The thing about being in a relationship with your job is that sometimes it becomes too much of a relationship. And getting out of it is just the same.
Which is why, when I decided to call it off, you must understand it wasn’t easy for me. But it’s just something that had to be done. It’ll be better for the both of us if we went our own, separate ways from here on.
Of course you want to know what happened. What’s making me walk out on you all of a sudden? But you see, it isn’t really all that sudden in the first place.
You haven’t noticed, but my heart hasn’t been in it for a while now. Once the initial romance wore off, we got comfortable. No more sweaty palms every morning. No butterflies in the stomach. No cotton wool in the mouth. That’s a good thing. You’ve seen what I look like at my worst now, on days when I haven’t had the time to adorn myself with ideas and the like. And I’ve seen you going through some tough times when you couldn’t be the provider you’d promised you’d be, but we managed just fine. It was comfortable, yes. And then it got too comfortable.
So if you want to know what’s wrong, it’s that sometimes I miss the sweaty palms before those dates – pitches and client presentations we used to call them. And I miss putting in the effort to look nice for you… I really do.
Instead, before we knew it, the domesticity of our lives took over. From being the one you want to being the one you need… the least you could do in making me your wife was make me your trophy wife. But here I am, feeling fat and useless all the time… the one who’ll keep the fire burning and is always around to make sure the kids grow up right.
But as indifferent as I may seem, the truth is, I’m not all that different from most women. Sometimes, I just need a little reassuring… to be told the ugly stretch marks I’ve acquired aren’t really ugly but characteristic signs of familiarity. Of course, I won’t come up to you and tell you what’s bothering me. You have enough on your mind as is these days. But I won’t stop expecting you to understand something’s wrong. And waiting for you to ask me what it is.
But you won’t. I’m too much of a woman and you’re too much of a man. And I’ll eventually tire of it all and reminisce of the days as they used to be. As they should be. As I thought they would be. And I hope for a better future.
So I tell you I have to leave. And you make that face. Perhaps you’re hurt. Or perhaps you just didn’t see it coming. And I tell you I’m sorry, but I can’t do it anymore. I still won’t tell you what’s really bothering me… that’ll only make it worse. So I try to let you down easy. But you won’t hear of it. “What about the kids?”, you ask me, hoping guilt will make me change my mind. I am a woman after all. It’s always worked on the likes of me. But not this time. So I say, “I’m sorry” once again… but it has to be done. I realise this isn’t the best time I could’ve chosen to break it to you. You tell me you’re not sure I do. But you must understand this isn’t easy for me. I don’t know where I’m going to go from here and what I’m going to do. It’s not going to be easy to find another man to accept me, with all our kids at that. So if you’re worried, you need to know that I’m just as scared.
But you ask me for time. Another chance, one more day. Something. I don’t see the point. What six months couldn’t change, one day definitely won’t. But I say , “Okay”. And I leave, without meeting your eye, and turn off the lights.
Next day is all about the sweaty palms and butterflies all over again, but for the all wrong reasons. I’m waiting for when you’ll say, “Let’s talk”. The kids ask me to pay attention to them, but my mind is elsewhere. What if I’ll come to regret it? What if it only gets worse? And I’ll sneak away to the bathroom in between things because today I’m all teary-eyed. But the bathroom just reminds me of all the banalities of our life that I’ve come to hate. Like a strand of hair on the soggy cake of soap that always manages to make it’s way there. Like the complacency of our brainstorming sessions that’ve become so routine.
And you’ll see me follow you with my eyes and ask me to take that look off of my face. And leave me waiting… again. And by day end, when you still haven’t said those two words, I know more than ever before that’s it’s pointless.
My mind’s made up now and there’s nothing you can say or do that’ll change a thing. So let’s not waste anymore time on this. The papers are ready. You need to sign on the dotted line. It’s time to say goodbye.
This was the first thing I read this morning, but couldn’t post a comment. It had left me teary-eyed for some reason.
I wish you turn into a full time writer someday.
For now, I wish I was there to bring over a tub of ice-cream, maybe chocolate and mint?
And, you will find another better significant other.
It’s damn gay, I know, but what to do? Even when it’s so clear it’s so difficult for so many reasons.
And yes, please come off fast. If things work out, I may in Bangalore only till the end of September. So ask those fellows to give you a fucking answer and come!
Yeah, going to be asking them soon. This wait is killing me in a way.
funny, how i keep running into your blog most incidentally.
the last time i was looking for the music from coke’s strange love commercial,
and this time i happened across the graphic from kundera’s book of laughter.
brilliant work, as always, shikha,
i can see i’ve been missing out by not keeping myself updated,
that’s one of the many rigors of B-School, there’s very little to be done as far as keeping up is concerned.
keep writing,
for the better and the verse.
Nice to have you back.
And you really haven’t been missing out on much. That’s one of the rigors of having a full-time job… there’s very little time to detach and write about it.