Love to See You Cry

The other day, I got a forwarded message on WhatsApp. I had a good laugh going through this image. I do not know about the authenticity of this news but Google came up with a few links related to this crash course on crying. You can check too (This New Crash Course will Now Teach Brides How to Cry on Their 'Vidaai') and thank me later for a ROFL moment!

While I am marveling at the entrepreneurship skills of that lady who came up with such an innovative course, I am recollecting the events during my 'Vidaai'. Yours truly got married in the year 2015. Let me tell you about the years before my marriage. I started staying on my own since I was twenty-two. The first time when I left my sweet home to go to the humble college hostel, I cried my heart out. Being the only child of my parents, I was a pampered and overprotected kid. Staying on my own was a liberating yet frightening thought. My parents were unhappy too. How was their kid going to survive on the hostel mess food? I still remember my mother requesting the hostel warden to keep an eye on me as I was going to stay away from home for the first time. In many ways, I guess that was my real Vidaai, back in August 2009.

November 26, 2015. In the midst of various rituals and hordes of relatives, I was being ushered into a decorated car. As a newlywed bride leaving her home, I was expected to shed tears. My father was busy ensuring that the ceremony went off smoothly and was nowhere in sight. I could see my mother's moist eyes. And I could feel a dozen pairs of eyes searching my face for a tinge of sadness. Well, I have never been great at displaying my emotions in front of others. After six years of staying on my own, this moment felt like one of those innumerable times when my parents saw me off at the airport or the railway station. Only this time, there were too many faces waving goodbyes and I was decked in a bridal wear. I was sad because my mother became sad at that moment. "I will see you tomorrow during the wedding reception," I whispered to her with dry eyes. She nodded.

While that intimate moment was between a mother and her daughter, it got scrutinized by many.

"I heard that you didn't cry during the Vidaai? It seems that you are so happy to get away from your parents," I was being judged by a neighborhood aunt during one of my visits to my parents.

"I cried a lot during my first Vidaai in 2009, had no more tears left for this one," I winked, trying not to laugh at her expression.

P.S.: This post would be incomplete without listening to Enrique's song Love to See You Cry. I am imagining my neighborhood aunt singing the first few lines of this song at someone else's Vidaai!

Comments

Being a "Housewife" and Baking Shit

Even though my mother and mother-in law are both successful homemakers and I have immense respect for homemakers who are unsung superwomen, I still find the tag of a 'housewife' as my identity pretty insulting. Blame it to the spirit of feminism that arises from time to time to attack my poor husband or the fact that I had worked for five years at a stretch before marriage and had led a very independent life, I never thought that I could be labelled as a housewife. Alas! God had some different plans. Early this year, moving to the U.S. on a dependent spouse visa made me the quintessential housewife. I bawled, shouted, and argued with my dear husband whom I held responsible for my plight. As if my feminist rants were not enough to torture him, I decided to exhibit my limited culinary skills to feed him, making good use of all the free time I had. The Birthday Cake August came and I started planning for my husband's birthday. When we were in a long dist...

When I Met Harry

Harry came to my life when I was in the eighth standard. A bespectacled young boy with ruffled jet black hair, green eyes, and a scar on his forehead; a boy to fall in love with. Don't blame me as I was a teenager who wanted a spell of magic in her life and to run away to the Hogwarts. I hated being a muggle and aspired to become another Hermione Granger. I imagined myself boarding the Hogwarts Express and reaching Hogsmeade, going to that magical school, and learning to wave my wand. I had once written a secret letter to Harry on Valentine's day and later decided to keep it safe in my diary. When I watched 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone' for the first time, I lost my mind (and heart!) over that young and extremely cute Daniel Radcliffe. I remember keeping newspaper cuttings of anything and everything related to him. I still have them, safely secured in my old trunk. Well, that infatuation lasted for a couple of years till I graduated from college. And...

Protective Mothers or Rape Deniers?

Who else can teach a young boy about the meanings of 'consent' and 'harassment' better than his own mother? (Image credit: Pixabay) I came across an interesting article in The New York Times last month about a group of mothers defending their sons who had been accused of sexual assaults at college campuses. In the U.S., the guidelines on campus sexual assaults had been pretty stringent so far. However, these guidelines have been blamed to presume the accused students as guilty, who are usually suspended or expelled from the college campuses for a certain amount of time. Needless to say, most of the accused are men. These mothers are on a mission to save their sons who, they believe, were “wrongly accused.” As protective mothers, they had compelled the college authorities to relook into their sons’ charges. Some of them consider themselves as feminists and hold opinions that how girls today have misconstrued the definition of sexual assault. ...

A Journey

Train number: 18610 Boarding Station: Lokmanya Tilak Terminus, Mumbai Destination Station: Ranchi Traveling long distances by trains is nothing new to me. However this particular journey in 2013 has been vivid in my memory. Thanks to my peanut salary and a last-minute travel plan, I could not book an air ticket for that trip. So, I decided to go by train. Cherry on the cake, I could manage to get a berth in the humble non AC sleeper class only. My journey started on a scary note when I found a drunken passenger next to my seat. Thankfully he got off at Kalyan, the next station. I heaved a sigh of relief and waited for my other co-passengers to board the train. One middle-aged woman came and sat next to me. A married couple followed her. Two college going teenagers filled the remaining seats. And my long journey of thirty-nine and half hours actually started. Sitting by the window, I enjoyed the view outside. Small talks followed. The middle-aged woman...

Books and Coffee

As ridiculous as it might sound, at the end of a long tiring day, a perfect date for me means a large cup of coffee and an interesting novel to read. Yes, you have the liberty to label me as an anti-social and a nerdy introvert! I find it pretty amusing when someone tells me that reading novels is a wastage of time. Or that someone likes to go through work-related books and not elaborate literary pieces. An introvert raised as a single child, I have always found solace in my books. My love for storybooks started with Snow White, Cinderella, Peter Pan, and Little Mermaid. My father introduced me early to the monthly kids magazines- Tinkle, Champak , Nandan and Chandamama . I do not know if these magazines still exist. Billu, Pinki and Chacha Chowdhary followed soon. The Famous Five and The Little Women too entered into my life. Being a true Bong, Anandamela was an absolute necessity during Durga Pujo. The lazy afternoons of summer vacations were sometimes spent on Tagore...

Lost & Found!

It was a cold December morning. I had to catch a flight to reach Mumbai by afternoon. As fate plays foul, due to foggy weather and delay by the flight to take off, I landed up in Mumbai by six in the evening. My destination was Pune, so the journey continued further with a cab ride. Finally, by ten at night, I reached. The next part was catching an auto-rickshaw to go home. I happily hired one and suddenly to my horror, I realized that MY WALLET WAS MISSING!!! It was late, I was alone, the road was quite deserted, the auto-rickshaw driver looked scary and my wallet was missing. All sort of random thoughts were flooding my mind. Three words to sum up my condition, I was the "Damsel in Distress". After taking a few deep breaths, I called up my "Knight in Shining Armour" (read my best friend , staying in another city) to rescue my money by blocking the debit cards left in my wallet. Somehow I reached home, borrowed money from my local grocery guy to...

My Diary Pages

Search This Blog