Lifted by the better half

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Marriage is supposed to be a merger of two halves.  Ideally,  these 2 halves are supposed to be in perfect harmony. But the world does not work in such simple ways.  Sometimes you have to carry more weight than you are due. Both literally and figuratively there are going to be occasions where you have to pull your partner through.

For me july 20th, 2013 was one such day. I had decided to take a risk. I had decided to quit my current career, and pursue a different calling. I had worked hard to achieve it.  And my first go at it had ended up as a huge failure. I was depressed beyond measure.

But thankfully,  as always,  I had my better half to rely on. She was there to carry my burden and pull me through. And she did this by being perfectly normal. No,  she did not cry with me, nor hand me tissues. No, she did not give me one of those meaningless pep talks, that only serves the purpose of inflating one's ego. She did not buy me an expensive gift. She did not cook me a special dinner or get me drunk.

She was just normal. At our home, it seemed just another day. We made breakfast together as usual.No coffee or tea,  as both of us prefer hot chocolate. She had another go at perfecting her pancakes, and ended up with slightly less rubbery ones than her previous attempts. We had a rerun of random episodes of Friends(the TV series) for the umpteenth time. We heated up something for lunch. This was followed by a long nap in the afternoon and another reheated course for dinner.

In between, we talked. Not about exams or life or career.  The most mundane, silly things.  The weather. How she was not afraid of spiders,  but 'despised' them(same goes with ghosts, rats and a host of other things). How clumsy I was with my eating,how much food I had spilt on to my t - shirt.  About the furniture we would buy once we had the money.  How the meat tasted better when fried with a pinch of cinnamon.

And somewhere in the languid flow of the insignificant, my failures swam with the flow, becoming one among them.

It was a turning point. I was beaten, but at the same time, was taking my baby steps towards refusing to be beaten by failure.  I was down, but was beginning to resist the urge to stay down. My hopes were dashed, but was beginning to water and nurture whatever was left of it.

Because,  as someone in a movie once said,  hope is a good thing, may be the mest of things.

12 months later, I found myself tasting the success that I craved. I was not jubilant or ecstatic,  just reminiscent, restrained, relieved, and thankful. My memories yanked me back to that day. To the serene brilliance of the space that was our home.  To the pillar of strength that my better half was.  To the unremarkable tastes of the food that day.  To how much of a blessing sleep was and how much of a loss it is at the same time.  To the infinite beauty in everything mundane.

But most of all,  I remember my burden,  and the magnitude of its weight.  I remember the helplessness that I felt, when for a fleeting moment, I thought I had to carry it alone. I remember how someone walked in with silken toes, and without a word, lend me her shoulders. I remember the moment,  the burden was not so heavy after all. And thse are the memories, that will keep me grounded as I hope to blaze a trail through my ambitions.

My wife.  My little sunshine.  As normal as its  warmth. As precious as its light.

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