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To you, my man


In the first couple of years following our marriage, whenever someone would ask me how we met, I would tell them some fantastic story of how we came to be husband and wife. Some times, you were a family friend I'd known since I was a child. On other occasions, you would become my brother's classmate. Or a colleague. Or an aunt's neighbour. Back then I didn't want to appear like one of those sad people who had had an arranged marriage. One of those unlucky ones I'd myself clicked my tongue at in sympathy in the past, at their inability to find someone to fall in love with and be proposed to. I had placed an awful lot of emphasis on the means to finding a husband and not nearly enough on the end.

But in the following years, I've come to realise that how I met and married you is irrelevant. What matters is who I married. So these days I don't bother hiding it and often tell people, of my own volition even, that I had an arranged marriage. And I love the look of surprise that greets me when I disclose this fact. Most cannot reconcile the idea of an arranged marriage with the loud, opinionated woman in from of them. And their surprise multiplies when they meet you. Where they expect to see an old-fashioned, tyrannical Indian man, they are met with the most remarkably progressive-minded, gentle soul who wouldn't hurt a fly.

I've told you many times that when I agreed to marry you, I was succumbing to a certain amount duress . I was 26 and could not put off marriage any longer. I had already turned down a couple of guys, much to my parents' and assorted well-wishers' horror, when we met. What struck me straightaway about you was how incredibly decent, astutely bright and perceptive you were. You were someone I could be friends with. And what a great start that was for us!

Over the decade and some that we have been married, my suspicions about you have come true. You remain the wonderfully pragmatic man I first met. The only one I can imagine supporting me through my mad cap ideas. The only one I can rely on unquestioningly, unswervingly. And crucially, the only one I would have wanted to have children with and raise them together with. It goes without saying that there is no one else I can imagine sharing my arthritic, menopausal years with. When the time comes, I will wait for you and should I fall behind, I know you will wait for me.

Happy 40th birthday, my dearest Ramu.

What a blessing you are!

Lots and lots of love

Me

Comments

Vidya said…
Just lovely. :)
Dubukku said…
Ammani are you ok???? :)))))> You and sentimental post...I never knew you could do this :P:P:P

Jokes apart...Wishes to Ramu :))
Banno said…
Best wishes to the both of you. Love or arranged, a marriage is a marriage in the long run, either it works, or it doesn't. :)
Laksh said…
Long time reader. Delurking to wish your husband a happy birthday. Lovely post! Made me go awwwwwww.
B o o. said…
Happy happy to Mr.Ammani. :)
Menaka said…
Happy Birthday Sriram! Hope you celebrated with a beer in hand parked on your very comfy sofas!
inbavalli said…
Birthday wishes to your husband. You're lucky, but so is your husband :)
rrmom said…
what a beautiful post. Love the way you have portraited the man. Happy b'day to him.
Anonymous said…
Hi ammani,
Why have u stopped blogging regularly? Miss your posts.

And yes,that was a lovely way of putting down your love for each other.

Uma
rt r said…
That was a lovely tribute to love :-)

I vibe with you in so many ways..and I hope me and my hubby of 1 year grow as close as you and your husband have become!
A4ISMS said…
Ammani... Missed you every singled day I logged in! But I guess my wait was well worth.
Wish your Ram and you wonderful and loooong years of togetherness!
Growing old together is the best thing that can happen to couples.
Regards
Achala said…
Ammani..why hasn't anyone mentioned this...you look lurvvvely!

Happy belated birthday to your Man! Wishing you both many more years of love, happiness & togetherness!
ammani said…
Thank you everyone for your really wonderful comments. It is touching to be told that there are some who actually miss my drivel.
There's plenty happening in real life that I seem to have fallen out of rhythm with this blog. But I will resume posting more regularly some time soon. Thank you!
the mad momma said…
Dear Mr Ammani,
Here's wishing you many more happy birthdays. Could you please ask Ammani to blog more often? We miss her.
Warm regards
MM
Kookaburra said…
wow - lucky man! such good words, down to earth and highly romantic at the same time!

I could feel the love in the ether ... :)
Sunitha said…
How beautiful! Cheers to a wonderful couple and belated birthday wishes to your husband!
Anonymous said…
I was taken aback at reading what seemed like my own life's story. I too had to get married at 26, since until then I could never seem to find the right person - much to my parents' and relatives dismay.
Now, 4 years later - every single day, I thank destiny for bringing us together.
God bless you and Ramu

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Bio-data

Married for 31 years, 2 months and 17 days
Six cups coffee a day, brewed everyday of marriage
Three meals a day,
At least two dishes cooked, each meal-time
One snack for every Sunday
Big basket of clothes ironed every Tuesday
Average 18 items of clothing washed per day
Three children
1 miscarriage
One mother-in-law suffered
900 sq metre of floor space mopped, once a day
One caesarean endured
3 chicken poxes, 2 measles, 2 fractures, 8 diarrhoeas, depression, conjunctivitis every summer, 1 tonsilitis and countless common colds and flues
1 job held for 29 years
6 hours slept every night
Sex tolerated every 2nd week
Religious rituals everyone of them, carried out
Not one of them, believed in
Lived 52 years and some
Died exhausted

Overheard, “At least she had the satisfaction of having lived for her family”


http://jikku.blogspot.com/2005/02/quick-tale-3.html#c111042815438237631

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-a

Now and Then

"Now that I'm fifty-seven",
My mother used to say,
"Why should I waste a minute?
Why should I waste a day

Doing the things I ought to
Simply because I should?
Now that I'm fifty-seven
I'm done with that for good."

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Trapped in some thankless chore
Just as she might have been at
Fifty-three or fifty-four

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(And I have to bite my tongue)
That if you mean to learn a skill
It's well worth starting young

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For fifty, I've begun
To do exactly as I please
Now that I'm thirty-one.

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