I got some money on my birthday today. It is some deep-seated Quakerlike trait that stops me from running out and splurging as I wish to. Maybe I’ll just slowly creep and splurge it. My first wish is, lipstick! And then I remember that I have enough and Calcutta is hot and you can never wear lipstick comfortably. And then soberness sets in and I think of just putting it away. Maybe I shan’t do anything special. Just buy that amazing black forest cake I’ve had my eye on for such a long time and go home and my dog and I can eat it. No ma save a little sliver because she’s diabetic.
Today, we took my aunt’s family out for dinner. My dog wakes up with me and I am a late riser. Like me, she’s used to having her first meal late in the day. So when my mother offered her lunch at 11, she didn’t touch it, or maybe she just sensed that we were getting away and refused to buy into this treachery by the mere offering of a routine if somewhat delicious lunch. And then she got into my mother’s room and began jumping around and my mother got very frazzled and started yelling. At which, I, already very frazzled and looking for a fight, felt murderous, caught hold of my dog and shut her out right away on the balcony. She whined and pushed at the door, but by then, we were leaving. There were no kind words and reassurances that we would return soon. I felt very guilty to leave a very sad and more importantly, unfed dog.
So well, throughout the meal, I missed her on and off quite a bit and wanted to just go home and flop down with her on the bed, do some messy fighting and take an afternoon nap.
Then I called my mother and she said my dog was fine. She kooi-kooied a little when she heard my mother and when she opened the door to the balcony, ran out and climbed up on the sofa and stood and complained to my mother. Then she ate some tandoori roti we’d brought back, some of the grilled beckti meant for my grandfather, six biscuits, water and went to sleep under the bed. I want to meet my dog now, not at 10.30 in the night. So I uploaded some pictures of her on FB, looked through her old pictures and read up on Marley and Me. And found that at one point, people had suggested that the real dog, Marley, might be suffering from ‘mental illness’, which was very funny. They regularly described him as neurotic, which was also sort of funny. Though I do agree, if I had a dog like Marley, I don’t know what I would do. The film was adorable though. Though everyone pans it as boring and no chemistry and when does John Grogan write if he is spending so much time with his dog. But it’s funny, with very Own Wilson kind of self-deprecating humour. And I suppose I glossed over the unrealistic bits because the warmth between them and the dog and the frustration and the moments when you feel the dog is the one you can talk to without reserve, struck a chord.
It seems like such a long time since I cuddled a puppy. I remember the Precocious puppy of last winter, who would wail and yawn and utter squeals if anything was not as it wished it. Which is actually for the best.
And I know what it's like to sit beside your dog, like Owen Wilson is in the first picture, at peace with things.

It was an uneventful day off. I watched a lot of television, including watching Push again. I really like it. I also made very boring macaroni.
And I met my boyfriend’s parents this week for a casual thank you meet. It was horrible. I was ogled like a monkey in a cage, asked, among other things, the year my father died and touched (my hair, my waist. I hate being touched.). I was expecting to be asked to sing a song next. I was asked by each and every member of the family When I would marry their son and when I said I had no immediate plans, I was demanded to provide an explanation. At one point, I was afraid I would burst into tears. Towards the end, I switched off and forgot my manners and announced abruptly after the meal that I was leaving.
Thing is, I came away with what I had expected: my impression that they were nice people confirmed and my worst fears about this meeting taking a medieval turn coming true. I just couldn’t stomach that my status as a potential bride could completely obliterate my identity as a person. That it didn’t matter to them what I liked, what I wanted to speak about, whether I wanted to check out his flat. They seemed like things that I was obviously expected to do. I was outraged, horrified and insensate with anger at one point. Knowing that this is probably what happens to people in my position always, in our state and wherever else, does not make it one bit easier to accept.
I could see the kindness in their ways, but it did not matter one bit. I have endured worse torment at the hands of relatives when I was younger, relatives who are entirely insensitive. My boyfriend’s were much, much kinder in comparison. But nothing changes the facts.
I feel too scarred to contemplate returning to that house in a long time. And a little scared that I wouldn’t ever be able to make them happy. That I wouldn’t ever fit that blueprint of the pleasant daughter-in-law, who juggled her own wishes and that of the in-laws perfectly. I put the facts out more or less exactly that day and staunchly refused an explanation. At 27, I feel relieved and happy to realise that I have developed a sense of my own space, my likes and dislikes that sometimes don’t agree with those close to me and that I will guard them. I don’t want to change myself to accommodate even those I love. I can't chatter endlessly with everyone, I like quiet and I like space.
Also, the parents and aunts and uncles, when they ask why I am not marrying their extremely eligible son pronto, do they have Any idea of the kind of compromise that went into sustaining this relationship, the bitter disappointments, the loneliness etc etc? I have worked hard there, now I want to settle down on my own terms. They would probably have gotten to know about our relationship if they had asked. But it only occurs to me now that all I was asked, apart from when I would marry and why I wasn’t immediately, was about my studies, where I lived and a bit of haranguing about my job.
My boyfriend says he has no control over their actions, and he doesn’t, given his typical detachment over whatever doesn’t interest him, but I know that if had been in my position, I would have fought tooth and nail and stood between them and him. I wouldn’t have let them harangue and hurt him.