“Pause, you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.”
This is my wife’s favourite quote. Charles Dickens, probably from a book about orphans living a sad life until a series of ridiculous coincidences reveal that every character is related to each other. She has it framed on the wall in our drawing room, whether as a taunt or a warning, I am not sure of.
We got married after almost four years of courting. Two of those were long-distance. She was in a hostel in Faridabad, training for her job, while I was working at a magazine in Mumbai. I lived in a single room with a commode-in-a-cupboard that the landlord had the imagination to call a studio apartment. I used it mostly as a place to make instant noodles before going to bed. It was also the time I was getting into stand-up comedy, and working on my own writing in my off-hours.
In those months, my time was my own to spend. I would be at a different kind of event each night of the week. Meet new people, go to new places with them, ingest new things and wake up in different places after that. Some days I would skip work just to binge-read a new book, or a new series. My only plan of action to survive till my (then) girlfriend was done with her training, and then see where life takes us.
Now, being away from your committed partner can be difficult, but not in the way people think. For some, infidelity might be an issue, but it wasn’t for misanthropes like us. How it is difficult is that it allows you to develop a romantic relationship without having the problems growing familiarity brings. Love can bloom far away from loud chewing, clinginess and ‘who was that girl you were looking at’. Love exists in that classical, distant way and you don’t have to deal with running home from work to shower and change before a date because you always smell nice on a Skype call.
All that free time, of course, disappears when the long-distance ends and you start looking to settle down. All your free evenings of cheap bars and talking to strangers or even just sitting at home playing games or reading books lose out to date nights, shopping nights, or just sitting at home ironing your clothes (which we bought on a shopping night, so that my clothes are nicely ironed for date nights). Invites from your friends dry up because they know you’ll never come, and your boss brings up how you leave at six every day when it’s time for your appraisal. You start to miss open mics and comedy gigs, and the ones you do go to you leave as soon as your spot is done.
But then you come home and make two cups of chai, and sit down for a recap of your days, and you remember why you got yourself into this mess in the first place. You think back to the first time you felt it, what made you feel that this is worth giving up half your life for. In my case, it was a night spent walking and talking in JNU till dawn. The only reason I left at dawn was because it was time for her classes, and me to go to work.
Four years later, I come straight home from work. I don’t binge on books, shows or beer all night the way I used to. I don’t have long, unproductive sessions bantering with friends. I wake up early even though I work from home to make breakfast for us, before putting the clothes to wash and making the bed and other everyday chores. Our house is a lot more than the bachelor crash-pad I had last year. It is where I come to after I say ‘no thanks’ to after-parties after a good show. It is where I stay and work freelance instead of jobs that would keep me away for long hours. It is where my wife and I build our life together. Our life, not my life, which I gave up half of to make it a part of hers, and she mine, so we both could be something more than just individuals together.
And should I ever forget, or regret, the decision that led me to this house, this life, and this marriage, the framed quotation on the wall reminds me of why I chose it, that first night when we spent walking and talking together.
Adhiraj Singh is a Mumbai-based writer and stand-up comedian