Too many people nowadays talk about break ups, as if it is very cool. Quoting big meaningless dialogues and boasting about the fact, that
‘Not everyone who stays together is in love’ or ‘marriage is just a stamp’
Or the classic ‘marriage ends love’…
I request you all to shut your listerine washed, lip balm protected little mouths and open your sleep deprived tired eyes.
Look around, and you will find love in the way a couple sits together infront of the wall mounted t.v on their comfortable couch, in their ugly pjs and chat about the mundane life.
Discussing about the next day’s menu, or the present day’s monotonous nature.
Waking up next to a completely different person and getting irritated on their weird sleeping habits….
Or sharing a simple meal of daal, chawal and papad and discussing about the recent news headlines.
Or holding each other’s hands and continuing the walk of life through the rocky roads and smooth highways.
Once my teacher described marriage to me in the simplest of words “It is nothing scary, it is one of the most beautiful things in the world.” -and I still believe that.
Back at home, when everyday my parents used to fight for some silly reason, I hated ‘marriage’. But the next morning, when I used to find them sharing their morning tea, baba bringing maa’s favourite fish, or maa, surprising baba with a sudden gift, I used to be confused. But now I understand (I think)..
Marriage doesnot promise a bed of roses to walk on,instead it gives us a person to pluck thorns with. May be married couples are like Tom and Jerry,always fighting, yet together.
Recently while reading Rumi, two lines stuck my heart and head altogether
“Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along”- from the poem Music Master
May be he said about married couples. They go through everything together. Yes, sometimes one person might feel that he/she is burdened down, but tables turn again and again and balance them out.
But I cannot say much about it, can I? Or I have to wait for the day, when I will have streaks of silver in my hair, and I won’t be as gorgeous as I am now. Wearing a faded nighty on a Sunday morning I would call ‘someone’ to carry the tray of tea as my mother does. And that ‘someone’ would oblige as my father does.
May be I would get home tired from work, and become cranky. He would quietly offer to chop the veggies or cook his ‘special dish’, just like my parents do.
May be my fear would be replaced by a stronger feeling, a feeling which no winds will be able to shake….
Photos used here are from my Friend’s wedding.