Marriage. Don’t do it, seriously.

One evening we lost our two-year-old in the park.

We had just moved into a new home. There were unexpected guests and a pocket of chaos as we cleared away cartons on the floor and put enough chairs for everyone. Cool water and sweets were offered. Pleasantries.

Our children were playing outside. Aliza, our five-year-old, came running in to let us know that she couldn’t find Naseem any more.

My first reaction in an emergency is to be calm. I ran out with Aliza to the forest park next to our new home. Too many people, gates, trees, bushes, a pond. It was a large space. I was not wearing my spectacles.

How long was it that I could not see my child? 10, 5, 20 minutes? Some people said they had seen her, some stared at me blankly. Everyone was a stranger. I sent Aliza to call her father.

“Tell him that I cannot find Naseem, run and get Papa,” I said to her.

I had crossed over to panic. My world was whirling around me. It was Afzal’s turn to be calm. When he found her, she was sitting near a gate with a flower in her hand.

“I got this for Mamma,” she said.

This month we complete 10 years of being married to each other. It seems like a good time to revisit the moment when I was ready to run out of our home without looking back.

That time when I had been standing in the park paralysed by fear, unable to find our toddler, the thought in my head had been: If anything happens to Naseem, I will leave Afzal.

After I had finished crying, put Naseem to sleep and worn her flower in my hair, I was left with the residue of my panicky thoughts. I had not known that I was this close to the edge in my head.

“I don’t know who or what this marriage is but it better not come between my wife and me,” a friend of mine had once written to me.

Marriage is really an accident-prone adventure. It gets hijacked, kidnapped, derailed, distracted and exhausted. Marriage can become a pile of resentments.

Togetherness is a venue. We seek it for respite. For nurturing and rest. We go there to practise fighting. It’s a boxing ring. Boxing is a sport, remember. We play at boxing to be better prepared for the rest of the world. We analyse our strengths, compensate for weaknesses.

But don’t always stay there. Go away also. Don’t expect it to work all the time. It is lazy and busy and easily distracted. Just like the lovers in it.

And then there are children. Children are like a JCB. They will wreck your marriage and play with the debris.

If they don’t come along and create utter chaos, something else always does. If nothing else shakes us up, it is quite likely that we will start feeling itchy and draw blood ourselves.

Marriage isn’t necessary at all. Don’t do it. It’s a lot of trouble. It’s a racket. A conspiracy to defeat the individual. A human rights violation that creeps up on you.

Marriage can be lonesome. Being together won’t stop you from being alone, lost, tempted, greedy, insecure and sleepless.

Just like a two-year-old playing outside the house, love is vulnerable. It is gentle and friendly, like a child. Yours could be wild and tantrum-prone.

Love learns to walk. Love ages. Be gentle with it, holding its hand when the traffic is fast.

Love is looking at him in the evening light and being able to smell the tea that you will have with him. Even on a train. Specially on a train. Love is made of still images. Clothes hanging together on a clothes peg in the bathroom. Messages saved in an inbox. Earrings next to a black wallet. A shared backpack.

Love sulks for attention. Sometimes you make up because there’s a rat behind the washing machine and you need company to deal with it. Sometimes the rat is just an excuse.

Love gets taken for granted. We forget what it was like in the first place.

“Come and help me choose my shirt,” he says.

“I am working,” I say.

“Please, I have no idea what will go with this colour.”

“Is that your way of saying you love me?”

“You’re the expert,” he says.

Be creative. Have an affair with the one you love. That’s one way to make this business profitable.

Falling in love with the same silly smile again and again and again. That’s shaadi for you. Total barbaadi. Don’t do it, seriously.

(This was first published here: http://www.livemint.com/articles/2012/07/05193229/Marriage-Don8217t-do-it.html and has 40 comments from readers)

About Natasha Badhwar

"Because I'm a Tinker. That's who I am. Tinkers fix things. But I can't do it alone." (Pause for lots of action. Group Action......) "You did it, Tinker, you saved Spring!" I also have three children, one marriage, a million friends and one life.
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10 Responses to Marriage. Don’t do it, seriously.

  1. anand pandey says:

    Jai ho!Love the way you write… Have told you this earlier too…Many, many would have told you so.. 🙂 Just wanted to share this gazal… A pre 90s version or view or idea of marriage and so a predominantly ' Husband's ' take too… interesting poetry, nonetheless… Daalaano.n mein kamaro.n mein ulajhaaye huye rakhanaakuchh kaam mein apane ko bahalaaye huye rakhanaaduniyaa ke masaa_il mein ulajhaa huaa jab aa_uu.Ntum ghar ke masaa_il ko sulajhaaye huye rakhanaasanduuk ke kapa.Do.n ko kuchh dhuup dikhaa denaa (This..)tum sahan me.n jaa.De ko phailaaye huye rakhanaamai.n dhuup ke saharaa se jhulasaa huaa aa_uu.Ngaashaano.n pe ghaTaao.n ko Thaharaaye huye rakhanaaho jaaye.n kabhii shab me.n bachcho.n se bhii do baate.npariyo.n kii kahaanii ko doharaaye huye rakhanaa —> 🙂 dhundhalaa na kahii.n kar de kuchh ghar kii pareshaanii aa_iinaa-e-ruKh apanaa chamakaaye huye rakhanaa (This..)ik umr pe bhii us kaa andaaz vahii 'Anjum'kamare mein qadam rakhanaa sharmaaye huye rakhanaa (This too..)Anjum Irfani saahab.@anandnama

  2. tjay says:

    I have been married. I have had, still have children, and so much responsibility I think I will choke on it. Everything I have done in my life, I did in the hope that I might find love. Even when I paint, I am trying to find love. When I am afraid, it is because I fear I will fail. There will be no love for me. Not even understanding.I am grateful that you share so much truth about yourself and your family with us. It helps me to understand myself. Thank you.

  3. NAV says:

    interesting way to write… sarcastic,mystical,blunt,deep….

  4. Natasha says:

    I see what you mean by pre-90s style. It is beautiful, nevertheless. Thank you for sharing this.

  5. Natasha says:

    When you paint, you are looking for love. That is so true. Everything we do in life, it is really an attempt to restore and rejuvenate love. It lies within us. Waiting to be kindled.Thank you for sharing, T. Warm hugs, Natasha

  6. Natasha says:

    That is such a flattering comment. Thank you.

  7. Cheri Renee says:

    Natasha, I caught this blog on a wind from across the sea. A Twitpic of your daughter returning a book to the library led me here. Although I agree with what you write about learning to be nobody, this particular post about not marrying, somehow, it makes me feel special. Written as it was on my birthday, it feels like a gift from a stranger, or perhaps a friend I haven't met yet. Thank you. Cheri Renee

  8. Natasha says:

    Thank you for sharing, Cheri!

  9. Ayesha says:

    Its settled, im never getting married. Thank you for this.

  10. Natasha says:

    Ayesha! Come on, challenge se mat darna!

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