Forty years is a long time. How did it last so long, and what is our secret. Let me tell you.
St Francis prayed for serenity to accept the things that cannot be changed, the courage to change the things that can be changed, and the wisdom to know the difference. God has not given me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, nor did I ask Him for it. So I went ahead with the courage to change the things I should.
When I married Sunil, I knew he was very kind, very generous, very romantic, terribly polite and very considerate. You might think for a moment that he was faultless; but he did have one or two faults that had to be changed.
The major fault was that he did not know where or how to shop. He bought me presents from John Lewis’ and Daniels’. I would accept the gifts with a big, false thank you, and other signs of appreciation; I would quietly retrieve the receipts from his wallet, and return the gifts to the shops. After 2-3 years of this, I thought that something had to be done. I introduced him to shops in Bond Street and Knightsbridge, and of course Tiffany’s. Until then, he had thought that Tiffany’s was a café serving only breakfast.
He thinks that he is a very good driver. Then, why is he always teetering on 9 points? And attending Speed Awareness Courses? Here is our typical journey to London, with him driving:
I swear that he drove through a red – not a
yellow – light,
Plus he’s doing 71 in a 50-mile zone
And he’s in the wrong lane if he plans to take a
right.
I mention all this in a loving, respectful tone,
While alerting him to the fellow crossing the
street,
And the fact that he’s way too close to the car
ahead.
I speak in a voice so gentle, so soft, and so sweet
That he really should be ashamed of what he
just said.
But as undeterred by his words as I’ve always
been,
I suggest putting on the headlights because its
dark,
Observe that he almost collided when he cut in,
And point out that a stop sign means stop –
full stop – not slow,
And that if he makes that U-turn we’ll probably
die.
But I never convey either rancour or reproach,
Hoping that one of these years he’ll be grateful
that I
Am not merely his life companion but also his
driving coach.
When I drive, he can convey his message to me without any words. If I hit the kerb, he leaps up from his seat as though someone had put a hot poker up his … He applies brakes from his passenger side. He ducks or moves away in his seat from an imaginary impending collision. So I may not be such a good driver as he is; but I have only 3 points.
Marriage, they say survives on communication. We have excellent communication – but it’s only one way. I talk and he doesn’t. He doesn’t even listen to what I am saying. At dinner, I talk and he does not. Occasionally, he grunts an approval. But I know he is not listening when the grunt is badly timed. One day I decided to keep quiet to see if he would notice, and say something. He did finally speak – and you know what, he said something about cricket. Am I bowered?
He used to speak twice a day, and that was to the dog. “Good morning Polo, how are you”, and in the evening, “Good evening Polo, how was your day”. But that also stopped when the dog died.
Over the years, we have worked out a few essential things in life:
How long his mother should visit
How much is enough insurance
That overseas travel has to be in comfort
Hotels have to be 5 star
Diamonds are not a luxury
But thermostatically, we are incompatible.
Lately I am in the kitchen in my sweater and fleece-lined jacket; he sits there in a short-sleeved shirt, asking whether he can open the window to let some fresh air in. May be we have to start eating in separate rooms.
Sometimes I am in bed, hot and gasping for breath; he is right beside me in flannel pyjamas asking whether I could keep the window closed. May be we’ll have to sleep in separate rooms.
So there is a 65º F separation between us.
We seldom argue. In fact we never argue. You can’t believe it, can you. Because you need two people to have an argument. If there is a disagreement, I want to sort it out with a few words naturally. But he goes completely silent. He knows that his silence works me up, much more than any number of words can. Eventually, I give up – obviously defeated.
I like to dance, and he does not. We would go to dances and balls; and all the other husbands would have taken their wives on to the dance floor, and I would sit there waiting to be asked; and I’d wait, and wait and wait. I went through a few events like this; and then I started asking him to dance. One day, on the way back from a dance, I told him very gently and very softly, but in no uncertain terms, how it’s done. Now he is so frightened that when the band strikes the first note, he is up by my side asking me to dance. So that’s sorted.
So I have changed him to my liking in many respects, and am still working on some of the others. But I wouldn’t change him for the world.
He is a wonderful husband and father. He is extremely generous to me and the boys. He has never said No to anything I wanted, but I must say I am a woman of thrift, and have not demanded much.
Here is a poem I came across, and it is suitable for today:
He is my friend
He likes me when I am dopey, and not just when I am smart
I worry a lot about pythons, and he understands.
My toes point in and my shoulders droop; and
there are wrinkles on my face
But he says I look good.
He is my friend
He likes me when I am grouchy, and not just
when I am nice
I worry a lot about werewolves, and he
understands.
There are hairs growing all over me except on my eyeballs and my teeth
But he says I look good.
He is my friend
When I had a flat tyre I called him
When I broke my leg I called him
When I cut my finger I called him.
He is my friend
He would try to save me if there was a tidal wave
He’d hunt for me if kidnappers stole me away
And if I was never found again
He can have my toothbrush.
