Talking To Me

By Kalika Kochhar

I woke up to the sound of my husband having a shower. The constant flow of water, the sound of the shampoo bottle being put down, and, the soft syllables of his favourite song that he uttered. I sat up in bed, and cried. I cried for two minutes at the fact that I didn’t feel like joining him in the shower anymore. I cried at the fact that we had been together for twelve years and we were great roommates who worked like clockwork together, and yet, we had grown completely apart. Who we were at seventeen and who we fell in love with, didn’t exist today. Not just today, those people had not existed for a while. We had left them somewhere along the way and refused to acknowledge the happening of that. The resentment that built along the way, the unsaid incompatibility, the difference in worldviews, in boundaries, in our thoughts on fate, religion, and children. 

I wiped my tears and got out of bed, clockwork again. I dragged my feet down the stairs and put on the kettle to make coffee. The sound of the honking cars and people on their way to work washed over me, bringing me back to reality. I made breakfast eggs and set down coffee on the table. My husband came down, ready to leave for work, as always. He wore a suit which I had picked out. I looked at him for five seconds, but felt nothing. I tried again. Nothing again. 

‘I’ll be home late tonight, don’t wait up for me,’ he said. This time, I didn’t feel angry, or sad, or even disappointed for that matter. I was in a place of acceptance. I nodded and smiled, as I poured him some coffee. 

‘I might go out for lunch with the girls today,’ I said, half-looking at him for approval. I, myself, was unsure as to whether I was asking or informing. 

‘That’s great, wear something modest,’ he responded, half-smiling, as though it was a joke. I used to believe it was a joke, but maybe it never was. Maybe, I should have an honest conversation with him about this. Maybe later.

He stood up, wore his shoes, picked up his wallet and keys, and left for work. We didn’t hug, or kiss, or even look at each other to say goodbye anymore. We didn’t have conversations about anything apart from the weather, meals, and schedules. I breathed a sigh of relief, as I heard the car leave. It was involuntary, but not surprising. I wasn’t impulsive but I found myself wanting to be. I found myself wanting to be a lot of things I was not. 

I did something I had never done before. I drew all the curtains, poured myself another cup of coffee, and kept my phone aside, turning on airplane mode. I picked up a piece of paper, and a pen. I wrote everything. I wrote all the things I loved about my husband, the first time we met, the fancy restaurants he took me to and the gifts he got me. There were the vacations he planned from scratch, the meals he cooked for me, and the way he nursed me back to health when I was sick. On paper, he was perfect – but, I could feel something else coming. I tried to push it down. I kept my pen down. The voice inside my head said and as an obedient puppet, my hand wrote – But, he is controlling in a way that would not come across as controlling to anyone else. I was scared to even write it fully but it felt like such a relief. I read it again and it seemed to pump a sense of adrenaline into me, as the voice inside my head beckoned me to write more, to say more. 

But, he is controlling in a way that would not come across as controlling to anyone else. He takes care of me, respects me, talks gently, helps out when I need it but he is in constant fear of other men around me. He may not say it outright, but me being around a man bothers him. My male friends have always bothered him. The way I dress, talk, and have fun around a male friend bothers him and this fact bothers me. He says he knows how men think of women and he does not wish that I am exposed to that. He also says I am free to do what I want to and that his place is just to express his dislikes. That does not seem to me to be a choice though. At least, it didn't until now. Am I respecting his boundaries or feeding his insecurities? 

I stared at what I’d written. The constant battle of what I had wished to do as against what my husband had asked me to, had worn me out. I woke up tired almost everyday. My energy levels never went beyond forty percent. I did as much as I had to, to survive. I had, until this moment, been choosing to maintain the peace in our marriage, but maybe it was time to sit down and have an honest conversation with myself first. To ask myself not whether I valued all the good things my husband brought to the table over his flaws, but whether I valued myself enough to know I could be happier in an alternate reality. 

I felt another impulsive decision rising in my body, as I stood up and started walking towards our bedroom. A suitcase was removed, clothes were thrown in, a letter explaining everything was written, a flight was booked and I left. I left before I convinced myself not to. I left before I chose to choose comfort over valuing myself, as I have been, for the past twelve years.

It’s been five years since that day. I never stopped being impulsive, it was the best thing I did for myself. I sit down once a month and have an honest conversation with myself. It saved me tears, heartbreak, and time. It gifted me passion, drive, and authenticity. Most of all, it gifted me the ability to be true to myself.

By Kalika Kochhar