Chapter 4: Whose bill is it anyway?

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in possession of a fortune, or just a regular-sized income, will not carry her wallet every time she steps out with the spouse. Her money is to be spent on her solo jaunts and may be put in to the service of an occasional date night or gift, whereas his money is their money. And quite fair too - after all, she's given up on her home, her bed, her books, her bathroom space and regular piece of mind to shack up with him, she can't be expected to shake off her material security as well. Right?

He believes it is his responsibility too, of course, budgeting everything in twos: 2 tickets to anywhere, 2 credit cards, 2 cars to maintain, 2 sets of parents, 2 new iPhones and so on. And he has to ensure some kind of buffer to buy that new PlayStation for himself, while she complains about the mounting expenses of her dental care. And he obviously cannot ask her for a loan to pay the overdue rent or utility bills or that ostentatious cup of coffee she absolutely has to have. He can only hope that she's saving up for rainy days, and the next vacation she wants them to take.

When they were dating she insisted on splitting everything from the hot chocolate fudge to the movie and dinner and even the new camera he wanted to buy. She had even drawn elaborate plans to open a joint account and pool finances every month to pay for all their expenses. She proselytised on equal share and equal rights between both consenting parties. She stuck her nose up at social conventions and would haughtily declare that they'd be different. That was then. Now, whether it's picking up the bar tab for her friends, treating her to a chocolate brownie, acquiring the hardback copy of her favourite book, getting her a haircut or buying her a new bike, it is his cost to bear.


Alas,

Some people, 
no matter what you give them,
still want the moon.

The bread, 
the salt, 
white meat and dark,
still hungry.

The marriage bed 
and the cradle,
still empty arms.

You give them land, 
their own earth under their feet,
still they take to the roads

And water: dig them the deepest well, 
still it’s not deep enough
to drink the moon from. 

Adam's Complaint by Denise Levertov

Chapter 3: 11 Signs your Husband used to be your Boyfriend

According to Biblical notions, a being undergoing transfiguration converts to a higher or exalted state. Codswallop, in my opinion, especially when the being in question is your mister. You know each and every one of his habits; you've even needed to have the toilet seat discussion (and failed) despite it being such a damn cliche. What you're not prepared for, perhaps, is a more degenerated version of his earlier self, one that no longer needs to prove himself, impress or do anything in particular. Read the following, and tell me if I'm wrong (or tell me I'm right and add a few of your own!):

1. He no longer brings you roses, or any other form of vegetation.
2. He belches and farts without apology.
3. He thinks it is too dangerous to hold hands, or anything else, while driving.
4. He thinks it is too dangerous to let you drive his car. (He offered to let you on your 2nd date, when you didn't even have a licence.)
5. His priority list is parents, new car, you (thank god he doesn't have a dog)
6. All his other toys, especially especially his smartass phone, take precedence over the time he spends with them.
7. He hates going out, or doing activities, on Sundays. But can spend the entire day on his PlayStation.
8. He's immune to your misery; tears make him especially irritated and annoyed.
9. He used to drive 6kms just to make you feel better; now he drives 6kms in the other direction to get away from your whining.
10. The only compliment he gives you - you've become so heavy - is not even a compliment.
11. You need to be sick, really sick, better still - hospitalized, to get him to take time off for you.
12. He thinks pampering is a cuss word.
13. He used to hate dropping you home at the end of the day; now he wishes you stay there longer.
14. He would rather have his own blanket than snuggle/struggle with you in one.
15. Your "honeymoon period" ended 5 months before the wedding.

Wait, that's a few above 11. I would have to change the title lest I be accused of not knowing how to count. I could go on though, but I really need the back rub tonight.

Chapter 2: The Hyphenation Equation

Being a fairly active social networker exposes one to a range of, well, social pressures. The first of these is the repetitive demand for change of status, that is, (re)define your relationship agreement with your partner: from being 'single' to 'in a relationship' to 'it's complicated' to 'married', each appended with the name of the person in question. (A different kind of pressure might regale you if there's a different individual attached to each status.)

So, there we were, on the eve of our wedding, when I got a ping on FB: Mr Sinhal says he's engaged to you. Would you like to confirm? And there was a photo too, in case I had any doubts. I looked at the freshly glittering ring on my finger, and politely pressed the 'decline' option. A day later came another request - to accept that Mr Sinhal had married me. I politely declined again, thinking about the conventions my poor partner had succumbed to: A marriage does not attain validation until it is declared and ratified on FaceBook. The status of our marriage, it can suffice to say, is still pending.



The second kind of peer pressure is perhaps the most clinching: how will you be re-named. You're bombarded with questions like: 'Why don't you want to take on your husband's surname?' 'Don't you love him?'  'What will your in-laws think?' 'It is how it is.' 'Why be difficult on such an ordinary thing?'  'You can use both. Aren't you proud to belong to 2 families now?' There's only so much you can will yourself to not punch them. And then ask them calmly, Does he want to take on mine? Will he wear his pride in his name too?

Anyway, I've discovered that there are many ways of doing this on FB:
1. Change your surname instantly. This goes usually with those who also instantly change their relationship status. After all, this is what you're meant to do officially in a few days anyway. And if an old school or college mate needs to to find you/recognize your friend request they don't need your name; the collection of profile pics and selfies that you post everyday should suffice. Heck, you would change your first name if it came to that.

2.  Keep the surname on FB, change it everywhere else. These are the chupa-rustams: you wouldn't know their changed status unless it was explicitly told to you. They keep their 'original' name for all social interactions otherwise they fear being lost to old school mates, cousins, emails, pics etc. They display pride for their 'original' identity but secretly harbour desires to be subsumed by the newness that they think awaits them with the altered surname. That's what their mothers and everybody else they know did and they see no harm in following it.

3. The double or hyphenated surname. This would seem like the easier, win-win option - keep your surname and add your husband's too. I've been told how it is a celebration of your new role/position in life, without sacrificing your 'first' identity. This option is the most commonly exercised, especially to make transition of official documents easier and it helps get bank accounts and loans faster. Some quirky ones use this for online benefits only - 'for fun' they say - and retain their original because they cannot bear the hassle of changing it everywhere officially. And it does make getting a new email simpler, without the need to add numbers and special characters.

However, the dangers that belie this suffixing activity can sometimes be a phonetician's nightmare. What if both surnames are not meant to co-exist, and ring absolutely out of sync? I tried mine out for good measure -  Singh Sinhal, Singh-Sinhal, Singh-al - and gave up; the combinations were getting absurder. Besides, it's someone else's name then, not mine. And I'm already AS, becoming a complete ASS is not one of my ambitions.

Chapter 1: The great honeymoon scam

Imagine my disappointment when my otherwise besura partner didn't suddenly spout soulful melodies in haseen samahs and khula aasmaans. Or my irritation with my otherwise creative brain's inability to spout great romantic lyrics. Are you telling me all this only happens in the movies? That I'm a fool for believing that post-wedding vacations are always cinematographically and musically perfect? That neither of us will reveal our superhero/ine alter-egos? (waise, I can't imagine my lazy husband getting off his bum to go save the world - so that was a goner in any case) There aren't supposed to be many surprises in a relationship anyway, after knowing someone for a very long time. So having been denied what I thought was a standard honeymoon ritual, I decided to wear my sunscreen and head to the beach. The mai tais did help put things in perspective, as did gorging on grilled fish, prawns and the like; and just when you thought you were gaining some colour, it ended. Just like that.

No matter how much annoying aunties and even more irritating peers would tell you, "the great honeymoon period" is just quite ordinary. Or even hectic. You get back to work almost immediately and get to see each other for a few hours every evening. You live nomadically, your car bearing the brunt of its constancy to you, shuttling the materials of your existence between home and not-home. Radcliffe would probably prefer to draw the Indo-Pak line again than witness portioning off of pillow-space, blankets and cupboards. The TV remote often disappears, hiding from the punching and snatching of violent fingers. Your bowels too launch an offensive in the struggle of who gets  to the pot first.

The only honey that remains, therefore, is on your pancakes, and the occasional moon you see is through the sun-roof of your beloved's new car.