Love Amidst The Chaos

44| Biannual

~ Vidyut ~

The little pitter-patter of the first monsoon rain still lingers on the sliding glass door of the kitchen. The door is left slightly ajar for Snowy, who's out in the backyard and gleefully pawing at daddu's flowers. She seems intent on her usual mischief- tearing down flower petals. I smile at the scene with a head shake, it's a usual scene after which daddu and Snowy go on a cold war before cuddling up exactly thirty minutes later.

Perfectly ready for the fry, the oil gently sizzles from the stove top, the aroma of heating oil mingling with the earthy scent of first rain and soil, filling the space with warmth. A warmth similar to the waves and breeze of the sea during a summer night. The warmth of the first and last rays of sun.

I add the last spoon of gram flour to the bowl in which thinly sliced onion is meshed along with all other spices and herbs, ready to be dipped in the waiting pan.

Like any other typical Indian household, pakodas are an ultimate love. During the monsoon, especially after the very first drizzle while we await the next, the love enhances to an inhabiting need we collectively convince ourselves is inherited from our father.

The last time I made them was exactly a year back, during the first rain of monsoon. When I was a bachelor, I usually never made time to cook as religiously as I do these days. The times I set foot in the kitchen were mostly during occasions like these.

And now, standing here while frying pakodas, I can't help but think about how much my life has changed in the past six months. A stark contrast to the solitude I once cherished. Last monsoon I was a solid bachelor and this monsoon I'm a married man, extremely happy in his marriage. It is strange as I look back at it but it is also wonderful.

So wonderful that I can barely put it into words. And over it, equally scary.

Scared to go back to that solitude I once cherished. After having my wife imprint herself in each and every nook and corner of my life the thought of going back to that unsettles me.

I watch the oil bubble around the scoops I line down into the pan. My hand works on autopilot while my thoughts are still busy reflecting everything in me.

In a world where men are often perceived as the strong, independent gender, it's ironic how deeply dependent we can become, as I have on Esha. We might be financially independent in ways more than many women, not that I am any more than my wife. Pay parity, gender bias, stereotypes and a lot more things are so common almost everywhere even today. But when it comes to personal and emotional growth and independence, I believe most of the men are heavily dependent on the women in their life. Be it a partner, mother, sister or a good friend. If not all, most are too leaned into them for solace. I am.

It terrifies me how men like me would deteriorate without their woman, while women can literally thrive without men.

We end up becoming a responsibility they end up shouldering in most of the cases. From little things like house chores and setting the room to their accord to every emotional and physical support and almost every aspect is perceived in their direction.

I never thought I would end up like that. Because since the time I remember I have been doing my things on my own. Be it anything, I have had it all covered.

Then the last six months happened, she happened, came and took over everything. I let her too. It felt good. I loved it. I still do. But then there are times when she's not close and I struggle like a toddler. Unaware of what to do because I've grown so into her, she's grown fully into me that being without her for more than a day makes me suffocated. I can barely do my own things on my own.