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A fresh prejudice of stale marriage

A fresh prejudice of stale marriage

She is divorced, she is hot and she is coming to get you.

Failed marriages, marriage -dirt on your chin, gum in your hair and any other reference that belittles marriage and the tie that begs to be held on to, long after the rope is withered and dust. Like what the heat in the dessert does to old nylon ropes and the clothes clips. You seem to get rid of a marriage that failed.. toilet paper stuck under your shoe .. another metaphor that comes to mind. It follows you around, like a smell everyone else gets, except you. A bubble above your head that points down “failed marriage contender in the room, alert everyone, there is a failed marriage contender in the room.”  

Considering , much spoken about Indian norms, expectations have evolved from stay at home and spread legs at command so you can play gumball machine and pop pop pop, three children, one Neanderthal man and patronizing mother in law later,big happy family , no yet !..oops pop pop pop.. there come another three, home sweet home, my prison, my sanctuary. Stay at home. You don’t have to look good, its alright, you can look 50 when you are 30, nobody cares.  Man bring bread, lady make yum yum. No wait.. oops .. pop pop pop.. here come the rugrats! Sweat shop here we come.. awww… end of tableau one.. forward to now. Lady wear man trouser, smoke cigarette , drink hot drinks, drive car, study in abroad , experiment with women. now slow mo to wear lady trouser, quit smoking, alcohol ? nooo…. , drive mini van , and make baby… pop pop pop.. work outside and inside… home is where the heart is.

Three essential duties,

-be a successful career woman, it’s the new age.

-be a great mom, clean baby poop and cook three meals.

-stay in shape, “look 20 , when you are 40!” .or  you wouldn’t want the nonexistent, unimpressive mysterious penis (anatomy of which you have a vague recollection ( I think it looks like a toe… hmm… no wait.. yes .. a toe!) to suddenly pack his sacs up and leave for the dreaded younger sexually agile woman now would you??...

Should you choose the path a few dared choose , the path on which lie many hurdles, many sniggers and  old poppers spillin the nasties , should you choose this path, instant makeover free of charge!.. a brand new neon sign with detachable helmet for travel, a few extra imaginary pounds, and invisible man corpse dragging behind you, that somehow , everyone else sees  and slut painted in lemon juice on your forehead, every time you come in contact with heat , its visible. Human contact, lights, street lights, table lamps, lighters. Sun, guaranteed. Warranty, the next millennia.

 Having a friend with a failed marriage, you hear the worst of the crap from around you. People shamelessly seek the dirt. They play you so well knowing you aren’t going to go to the ‘leper’ and tell her “you know what Smitha aunty asked me?” its another thing that we all suppose that the other person is the spawn of Nostradamus and they already know what the people have been saying, with a ridiculous question like “you know what ………, you know the moon fell on the cow in my backyard… .., you know, you know , you know .” but yes, Smitha aunty asked if you were sleeping with amits best friend and that’s why you stopped doing it with Amit.” You d see why I d hesitate to ask my already sore friend, who has come to a point where her systems hangs when people ask here he generic “hello, how are things?” can you blame her, the gleam in the old and young alike, hoping she ll tell you something about the bitter split and uncaring if she is dying with cancer. Give me adultery over adulteration any day. Going to the restaurant is a task , when you meet the obscure family friend you last met when life was simpler. The jolly hello! How are things result in system overload… processing…Output is  ott expressions coupled with euphoric statements that she doesn’t really recall later. The walk of shame back to your table. The family spends the whole evening  with sidelong glances, huddled heads and hushed whispers. Don’t you think about ordering that second round of drinks! Aunty sympathy s statements about “he was a bad man, bad bad man.” Will be retracted and new statement, “no wonder it dint work, she is an alcoholic, everyday she roams around town , drinking.” Drafted, unedited and printed, no questions asked, no answers given (you obviously don’t know all this is happening).  

God bless your soul if you get married to someone you already knew, ‘love marriage’, that scoop is just fresh meat to the people on the waiting list for ‘our lady of sorrow’s home for the aged.’ The riot that the flesh hangers will have, lordy lordy lord. “ this is what happens , this is what happens when you give children what they want, love marriage, you saw what happened to that one?.. You saw?... ahh… this is what happens.” 

I pray for the hearts of those women , who get married to not only people they were in love with, but should the marriage end during a time all your other comrades are heading to the promised land of coupledom. a line from much abused hotel California come s to mind, ‘you can check out anytime you like , but you can never leave.’ The sheer pain, of being around, the giggling, naïve, suddenly anorexic classmate and her new beau, who is by the way, already letching at women on the dance floor.

You , who is wise, have to sit through the heat on speed, and try not to say anything close to the real world scene of marriage, god forbid you should steal the bride-to-be’s thunder. Don’t even think of dancing with the lecherous groom to be. Gal pals, try and tell you not to overdress, please be understated. Don’t wear anything to fancy. Only us women guard top secret information that the biggest bitches are your closest friends. Maintain three rules do not under any circumstance digress, the dress dowdy, one arms distance, don’t get coyote ugly drunk and you will be on the receiving end of a lot of sisterly love, and girls night outs. You toe the line, no more phone calls; finger the rules, no more female friends. Women who are separated , divorced have a disease, symptoms being,

a) social deteriorating number of girl friends

b) Increasing number of male friends, especially the ones who were mackin on you in school and before you met the bastard ingrate you married.

People breaking up, move on to lead their lives. In search of fulfillment , in search of elusive soul mate. The relationship that won’t end in the drama that continues, this finding is also bound by the ‘right’ time for yourself. This for me translates, into , from time of break up, until  all information of ex happy couple and following break up ,has reached whomsoever it may concern and more to whomsoever it may not but make it their life s mission to follow the story. So until, the information has reached all ears, and people have had the time to critically analyze, dissect and beat to pulp for information from all possible and impossible angles. Until such time, the people who provide these vicarious pleasures shall not get into another relationship that is happy or fulfilling. But if they should get into something to provide viewers all, the extra dirt that greases their pathetic mundane lives until bedtime, such gossip is welcome. But no finding the person you want to ‘settle down’ with. No way Pranay (Indian counterpart for Hosez). We demand our free entertainments worth.

Being pro tolerant-humans, I cannot see why other wise insane humans, suddenly claim sanity when it come s to marriage and the seven levels of hell to it. the otherwise beer mug happy, sexually liberated, bed hopping woman/ man is excited when it comes to a divorcee, reactions being on opposite ends of the spectrum of response.

While one avoids the big bad divorcee like a pig in time of swine flu and the other tries his hardest to get her horizontal or vertical if he is capable of it. I choke with pride at the woman who packed her bag and walked out on a union that dint feel right. She did not stay at a house that was decorated, a car ready for her. She picked herself up dusted the atta of her apron and walked out. A woman who chooses to stay, for the sake of a ‘marriage’, sorry to tell you, you don’t have my respect. If you can get out, move on and shine without hanging on a mans assistant manager post, if you can see there is no nobility in staying in a relationship whose call of the day is putting on a front for everyone that you are happy, if you are staying because you are scared of what people will say , what your parents will feel , you are not noble. You are scared, you are coward.

There is strength, in baring all, and covering nothing. Not hiding your shame behind a chain around your neck has more value in money than your farce of a relationship. To all women who took that step, that moment they decided no more thank you. Thank you for not tolerating, do not tolerate. Expect, we are taught not to expect anything from people, but as a woman, you are expected to live by these expectations. Live life following rules of expectations. Learn that you have a right to expect, above and beyond what you think you deserve. You have a future with the whole walking into the sunset, maybe on a beautiful chestnut mare ,with a hottie on a black stallion, . Better yet, you can ride that black stallion yourself into the sunrise, after the darkest longest nights you’ve endured.

 Photo by Sourabh Virdi on Unsplash

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