The end of the road?

Dear diary,                                                                                                                                      

You know what I’ve learned over these last few months? Never to trust profile pictures; ESPECIALLY THE ONES ON MATRIMONIAL SITES. The same goes for those self-descriptions (turns out, are not written by ‘self’, but by eager parents, relatives, neighbours and the occasional lawyer). It is almost like reading Linda Goodman, that witch. Everything written seems to fit you perfectly. It is almost as if the person is speaking to your heart, having bypassed the brain and with it, reason. It seems a match made in heaven by the time you have finished the first paragraph. Loyal, loving, liberal, understanding… The list goes on. By the time your parents and other interested parties have gone through it, you can hear the faint ringing of the wedding bells. I swear. And that, is exactly what happened with Kamala. 

“They are all the same, man,” I remember my friends telling me. If only I’d listened to them back then. Anyway, there she is, plonked on the couch. Judging me. Right from the time I wake up, to when I pass out on my couch. Maybe even after that. Her eyes. Her judgmental eyes. They are on me all the freaking time. There is not a moment of peace in my house anymore, and you know how it used to be. It was an abode of calm. Well, she turned out to be the storm, after the calm.

Hold on a second. This headache is killing me. I think I need a pill. But then again, this is a special kind of headache. Something I believe, is beyond the means of even painkillers that boast illustrious track records. It’s been a constant feature of my short married life. Coincidence? I guess not. Anyway…

There. Sorry, had to take a detour via the NAGGING STREET ON MY WAY HERE! Breathe, Amar. Breathe. Much better. So where was I? Yeah, the treacherous tale of deception that is my marriage. Hmm… Ok, maybe not treacherous. I am being a little harsh here. It wasn’t quite what I expected. Yeah, that about right.

Could it be that she looks at me the way she does out of fondness? Now that I think of it, I can’t remember there being any sort of malice. Could it be that I am rushing to conclusions? Could it be that I, am the judgmental one in the family. Hmm… Maybe. Maybe I should go talk to her. Damn! I haven’t spoken to her in weeks. Maybe we should go out for a coffee. Or a drink. Does she drink? Let me ask her.