips after marriage were disastrous-- as he hated the endless rounds to shops and me trying to understand the latest collections. After 2.5 years of being married something changed in him. He knew that “mall crawling” was an enjoyable pastime for me, so he began to check with me whether I wanted to go to the mall to look around. Now that was sweet, as given a choice hubby would rather sleep in than spend half a day trudging behind me and helping me choose outfits. Just recently, he even topped off our "mall time" with a visit to my favourite ice cream store. Perfect.

When we’re romancing our better halves, we have to do what they think is fun and what they think is romantic. That shows we know them and care for them. A woman going through marriage without romance feels like a man who goes through life without sex. Much of the color of life disappears, and everything turns gray. (literally)

Now, if I was to romance my hubby, visiting a mall wouldn’t cut the deal sweet for him but sitting down on evenings on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and tuning in to CNBC and listen to market analysts would be his thing. It’s restful and it’s romantic. You’re sharing the moment, sharing laughter, and sharing conversation. You’re relating to each other, and that builds intimacy. This is evolution in romance after marriage.

It’s also romantic when you do things for her/him that they hate. Speaking for myself, I hate scrubbing dirty dishes on days when maid goes off. Hubby knows this and has started to step in to wash vessels or when there's no time to wash the sink full of dishes, he promptly dials the nearby meal delivery service. Why is doing a little act for your wife that she herself hates considered romantic? Because it proves to her that you know her likes and dislikes and will do chores that will put a smile to her face. Or at least I have convinced myself that it does.

Sometimes I don’t want to do the mundane things like grocery shopping alone. It’s not one of hubby's favorite things either. But he goes with me if I ask, and he makes it fun just because we’re together. Sometimes I hate sitting home on weekends, but hubby wants nothing more than sleeping and lazing around. So, I comply. believe me its better than tagging a grumpy husband to a party or a restaurant.

Do you sense the romance here? We do.

When you realise the importance of maids

[This blog was written in July, but posted today :) ]

I had no idea how critical my maid was in making my work-cum-home life smooth until she fell sick last week. Poor girl is down with Malaria and Typhoid and has to rest for 15-20 odd days. Now, I totally agree that she cannot work in this condition but the wretched officework-cum-home life (again a choice that we ourselves make) can crack up the toughest. I was the one who went down last week -- and still recovering.

While this is not the first time my maid has taken an off, but usually she gets me a replacement maid (temp). However, since she fell sick so suddenly there wasn't any time to arrange a temp before she could take the bed. With sweeping, mopping,washing clothes, cleaning toilets and cleaning dishes upon my head and a hectic work schedule on other, it was natural that I lost all my sensibilities to be nice to anyone around me -- that is inevitably the poor spouse. Yes, I am actually feeling sorry for him. I snapped, cracked and banged the doors or vessels (anything rather that came in my hands).

The cooking was down to basics, as maid helped in chopping vegetables and making chapati's. While I can live on maggi and quick-fix pasta, spouse cannot. He (or his tummy) yearns for daal-rice or roti-sabji. Well, it continued to yearn for about 6 days.

Anyways, Day 1 (without maid):  I wake up to a messy kitchen sink and bathroom full of clothes. Bedsheets un-made and  footwear all over the house. Yes, it was dreadful sight for a maid-obsessed person like me. My first task -- at 7 am -- was to clean the toilets and sweep the floors clean. I didn't mop as by then I had worked up a foul mood already. No tea and no lunch made for spouse and myself.

Day 2: I wake up to more messy bathroom full of clothes and stack of dirty dishes. My mother has always warned me to never ever leave dirty dishes in the kitchen sink if there was no maid to help in mornings since your day can get deeply depressing when you see the pile of dishes, that in the end you have to clean anyways. So, I dig in to clear the stack -- a task that not only fuels my frustration but I also start taking it out of the spouse and at work. WRONG, I know, but it happens.

Day 3: Still no maid and I was at my wits end-- even had a nightmare of a dirty house and insects crawling from my kitchen. I beg and bribe the gate security to send me any maid that he comes across. He manages to get one, who quickly tells me the list of things she wont do! Even before joining as a temp this new maid had listed out that she wont dry the utensils and place them in racks, she wont put the clean laundry on clothesline and the day kitchen load (dirty utensils) is heavy, she wont touch the dirty laundry. She refused to make chapati's and shook a quick no to chopping veggies too. All this when I was ready to pay extra for each work.

Whoever said money can buy you anything, must be really a man with .

P.S:  Those 3 days were an eyeopener to me. Maids, specially the old ones get so dear to your household that you  never realise what they stand for until they take off. The day my old maid returned is undoubtedly the happiest day of 2010 for me -- it was the day my house came back to normalcy and so did my temper!

Forced time outs

Time out in life is good, I know that but forced time out -- is that good? No, it simply gives you time to fill yourself up with lots of anger and frustration. FIFA matches are doing that to me. I am no sports enthusiast and have zero passion for sweaty men on ground. The way they spit, the way they jostle, topple and then scratch various parts of their bodies in front of millions is just a big turn off for me. I know this might be rubbing a few (or many) people the wrong way but hello, I'm entitled to my opinion-- ain't I?

This is what I am going through.

The spouse sets alarm on his mobile for evening match schedules -- the freaking mobile trings in my ear at 11:50 pm waking me up when I all I want to do is throw the darned device out of the window. No amount of screaming, pleading, blackmailing will prevent him to not keep the alarm away from the bedside. So, last night when I switched off the alarm (yes, I am a shrewd wife), the spouse surprisingly got up at 11:45 pm mumbling in his sleep, "Oh, how come the alarm didnt go off...Argentina's match is critical. This cant be missed." Yeah, as if I care whether the Argentina scores a goal or takes a hike.

This level of dedication to FIFA gets me wondering when did I get this kind of attention. And the answer is quite obvious, but I don't want to write it out.

My requests to visit the grocery store are usually ignored by the spouse but last Thursday when I grumbled that house was running low on food supplies, I was pleasantly surprised to see him offer a ride to the store. I was happy to see a change and secretly was congratulating myself for making this happen when it dawned on me that Friday-Saturday-Sunday were 'big game nights' and he wanted to stock the shelves with goodies that could be munched on and beverages that could be chilled before hand. Naive me!

While the matches are on, my spouse is a  picture to see. All eyes and ears, mind, cells and sensory nerves on the TV and players. Nothing goes unnoticed -- who kicked from where and why the goal keeper should have turned left or jumped straight. It's called "experiencing game" he says. I would like to argue, why don't I get a quarter of this attention sphere when I am describing my "experiences".

My TV room + living room + the only big windowy room in this 1BHK in Mumbai has been taken over by my spouse and the couch reserved for his legs to sprawl. I have to make do with the corner mattress and my iPhone, laptop to pass my time -- which are good enough but on weekends its a not-so-pleasant exercise to get the spouse to speak anything but matches, players' stats and a particular team's chances to win over.

My weekend trips to restaurants, malls, shopping and even mundane chats are now regulated to the first half of the day. Second half of the day is for FIFA and match analysis, goals, and loud abuses hurled at every goal the opp team scores or every goal the favorite team misses. Worse, making statements such as “it’s only a game” or “don’t worry, they’ll have another chance in four years” further fuels the anger. I tried to sneak the remote control away while the channel was replaying the goals, but that was a mistake as spouse came jumping from the kitchen, screaming "replays are important." The FIFA highlights on ESPN are shown every night and are just as important as the games themselves, I am warned by the spouse.

No wonder, I am not enjoying my forced time outs.

It means a lot to have a sympathetic ear

A woman finds great peace when she finds some one who understands her -- I read this somewhere. But it is SO true.

Yes, women are inherently complex creatures - or perhaps 97% of the female species are born -- with a certain "super complex link" in their DNAs. And this character simply grows tentacles with each passing year. Yet, the solution is very simple: a sympathetic ear and a box of tissues is just the answer.

As you would have figured out that I am speaking from experience. When I was young, I had a Panda soft toy who was my companion. When mom wielded a hard hand or when teacher was obnoxious about the quality of my school work or class monitor was extra harsh on the talkative me, panda was my sympathetic ear. He heard everything and offered nothing. But it was therapeutic. The tear-stained Panda was soon thrown out for a living being, my best friend (from Std: VI C).

This new confidante was slightly better than Panda, as she could offer comfort through her own stories about a bossy elder sister or a cruel Maths teacher who loved to throw surprise tests. I could tell her what my classmates thought of my report card without trying to censor my words, and she in turn made me paper cards with flowers and little huts with doodles. Those were good times; innocent enough to be consoled by cards made out of torn notebook paper.

By tenth standard, confidante's were exchanged for guides and tuition notes. There was no time to dwell upon life, stupid boys or parents. Marks and board exams were embedded into my grey cells and I had to score a rank somehow. Finally having secured a seat in a college in Pune, I was again free to look for a friend who could read what's on the mind and with whom I could speak in silence.I found the nicest friend (soul sister) in another hostel mate. We could read each others body language, facial expressions and know when was the other one sad or happy or eager to share a secret. Undoubtedly, a lot of secrets involved boys, not-so-friendly-gossips about other hostel mates, career and of course, what to wear to college. We were inseparable and secrets shared are still between two of us.

Moving away from hostel, I launched myself headlong into work. I knew what I was getting into as I walked into the office of a local newspaper in Pune for my internship. Right away, I loved being a part of the media industry. There was no looking back and I went from internship to job and again discovered my sympathetic ear was a very nice girl at work. Soon the group widened to include another girl and we were soon discussing marriage (impending), prospective grooms, arranged marriages of other acquaintances, mother-in laws and our ideas about what a married home should be like.

Believe me, all these years as long as I had someone close to talk about my moods and thoughts it was good. I knew it was these friends who had kept me un-coagulated. Today, things are different.

After 2 years of marriage and living in Mumbai, I am still struggling to find that sympathetic ear. While I am still surrounded by great colleagues, none of them seem to any clue (or inclination) of what it is to be some one's unconditional sounding board. I had secret hopes that my husband would become my mind reader, but that seems to be a project in making. While I still have great friends who are phone call away but its not the same as having my own Panda, my own Std V C mate, my soul sister, or my patient & comforting friend duo at work. We, bulk of the women, need to have (or MUST have) that one person who can keep us free of convoluted thoughts and zap away those fears, jitters.

What comes first ? Kids or house....

Two years of being married, and it becomes a subject of intense discussion as to why we don't have children and a house yet. And at times its can be just plain embarrassing to have your parents (and in-laws) discuss your married life and potential reasons of not having grandchildren.

Second subject (of owning a house), is usually played up when folks from girl's side (rather my side) want to make a point to their son-in-law (hubby's side) about not being able to put together an abode (for their daughter).

So the thread of conversation during phone calls to respective parents goes something like this.

Me talking to my in-laws

M-I-L: (after some usual 'how are you' talks) You know certain so-and-so is having a baby and she got married just about when you guys got married.

Me: Yeah. Really. Nice nice...She's a housewife, right? And didn't the husband move to Bareilly after marriage. (Trying to make a point)

M-I-L: (reticent) Yes. Yes. But see now she can be free from duties by the time she is 34 years. And maybe she can take up the job of a teacher, which she pursued before marriage.

Me: Guess, that's good planning I would say. But not applicable to all.

and so the conversation moves with both sides trying to score

On the other hand, a conversation between my husband and my dad goes like this:

Dad: I heard the rates in New Mumbai too are moving up.

Hubby: Yeah. That's some spurt we are seeing here. Everyone is out to buy a house even when they possibly undertake heavy debt.

Dad: But that's how houses are built. You cant avoid debt, as salaried professional can never possibly save up easily and then you have a family (slight reference to me and non-existent kids)

Hubby: Hmm...yes, I will think about it although I am not okay with a big debt on my head. What if job market loses its shine?

Dad: You have to take risks in life, son. Buy a house then you can think of a family too.

Aaaah....

On a sensible note, I know none of their concerns are misplaced. They are probably right in their opinions (gentle reminders) but since life is so unplanned, each of the milestones (house, kids, etc etc) happen when you are least expecting it. I believe that.

The day I became an 'aunty'

I am 28 years-old, married and this makes me 'old' by Indian standards. And women folk (peers)around me ensure that I am aware of my age.

In Mumbai, where people in your building don't believe in spending time knowing each other because it's just wastage of time, I too joined the cult of 'unknown neighbors' when I moved 2 years back to the city. Having changed by house twice already I (and my husband) are ignorant about other families living on the same floor.

We do run into one of the couples now and then in corridors but there's no chance to engage in a lengthy introductions since singular lift on the floor (accommodates just 4) ensures that only couples (with their little ones) use the lift by themselves.

But this did not happen on Saturday, when I found myself with a 3-year old Mrigank and his mom (whom I saw closely for the first time; we are separated by a concrete wall). It happened as following:

Me: (in lift, pressed the button to my floor; mentally recalling the veggies I had in my fridge that could go in veg stew)

Just as lift doors are about to shut, this kid hops in and holds the door for his mom who is pants in after him, carrying a sand bucket and toy shovel.

I smile at the kid, my best smile.

Kid: (looks back at mom and chirps) Maammy, aunty is smiling.

My smile dropped at word 'aunty.' How dare that runt call me aunty, was the first thought that blazed through my head.

The Maammy looks at me, smiles and tells her kid: Mrigank, say hello to Aunty.

That woman actually encouraged the kid to call me 'Aunty'.

Kid: Aunty, what is in the bag? (pointing towards my paper bag that had some latest mags and books)

Me: (recovering from the shock) Err, aa...it has my books. (mentally cursing the lift that seemed to take forever to reach to the 10th floor)

Kid: (turning to his mom) Maammy, is Aunty in school?

Maammy: (clearly enjoying her role) No beta. Aunty goes to office...like Papa.

Ping...the lift reached tenth floor and I jump out.

Kid follows to my door: Aunty, why do you go to school on Saturday?

He had a point! But I didn't want to be a part of his conversation anymore. I wanted to escape and the key refused to come out of my purse, giving the kid ample time to drill me with questions - all starting with the tag, 'AUNTY'

No wonder people in Mumbai don't mingle, as they don't want to to be told or realise how old or ancient they are becoming while running life's rat race. I am a part of the Mumbai crowd and I dont want to be told that I am now an 'Aunty'. My graduation from a 'didi' to 'aunty' happened in the lift ride!

Don't believe these myths about marriage

If you are a sucker (like me) for late night TV, enjoy classic movies, listen to love songs, or read romantic novels, then you may have an image of marriage that never, ever was. And I discovered this after 2 whole years of being married.

MYTH No 1:
I had always heard married women -- just a little older than myself talking how -- how babies really bring the couples closer.

And I wondered , really? Now that I am married and have some experience, I can rubbish this one. I mean babies (I am talking after seeing 4 such examples) can probably make you more sympathetic towards other one's condition and on rare occasions there's a cute moment. But really guy, babies cannot be your bonding glue.

Either you have that connection with your partner or simply not. I have seen friends struggle so hard with the changes in their body and keep their emotions in check after they have had babies. Women are exhausted (so are the poor fathers) and couples are constantly being questioned whether they are doing it right (by unruly relatives). Usually the woman feels she is doing way more than her share and is very resentful and disappointed in her partner, but most of it initially is hormones. A woman's body just goes nuts and it BOTHERS her (guys listen).

MYTH No 2
Romance will always be alive in a good marriage. Yes, how cool would this be? It was in past that the father was the breadwinner and the mother made the bread. So mother probably had time, patience and energy to think of many innovative ways to keep the partner happy. Think gorgeous amounts of food, house decorations and ...

Fact is that all relationships experience peaks and valleys -- and if you have office stress clouding upon both partners then better be more realistic. Even the tiniest problems and challenges of life, work and grocery (!) can ruin romantic feelings.

MYTH No 3
Your spouse should be your best friend, and believe me this statement was parroted by every woman and man I knew before marriage. But why should my husband be my best friend? What's wrong in him being just a good husband?

Women (and men too) like to impose that all married men and women need to be best friends to make a marriage successful. Really, but why?

Probably, over the years you would develop an amazing friendship with the person you are married to. But it doesn't necessarily start off that way, not in Indian arranged marriage. So what's the point trying to expect something that is not applicable to your situation. I am not my husband's best friend and vice-versa but that does not mean I am having a bad marriage or have ruined my life. We talk, as friends would but that's the end of it.

And you may not tell your spouse everything, but it doesn't mean you are not close.

MYTH No 4
This one's hilarious, and I have fallen into this trap more than I am proud of. The idea of romance, as we understand from movies is that 'my spouse should know my needs without my saying anything.' HA!

I have had my fights over this one and that's why I can say with true wisdom that just because you're married doesn't mean you can read minds. You have to tell your spouses what your needs are -- like I do on every birthday, anniversary and on every occasion when I need some gift/pampering from my husband. It works, just fine.

MYTH No 5
If you like getting compliments then learn to give them back too. I have learnt it (and still learning) -- Don’t take your spouse for granted. I try hard to remove myself from seeing the dirty smelly T-shirts, socks and shoes, unkempt toiletries, the weight gain among many many many other things. Sometimes it's hard to focus on what's positive but I kick myself every time I forget what a great person I married.

Nobody wants to be taken for granted — everyone wants to be appreciated.

PS: There are many more myths, but these were my top picks. Would love to hear what's your.

Back again

Ah, yes. I am very very late in updating the blog - to be precise 31 days late. But the good news is I have so many stories to begin with. They follow this blog post

Marriage

Read this on my Facebook, was posted by someone I dont know but the story touched me so much that I decided to share with all those who read my blog.



When I got home that night as my wife served dinner, I held her hand and said, I've got something to tell you. She sat down and ate quietly. Again I observed the hurt in her eyes.

Suddenly I didn't know how to open my mouth. But I had to let her know what I was thinking. I want a divorce. I raised the topic calmly.

She didn't seem to be annoyed by my words, instead she asked me softly, why? I avoided her question. This made her angry. She threw away the chopsticks and shouted at me, "you are not a man!"

That night, we didn't talk to each other. She was weeping. I knew she wanted to find out what had happened to our marriage. But I could hardly give her a satisfactory answer; she had lost my heart to Dew. I didn't love her anymore. I just pitied her!

With a deep sense of guilt, I drafted a divorce agreement which stated that she could own our house, our car, and 30% stake of my company.

She glanced at it and then tore it into pieces. The woman who had spent ten years of her life with me had become a stranger. I felt sorry for her wasted time, resources and energy but I could not take back what I had said for I loved Dew so dearly. Finally she cried loudly in front of me, which was what I had expected to see. To me her cry was actually a kind of release. The idea of divorce which had obsessed me for several weeks seemed to be firmer and clearer now.

The next day, I came back home very late and found her writing something at the table. I didn't have supper but went straight to sleep and fell asleep very fast because I was tired after an eventful day with Dew. When I woke up, she was still there at the table writing. I just did not care so I turned over and was asleep again.

In the morning she presented her divorce conditions:

* She didn't want anything from me, but needed a month's notice before the divorce.
* She requested that in that one month we both struggle to live as normal a life as possible.. Her reasons were simple: our son had his exams in a month's time and she didn't want to disrupt him with our broken marriage. This was agreeable to me.
* But she had something more. She asked me to recall how I had carried her into out bridal room on our wedding day. She requested that everyday for the month's duration I carry her out of our bedroom to the front door every morning

I thought she was going crazy. Just to make our last days together bearable I accepted her odd request.

I told Dew about my wife's divorce conditions. She laughed loudly and thought it was absurd. No matter what tricks she applies, she has to face the divorce, she said scornfully.

My wife and I hadn't had any body contact since my divorce intention was explicitly expressed. So when I carried her out on the first day, we both appeared clumsy.

Our son clapped behind us, "daddy is holding mummy in his arms..." His words brought me a sense of pain. From the bedroom to the sitting room, then to the door, I walked over ten meters with her in my arms. She closed her eyes and said softly; don't tell our son about the divorce. I nodded, feeling somewhat upset. I put her down outside the door. She went to wait for the bus to work. I drove alone to the office.

On the second day, both of us acted much more easily. She leaned on my chest. I could smell the fragrance of her blouse. I realized that I hadn't looked at this woman carefully for a long time. I realized she was not young any more. There were fine wrinkles on her face, her hair was graying! Our marriage had taken its toll on her. For a minute I wondered what I had done to her.

On the fourth day, when I lifted her up, I felt a sense of intimacy returning. This was the woman who had given ten years of her life to me.

On the fifth and sixth day, I realized that our sense of intimacy was growing again. I didn't tell Dew about this. It became easier to carry her as the month slipped by. Perhaps the everyday workout made me stronger.

She was choosing what to wear one morning. She tried on quite a few dresses but could not find a suitable one. Then she sighed, all my dresses have grown bigger. I suddenly realized that she had grown so thin, that was the reason why I could carry her more easily. Suddenly it hit me... She had buried so much pain and bitterness in her heart. Subconsciously I reached out and touched her head.

Our son came in at the moment and said, Dad, it's time to carry mum out. To him, seeing his father carrying his mother out had become an essential part of his life. My wife gestured to our son to come closer and hugged him tightly. I turned my face away because I was afraid I might change my mind at this last minute. I then held her in my arms, walking from the bedroom, through the sitting room, to the hallway. Her hand surrounded my neck softly and naturally. I held her body tightly; it was just like our wedding day.

But her much lighter weight made me sad. On the last day, when I held her in my arms I could hardly move a step. Our son had gone to school. I held her tightly and said, I hadn't noticed that our life lacked intimacy.

I drove to office.... Jumped out of the car swiftly without locking the door. I was afraid any delay would make me change my mind... I walked upstairs.. Dew opened the door and I said to her, Sorry, Dew, I do not want the divorce anymore.

She looked at me, astonished, and then touched my forehead. "Do you have a fever?" She said.

I moved her hand off my head. "Sorry, Dew," I said, "I won't divorce. My marriage life was boring probably because she and I didn't value the details of our lives, not because we didn't love each other any more. Now I realize that since I carried her into my home on our wedding day I am supposed to hold her until death do us apart."

Dew seemed to suddenly wake up. She gave me a loud slap and then slammed the door and burst into tears. I walked downstairs and drove away.

At the floral shop on the way, I ordered a bouquet of flowers for my wife. The salesgirl asked me what to write on the card. I smiled and wrote, I'll carry you out every morning until death do us apart. That evening I arrived home, flowers in my hands, a smile on my face, I run up stairs, only to find my wife in the bed – dead.

The small details of our lives are what really matter in a relationship. It is not the mansion, the car, property, the money in the bank, blah....blah...blah.

These create an environment conducive for happiness but cannot give happiness in themselves. So find time to be your spouse's friend and do those little things for each other that build intimacy.

Do have a real happy marriage, if you’re married.

If you’re not married…

Just believe!

(Originated from here)