caffè americano & hazelnut latte ✔ (Book #1 of TSOU Series)

|| 05 ||

I was born the eldest child of my parents, the firstborn. And that is the hamartia of my life which eventually will claim my mental peace.

Because I refuse to get married. My brother has been married for three years.

“He's two years younger to you and yet he's happily married to a lovely woman. And you, you still trying to hold onto the shreds of your washed out youth. Shame on you, Kabir!”

Lovely and Myra? Quite a contradiction I see.

I may come across a mean brother-in-law for saying this but putting Myra and lovely in the same statement is pretty a daring attempt to glossify the terror I and everyone’s mothers feel when my dear sister-in-law declares it’s not her day or week or month. The years I have spent being treated like a third wheel while my brother and his wife, who was then his girlfriend, cherished a date in our backyard every time we were home from our boarding school, not that Kartik being in a boarding school hindered their childhood romance. The sheer amount of joy I felt when I was sent away to a boarding school, flushed out in just a week because Myra had convinced – or if I may add, demanded – her parents to send her to the same school as Kartik, the lost puppy who actually is just a traitor in the name of a brother. And there went the days of my glory, with the doom of third wheel cum a security guard taking over.
“Bir, stop being a child about this! Your brother’s been away for more than two years. It's a very rare occasion for me to have both my sons home at the same time. Can’t you be a little considerate to this old mother of yours? That’s the least you can do since you are adamant on not getting married.”

And there goes my mother with her ultimate mother move that ensures a total knockout of her opponent, who in this case is yours truly, Dr Kabir Mehrotra.

“See, Kabir, you’re a junior of mine who I have come to admire like a younger brother and in that sense, I have just one advice to offer – get married! You have no idea how marriage can practically solve all your problems...not that the problems really disappear or something but you have your wife to handle those on your behalf. So, go, tell your parents to find a sanskari biwi  for you and watch your life get sorted.”

Okay. First of all, this doctor, my so-called senior, is almost of my dad’s age and calls himself my older brother. Like what the fuck is that obsession with slicing off your age when it’s fucking evident on your face! Secondly, what is this weird notion of marriage resolving all your life problems when, in fact, a marriage to a wrong person is capable of doing a lot more damage. And lastly, what the fuck is sanskari biwi? What kind of people have I surrounded myself with?

“What do you exactly mean by a sanskari biwi, Dr. Sen?”

“You know someone who takes charge of the household chores, looks after you and your children, and prefers to be a stay-at-home wife. Also, someone who doesn’t have the razor-sharp tongue of these new age feminists who have to find faults in just every custom of our society.”

“So, you want me to marry someone like...a domestic help?”

“Not really but you got an idea of what I mean?”

“If I really did get an idea of what you mean then...I don’t need a wife, rather I need a maid or caretaker, which I really don’t agree with. Personally, I need a life partner who has a mind of her own, an individual personality and someone who may or may not have a career because it’s a modern world and we should be more accepting of women the way they are and the way they want to live instead of smelling like misogynistic pricks. Now would you excuse me? I need to sew a button on my shirt because men should know all the household work they expect their betterhalves to be trained at. And lastly, I want neither a wife nor a maid because I’m asocial and I enjoy my silence!”

I really can’t deal with all this drama. When I’m home, my mother and grandmother are constantly at my neck for marriage and prospective brides, and now even at work, I can’t do my job with peace because some senior of mine feels it’s alright to give me advice pertaining to my personal life and I should be accepting of those. Really? I did not sign up for this kind of mental harassment over something like marriage.

It’s not that I do not have any faith in marriage, I do. But does it have to be based on a rushed decision because I’m in my thirties? It aghasts me how easy it is for people to comment and advise others to do something, without realising the consequences of the hastily made choices that would have to be faced later. It’s a simple fact but many fail to understand – a wrong marriage ends with a divorce, unlike a bad relationship that ends with only a breakup. A divorce has a million more complications than a soured out relationship, and I’m honestly not in need of a partner either. 

I’m happy with my single status. All I need is an americano. And some fresh air!

At times like these, when I’m frustrated, a walk to the hospital cafeteria is almost like taking a stroll in a garden full of vibrant, kaleidoscopic flowers – pediatric ward is located on the same floor. I instantly feel better when I see those little kids, suffering from some disease or the other they were never meant to be battling, still cheerful and chirpy. It’s almost like they are invincible to all the pain and suffering, we as adults have to fight even if we’re losing the war. Sometimes, just sometimes, I do wish for my past relationships to have worked out...I would’ve been a father today. I would’ve had my own child. And family— 

“WHAT THE HELL?”

A burning sensation spreads over my forearm just as I make my way walk out of the cafeteria. It gets followed by a strong smell of coffee and my shirt seems drenched. It happens in a matter of few seconds, however, it takes me a good five minutes to process everything – I have collided into someone. And that someone is profusely apologizing.

“I’m so so sorry! I honestly didn’t see you coming. I’m really sorry!”

This voice. A voice of a woman sounds extremely familiar to me. Not of someone I have been touched, but of someone I know quite intimately. It is...wait.

“I’m really sorry, your arm is totally drenched with coffee. Let me help you. I’m really really sorry—”

“Anaisha, you!”

Just as I call her name, I find the same pair of hazelnut eyes I've been acquainted with, shot up to meet mine, and a small smile blooms to life.
She’s home. 

¤¤¤

Republished: January 18th, 2020

Music: 'Safar' by Arijit Singh (from Jab Harry Met Sejal)