I told her “I’d never gift her on any Valentine’s Day. It’s not our culture. The day has nothing to do with love…”, the words faded away as if it didn’t make any sense to her. Thus she married me on 14-feb-2009. No more a bachelor, hesitantly, changed the marital status on the social networking sites, imagining end of fun-filled life. For few weeks, initially, it did seems so different(read: difficult) sleeping with a lady, where all your life it were either your parents or roommates (men, and it surely doesn’t mean anything beyond, “sleeping” with men, and absolutely not “sleeping” with men)
It started with a nervous date, but ended in a hectic day, and that we decided never to marry again in our life. Travel of about 350 km in a day, a long day, which mainly included following the priest doing the rituals and questioning him, as if I were smarter, about almost every step he did and finally giving up for it was getting late, which finally ended in a night, we dreaded. Just because we were tired, and nothing else. (I do not owe any more explanations.)
Next day was horrifying. We had our reception. Indian/Gujarati/Any-other receptions generally have the couple “decorated” on the stage, with smiles pasted and painful heels for about three hours to look at guests enjoying fine culinary arts of hired cooks. They greet us and go to the dinner counters/tables and we stand there smiling. “Damn, I am hungry..!!” I barked when we got a small break from well wishers who were parked right below the stage, in lovely queue, big enough to curse about my hunger for some time more.
After, a round of photo session, “Ah, I shouldn’t have married to early”, I thought, (It wasn’t going to matter anyways), finally, got my hands on food “Oh my love, I’ve missed you so much”, all I remember was the last burp “Sense of Satisfaction”. Second day of our marriage and guests still there, we slept together, amidst relatives and family.
To be continued..