Tied up in knots

Recollecting the refrain of a French ditty, the English rendering of which I found amusing, I laughingly told my wife Sarla, ?How can I miss you unless you go away.?, writes GK Gupta.

Recollecting the refrain of a French ditty, the English rendering of which I found amusing, I laughingly told my wife Sarla, “How can I miss you unless you go away.” This subtle and well-meant remark was aimed to please and pamper, but far from taking it as a compliment, she went into a sulk.

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Happily, what could have stretched into a long period of gloom soon dissipated. Driven by her overwhelming desire to visit her parents in Delhi, she finally smiled and shrugged out of her tantrum.

For the whole year after our marriage, she had been in Calcutta. Except for some local excursions, like visiting the sprawling zoo, the museum, Victoria Memorial and, of course, Belur Math, she had not moved out.

We spent two evenings purchasing gifts and souvenirs for hordes of relatives and friends. She finally packed her bags and bade goodbye to Kaki-ma and Reba-di, our generous neighbours, a source of unflinching support. Sarla deserved to travel in style and took an early morning flight to Delhi. Her eyes were moist as she thought of the much longed-for reunion with her parents. I was celebrating the much longed-for freedom I had so avidly been waiting for.

After my marriage, I had been like a bird with clipped feathers. Late-night movies with friends, adda sessions in the Coffee House at Chowringhee and stag parties had suddenly become things of the past. These had been replaced with endless shopping sprees for drawing room furnishings, kitchen requisites and nameless odds and ends.

But I soon realised that I no longer fit into the company of my old bachelor friends, who had given me up as lost. Their inane and senseless prattle did not amuse me anymore. Unknowingly, I had lapsed into a different bracket where the things that mattered were the spiralling prices and what is called making both ends meet.

Before long, I got disillusioned with my freedom. Keeping up with regular household chores like doing the laundry, ironing clothes, paying bills or supervising the part-time maid was no joke. Breakfast and meals had to be prepared or just skipped. The cluttered look all around was disquieting. The wafting fragrance of talcum or the heady smell of tadka from the kitchen were missing. And so were the feminine giggles and guffaws.

I longed for those moments that had once piqued me the most. I again wanted to move from shop to shop in New Market in her company, searching for that elusive blouse piece that would perfectly match the texture of her sari.