My husband’s wife

Once in a while, I see a glimpse of human nature that broadens my horizon about the endless possibilities of human relationships. As I read a very interesting book, I am beginning to understand why concepts such as "one and only" and "happily forever after," concepts mostly in the human imagination have been persistently fed over generations. The idea of a husband and wife and two happy children playing on the lawn with the pets to make a perfect family. More on that book later.

I asked a colleague if she has plans for the weekend. She smiled happily and told me that she is organizing a birthday party for her husband's first wife and both are spending the weekend together with all the kids. I don't know why I heard husband but thought father, my social programming perhaps, but I embarrassed myself by asking, "Your step-mom?"

She was amused. She corrected me, "My husband's first wife, not my father's."

Wow. It takes a certain mindset and maturity, a certain degree of evolution and acceptance to be friends with your husband's ex-wife and plan her birthday. Most people I know in this awkward triangle would be ready to kill each other, and understandably so. I imagined a hypothetical situation of hanging out with my husband's wife (I don't know if I would want to be the second one or the first one if it came to that). Honestly, I don't know.  

I applaud people who can willingly be friends in complex relationships that might have involved anger, jealousy, hatred, and tears at some point. Especially because the husband, the binding agent in this case passed last year. So this birthday planning was obviously not coming from a place of compulsion.

sunshine

Are you okay?

Tensed. Uptight. Anger hurled at myself as much as anger hurled at you. Ego. All the forces humankind calls feelings that did not let me speak with you all this while. All this while, I held on to my silence as my armor and my weapon, angry at the unfairness that after coming so far and so close, we had to say a goodbye. Angry enough never to talk again. Invisible self-created barriers and self-inflicted rules that would stop me from asking or thinking about you. I told myself I had moved on. But then I heard of the blasts. I heard it, saw it, and felt it all around me. My first thought was – “Are you okay?” I worried about the X and the Y and the Z people I knew in Mumbai, hoping that they are all fine. You are the only one I wanted to speak with then and there to make sure you are fine. For the first few minutes, I could actually feel the sinking feeling deep down. I looked at the pictures of places burning and charred flesh scattered, and my heart shuddered at the thought that you could be in one of them. I drifted back to the memory of the conversation I had with you a few years back. A futile one if I must say, for you never did listen to me. Why live in Mumbai? I had asked. Why not come to the US?

-

Because this is where I belong. Curt. Simple. To the point. A lot was left unsaid. We went our own ways. Our ways never crossed again. “If only…”, I thought. I would not be worrying about you this way today. I left voice messages. I sent emails. All I cared about was the assurance that you were fine. Selfish and dastardly though it may sound, your safety was my first concern. I had 10 school friends, 18 college friends, 8 friends from social networking sites, and 5 blog acquaintances over there, give or take 10 more. Yet the person I learnt to stop caring about was the first one I wanted to know about. Suddenly, it seemed unfair that you should be in the midst of chaos while I should be vacationing, enjoying my thanksgiving dinners, and sightseeing Philadelphia. A simple “I am fine, thank you” was all I longed for. “Yes, I am fine, thanks for asking. I am in Singapore”. Oh Singapore? As far as it could get away from the trouble zone. I am glad. I feel happy. I said a thank-you-God. 

And then it resurfaced. The pain, the bitterness, the agony. It is amazing how a distressful news connected me to you, unselfishly, even though momentarily. All I cared about was the assurance that you were fine. And now that I knew you were fine, all my bitterness resurfaced. I had my hands crossed against my chest. They said it was a body language showing defensiveness. “Am glad that you are fine. Have a good life” “Can’t we still be friends? Why the animosity?”, you were quick to ask. “No, I don’t think we can be friends” Signed out. I wondered, why such care and concern if the hostility and the defensiveness had to resurface once I knew all was fine. It’s like not wanting to see him hurt, but reserving the rights of hurting him in my own way. Sometimes I have difficulty in understanding myself. I told myself all this while that I did not care. But I think I did. Maybe not enough to want to stick around in your life, but enough to want you to stick around here in this world. Safe. 

 sunshine.