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Reluctant Heroine

My name is Anil and I had just recently joined a college in the neighbouring big city. My college had in fact earlier been a women's college and had just opened up for male students this year. This meant that there were very few guys …

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By gxs146

Editor's Choice

English · Spouse today

A mundane marriage

Rahul and Priya sat opposite each other at the small table in the corner of the local Haldiram's. Their parents sat two tables away, deliberately giving them "privacy." It was the first time they were speaking alone. Rahul stirred his cold coffee. He was twenty-six, a software engineer with a good starting salary at a mid-sized firm in Noida. Priya was twenty-three, recently graduated with a B.Com degree. "So," Rahul said, looking at the plastic table. "Do you like living in the city? If this works out, we'll be moving to an apartment near my office." Priya looked at him. She was wearing a heavy, embroidered salwar kameez her mother had insisted on. "I don't mind. I prefer the city. My village is very quiet." "Do you want to work?" he asked. "My parents expect me to manage the house," she said evenly. "I don't have any strong career ambitions right now." Rahul nodded. "Okay. My parents want a traditional setup. A wife who cooks, cleans, and looks after the family." "I know," Priya said. "That is what is expected." They didn't speak much more. Two weeks later, they were engaged. Three months after that, they were married in a large, loud ceremony in Uttar Pradesh, surrounded by five hundred guests. Neither felt a spark. It was a transaction managed by their families. Shortly after, they moved into a rented 2BHK flat in a high-rise society in Gurgaon. Their routine established itself quickly. Rahul woke up at 7:00 AM. Priya woke up at 6:30 AM to make his tea and pack his tiffin—roti, subzi, and dal. Rahul returned at 7:30 PM. They ate dinner in front of the television, usually watching a news channel. They spoke about the building maintenance, the price of vegetables, and the traffic. They were polite. Rahul didn't raise his voice. Priya kept the house spotless. They functioned well as roommates. The physical aspect of their marriage was mechanical. It happened perhaps once a month, usually on a Friday night. Rahul would turn off the main bedroom light, leaving only the small bathroom bulb on. He would approach her in the dark. It was always missionary. It lasted five to seven minutes. He would roll over and fall asleep almost immediately. Priya would lie awake, staring at the ceiling fan. She felt nothing during the act, only a mild annoyance at the routine. She didn't hate Rahul, but she hated the boredom. Underneath the surface of this mundane life, both hid significant secrets. Priya despised the traditional expectations forced upon her. She hated the mandatory mangalsutra that scratched her neck. She hated the red glass bangles that clinked when she washed dishes. She hated wearing sarees when his parents visited. In her mind, she wasn't a submissive housewife. During their brief, boring sexual encounters, she managed her frustration by closing her eyes and imagining a completely different scenario. She imagined she was the one in control. She visualized pinning Rahul's hands to the mattress, sitting heavily on his chest, and dictating exactly what he could and couldn't do. Rahul’s secret was even deeper. He felt crushed by the pressure of being the provider, the "man of the house." He had no desire to lead. Since he was fifteen, he had harbored intense, shameful urges. He wanted to submit. He wanted to be told what to do. He wanted to wear women's clothing—the soft fabrics, the bright colors. He fantasized about serving a strict, powerful woman, not as a husband, but as a servant. A maid. But he knew the reality of his middle-class Indian upbringing. If anyone found out, he would be a pariah. So, he locked those feelings away and played the role assigned to him.

priyasri

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Hindi · Friends yesterday

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