Monsoon Blues

Great. The little drizzle has turned into a heavy downpour, and the teensy sunlight—really teensy, like light from a teensy candle—has disappeared entirely. I never believed in monsoon blues until this moment. Now I understand why cats spend their entire day seeking the sun.

The sun in the sky has probably gone off to cool himself down behind the dark clouds, and the sun of my life—my wonderful husband—has locked himself in the study typing something. If you can see the rapt attention on his face, you will assume that he is busy researching a cure for some deadly disease. But no. He is simply dwindling his time so that he wouldn’t be coerced into talking with me. On a side note, if it is possible for you to see his face, it is also possible for you to come to our home. Please, pretty please, can you give me some company to stop my brain from bursting itself?

I know the gloominess inside our home is greater than the gloominess outside. But we weren’t always like this if you can believe it. We were together for more than 15 years, and we have spent almost every moment together without getting sick of each other. We always made everything work. Our families, friends, colleagues, and everyone we met envied the nature of our relationship. We stuck together and supported each other during both the highs and lows—we were best friends, after all.

We knew we had different personalities and interests before getting married. Frankly, our differences kept us going. But we didn’t realize that those differences started affecting our relationship. Out of the blue, we started quarreling. One fight led to another, then another. Before we realized we had become the couple who fights at every given opportunity. Minor arguments were a natural part of our relationship. However, there was never any lack of care and love during these arguments. Sadly, when the rate of those petty arguments increased, a silent resentment started building inside and eventually spilled out of us.

Honestly, we tried resolving our issues, but it was like trying to put out a forest fire with a garden hose. We don’t know why we started quarreling; more frustratingly, we don’t know why we are still quarreling. Right now, the chance of the real sun appearing is greater than the love of my life coming out of his dark study.

I drink coffee, and he likes his tea. Every morning for the past ten years, he has been making our morning cuppa. He even gifted me an expensive coffee machine for my twenty-fifth birthday, which I never bothered to turn on. It is not because of laziness or some other reason; I just enjoyed getting pampered every morning. So, along with giving me the expensive gift, he has been making my coffee as a bonus gift.

As soon as we wake up, he prepares our drinks, and I prepare our lunch boxes. This has been the routine for so many years that it has become our second nature. Even when having major difficulties or arguments, we never broke this ritual. Once, we were on an early morning hiking trip with our friends. As soon as it was eight o’clock, I got out energy bars and trail mix to share, and he brought out the vacuum flasks filled with coffee and tea. We both had come prepared because we didn’t want to break our daily ritual. But happiness doesn’t last forever, does it?

One fateful morning, the inevitable happened—I made only one lunch box, and he prepared only his tea. In my version of the story, I didn’t prepare his box because he didn’t prepare my coffee, and in his version, he didn’t prepare my coffee because I took out only one lunch box. It is a story on which we based our entire fight. He thinks I am at fault and his actions are warranted, and on the other hand, I think the exact opposite. The sad truth is we don’t remember who broke the ritual first, and an even sadder truth is we both realize this now. You might be thinking, I can’t believe you guys are arguing over this. Don’t worry, even I can’t believe we’re arguing over this. Nevertheless, we haven’t put an end to the misery, and I don’t know if it will ever happen.

****

It has been four long months since this standoff started. The second lunch box is still at the back of the cupboard, and there is still a thick layer of dust on the coffee machine. We played the blame game during the first month. In the second month, we gave each other the silent treatment. In the third month, we started being civil with each other to make our lives tolerable, and in the past month, we have been throwing each other longing glances. It is true that after four long months, we both are sick of the silly fight and miss each other, but it is also true that we both don’t want to be the first one to concede—this damn ego will surely destroy us.

Every night I promise myself that I will be a bigger person and will end this standoff the next morning, irrespective of his actions. But the next morning has come and gone fifteen times, and the pettiness is still reigning. In another two weeks, our quarrel will reach a five-month milestone. Why can’t he admit he was at fault and just end this conflict? O almighty ego, the destroyer of our happiness, when will you get out of our home and our hearts?

****

Does it matter that I took out the second lunch box first, or he wiped the dust off the coffee machine first? Does it matter that the rain is still hurting outside? Does it matter that the sun still hasn’t peeked through the dark cloud curtains surrounding him? Does it matter that we are sitting on the far ends of the sofa? Does it matter that he is watching tv while I am reading a book? All that matters is the coffee machine is finally on, and there are two lunch boxes on the dining table. All that matters is I have a cup of coffee in my hand, and my sunshine has finally come out of his dark study. All that matters is my legs are on his lap, and his left hand is on my foot. All that matters is the gloominess inside our home is reducing, and I can breathe. All that matters is the monsoon blues are fading away, and I am finally home.

END