I was slowly trying to find my feet, both in the city and in my married life.Having got married in June, I was now into August, which was a very stressful time as I had lost my father just two years back and this would be the first time that I would be without my family. The tears flowed freely and the emotions were raw.
Never had I imagined that life would be so different after marriage. Gone were the carefree days when chores were done out of choice. Now everything had to be managed and there had to be food on the table thrice daily, with umpteen cups of tea. And since maids were at a premium, the extra utensils had to be cleaned as well.
Coming from staying in the Delhi University flats and roaming around in Kamla Nagar every day, life here was a standstill. Nothing moved and I felt that even the trees swayed in slow motion. The area was dusty and very hot, almost desert-like.
Whenever I had a chance, I would stand on the terrace and look at the sky for hours. Somehow that felt the same. All the ladies in the neighborhood would be sitting on their respective terraces, enjoying their tea in small Yera glasses, the ones which were there at the railway station. And they would be discussing their mother in laws or daughter in law’s or recipes. This was their “Me” time.
They would want me to come and sit with them, but it was difficult for me as I could not understand their dialect. Though these women looked simple and innocent, I was to learn later that politics and drama ran through these seemingly simple conversations.I found myself a misfit in the society around me.
There were many children in the vicinity, who would be out on the roads playing bat and ball. Yes, it was not called cricket.Then it was time for the creaky Merry-go-round person to visit. All the children would get super excited and take turns to sit on it. And I would be transported to my childhood when we had these kinds of Merry- go- rounds. This was a place at least twenty years back in the timeline.
Every morning the air would be filled with the aroma of “Alu parantha, made in Ghee”. That was the staple food of each house, I felt. For me, a bread eater, this was insane. Nowhere in the vicinity could I find my Britannia and I had to fill my stomach with some leftovers or the other choice was to eat parantha, which I had never liked. Every day, I would get up and wish for ways to move back to Delhi.
