As the years flew by, the wedding photo of the smiling couple on the bedside table was replaced by a shot of the same couple carrying a chubby, innocent looking…tyrant!
Life wasn’t at all great for me. It wasn’t even mildly good. I mean, on a scale of one to ten how bad would getting married be?
As I sat pouring my woes to some stone wall in the deserted corner of my marital home, my thoughts raised back to day one that ensued my day of marriage. I had just stepped into a home where mom’s the word. It was the day all eyes were on me. And I could see stormy speech bubbles over some heads (including mine) in the room.
The Woman Hitler of the house: I am here to finish you, sweetheart. She smiled wryly at me.
People around (mourning): Just look at the bride. She is so young and willing to get… SLAUGHTERED!
I, the new bride who tricked the Woman Hitler’s little lamb into marriage: Of course, I was going to be fine. I descend from a strong lineage of lunatics. I assured myself.
Our paths crossed before marriage after several rounds of the bride-bridegroom tête-à-têtes. She was last in line to meet me for a reason which is yet to be unearthed. Since then our love-hate relationship had been growing in leaps and bounds. After having met her, I used to imagine a billion scenarios and a trillion exciting ways to blatantly tell her that she sucks! But I never got a lucky chance and I kept playing them over and over in my mind scripting every word.
Ever wondered why Adam and Eve were the luckiest and the happiest couple in the world? Right, guess. No mothers-in-law. Since time immemorial, no daughter-in-law has said “I love living with my mother-in-law.” And I was no exception either. Take it from me, pigs would fly before anything like that would happen. I didn’t particularly hate that lady. But if she was ablaze and I had water, I’d drink it! And whenever she came over for a visit to our place, I made sure that there was nothing around the house that made her feel she was welcome in the house.
Most of the time, Belle-mere had me tongue-tied during our heated-up conversations. I would have always wanted to answer cheekily but would end up sugarcoating my arguments or just be mum.
It went something like this…
She: I come from a reputed and influential family of ancestors and bear a respected family name. Unlike you!
The answer I wished to give: Urghh! And I come from a pigsty!
The answer I ended up giving: Okay (with eyes cast down).
She: Why do you wear your hair in this fashion?
The answer I wished to give: Huh? That way my horns won’t show (with a sneer).
The answer I ended up giving: Hmmm…
The “chronic complaining stone-faced” device had another problem too – her obsession with her offsprings 1 and 2. We would be speaking about something found on Mars and would eventually end up speaking about her offspring. She never failed to remind me daily of her family’s “greatlessness” and my family’s “breathlessness”. Wouldn’t these be enough for me to want to mercilessly push her out of a moving train?
I remember on an occasion when the blame game between me and her little lamb was at high stakes, he happened to say, “You always find faults with my relatives.” And to this, my sassy reply was, “Not always! For instance, I love YOUR mother-in-law more than mine.” Even to this day, I thank my lucky stars that he hasn’t sent the local goons to settle the scores.
Indian mothers-in-law are a subject of some serious academic research. Times may have changed but I guess the compatibility issues with them are still a lingering issue for most of us. Not to mention the insecurity and the power struggle that creeps in post-marriage. And sometimes it’s best to keep them at bay so as not to sabotage the marital relationship.
I am not particularly paranoid but, just to play it safe lest I arouse any suspicion…
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Dear readers, I am Pooja Warrier, at least thats what my birth certificate says ! Since I failed miserably in finding a magical gemstone, I am an HR Generalist who works to earn a dime . As a creative writer, I have published a couple of articles on The ArmChair Journal and also coauthored some anthologies. Roles I juggle on the personal front : an unruly daughter, a pestering wife, a nagging mother and an overprotective elder sister. I admit having a somewhat unhealthy obsession with dancing, sketching and drawing. Would that be enough?
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