At sixty-eight

Every day I look at my husband, and I’m painfully aware: I’ve lost some part of him to the new presence in our marriage.

Although he can drive, go grocery shopping, help clean a 4-bedroom house every week, and prepare dahl or sabzi every morning, there does not seem to be enough life in him. His legs have thinned, the bones more prominent than the skin. His back pains at least twice a week, while the knee pains only miss a day here and there. He tires easily in his efforts at taking care of me and executing the duties of the male of the household.

More than the body, though, it’s his heart that I worry about. At sixty-eight now and as his companion of fifty-one years, I can sense the environment of our relationship as acutely as the weakness of my arms. The new third in our marriage is not some unfulfilled version of either of us; it’s illness, loneliness, and sometimes both. 

He feels it too- perhaps more than me- because when we turn the TV and radio off at night and are left to us, he will never be the one to reach across the silence. It'll always be me who turns to him and tries to pull him back.

‘What should we cook for breakfast?’

‘It’s Anita’s birthday tomorrow.’

‘We need to get some curd. There will be none for lunch.’

‘Call the plumber tomorrow. The bathroom tap is leaking and might empty the tank.’

He’ll make a sound as he is pulled out of his reverie, say he’ll do it or make a suggestion, and then continue staring into space, arms behind his head. I’ll relapse back into silence, wanting connection, waiting to talk, but not knowing what else to say that would prompt more from him.

But, I don’t feel resentful in the least. At seventeen when I got married to the nineteen-year-old version of him, I knew what I was signing up for. I’d be the housekeeper and caretaker. The mother of his children. The one he builds a home for and does things for. During those days in India, girls were married off young, most commonly after 10th grade. I was no exception. I had no special skills, education, or aspirations for either. Society dictated that being a homemaker was my primary purpose, and I didn’t have the rebel or visionary DNA to protest. So, I married with a spirit of acceptance and the resolve to do as best as I could.

We were opposites. If I was a lake, calmly rippling within its borders, then he was the river, restless and hungry, always in motion, seeking new horizons and pushing forward. His demanding job at the government’s power department kept his active spirit sufficiently engaged. I stayed at home, took care of his widowed mother, and raised our son. We were never in a single city for more than two years, living in different parts of the country depending on where he was transferred. The lifestyle suited him; I could find no problems with it when I had a devoted husband and financial security for our family.

‘You shouldn’t be sad like this.’ I said to him one day after we’d switched the TV off. It was 11 PM- too late to watch any more TV and too early for sleep to arrive. ‘Try remembering God and praying. It’ll bring you peace.’

He snorted and smiled sardonically. ‘I am peaceful. Who says I’m not?’

‘No one. I just feel it and see it.’

‘Ahaaan. Your vision seems to have become keener with old age. Impressive.’

‘My vision has always been this way.’

‘Then let’s use it for watching more TV.’ He picked up the remote to turn it back on.

‘Leave it. We’ve already watched enough.’

‘What else will we do? We won’t be able to sleep before 3 or 4 AM.’

‘Angel says we sleep later than her so we’re worse than teenagers.’ Angel was our son’s 7-year-old daughter.

He burst into laughter at this. ‘I once caught her playing a game on her mother’s phone when I went to the bathroom at 2 AM. I stood in the hall, waiting for her to notice me, and when she finally did, she smiled at me, looked extremely guilty, and ducked her head under the covers.’

We continued to recall our granddaughter’s antics. Every two years, she came with her parents to India from the US for two short months. Those months were the most memorable of our year. Stronger than my happiness at seeing my son and his family was the thankful knowledge that my husband was once more full of life. There were plans to be made, legal and real estate stuff to discuss, things to shop and rare family dinners to be had. There were old things to say and ask plus some new ones too. And as is the nature of things, those two months flew by faster than the two years we spent missing them and aching for them.

Eventually, we rolled down into silence again. It was midnight- definitely too late to watch TV. So, we switched off the lights and lay down. Sleep was still invisible on the horizon. When it seemed like a lot of time had passed and we had tossed and turned enough, he tapped my arm. 

‘Should I make some tea?’

‘What’s the time?’

‘2 AM.’

‘Okay. Why not.’

He got up, put on his slippers, switched on the lights, and went to the kitchen. I squeezed my eyes shut against the sudden glare of the lamps.

‘Turn off the lights here once you turn on the kitchen ones!’ But he was already out of the room on Mission Tea.

15 minutes later, he came back with two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits on a tray, but I was fast asleep. 

‘Gugi your tea has arrived,’ he said, speaking right in my ear.

Startled, my eyes flew open and I gasped. ‘My god you! Did you just call me…?’

‘Gugi, yes yes.’

‘You haven’t called me that in years.’

‘How come? I called you Gugi yesterday.’

‘No, you didn’t.’

‘Yes, I did. You were sleeping and snoring then- just like you were doing now.’

‘I don’t snore. I’m an elegant old woman.’

He raised his eyebrows and began to snicker. ‘Then I’m Devanand and the most handsome old man in town!’

I sniffed in disapproval. ‘You always tease me!’

‘And it’s only because I love you Gugi.’

Even in my semi-true miffed state, I couldn’t stay mad at or annoyed by him for long. He’d always had that magic power since the start. Or maybe I was too easily persuaded.

‘I was thinking we could make some paneer tomorrow.  The special kind that you liked,’ he said, as he sat on the bed and picked up his cup from the tray. ‘Remember that chef’s video you showed me? Which show was it?’

‘Oh yes, MasterChef India. Did I WhatsApp the video to you?’

‘Uhhh… I don’t remember. Not sure how you share YouTube videos on WhatsApp.’

‘Then I wouldn’t know either. We’ll have to search for the video.’

‘We’ll be able to do that- just type in the search bar at the top of the screen. We’ll have to see what to type, though.’

‘We’ll figure it out in the morning,’ I said, taking the first sip.

After we finished drinking, he took the tray and other utensils to the kitchen. When he came back and switched off the lights, my heart felt lighter and happier. Tonight, I would sleep contentedly. I knew he would too.

When I woke up the next morning, I knew I had slept well after so long. The clock on the wall opposite our bed said 9 AM. I shook him awake.

‘It’s 9 AM and the day to make some paneer!’

No response. I shook his arm with some light force. ‘You have to go to the market to buy some first.’

He grunted but didn’t open his eyes. I nudged him again.

‘Get up Gugi’s husband!’ When he didn’t respond, I inched over to his side. ‘Are you alright?’ I checked his forehead and cheek for a fever. Nothing. 

‘Yes yes, I just… don’t feel so well,’ he said slowly.

‘What’s wrong? Tell me.’ All the contentment and rejuvenation of a good night’s sleep vanished. I should’ve anticipated the occurrence of this pattern by now.

‘Stomach ache. It’ll pass.’

‘But you didn’t even eat anything heavy or processed. Then why?’

‘Don’t know,’ he said, his voice sounding tired. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I’ll get you some medicine. Wait.’

‘Already had some. Don’t worry.’

‘When? Why didn’t you wake me?!’ Suddenly, I was feeling paranoid. What if his condition worsened? What if… what if it became ulcers like it had once? I didn’t even know how to drive a car. Why hadn’t I insisted on learning it even when he’d said I didn’t need to?! For the millionth time on the billionth day, I wished our son lived with us like others’ did when their parents got old. At least loneliness wouldn’t third wheel in our relationship. Maybe even illness wouldn’t be as frequent a visitor then.

‘It’s only a stomach ache. I’ll sleep some and then it’ll get better.’

‘Okay. I’ll make some rice with dahl for a light meal. You rest now.’

He nodded and with a sigh, folded in on himself. I looked at the back of his head, resisting the urge to cry and give in to hopelessness.

Slowly, I got up from the bed. It looked like it wouldn’t be a good day for my knees too. But, he was on priority today. I could apply some ointment later.

‘Gugi?’

‘Hmm?’ I was just about to take the leap, get up and hobble towards my slippers.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t make the paneer,’ he said, without looking at me.

With a bit of difficulty, I reached back to squeeze his arm. It had lost its muscle and was all loose skin and fragile bones now. 

‘It’s okay. We can make it tomorrow. Or sometime later this week.’

‘Yes, I’ll… I’ll do that.’ His voice faded as he spoke.

I got up and went to the kitchen, silent tears slipping down my cheeks. I didn’t know when he would be better or if he would be better. It seemed like we were trapped in this in-between stage of life and death, not fully on either side. I wish we could just be on one side- once and for all.

A week later on Friday, I woke up to the sound of sizzling spices and ‘80s songs on the radio. I went to the kitchen and found him at the stove, vigorously mixing ingredients in the pan.

‘Our afternoon meal is almost ready!’ he said theatrically. 

‘How do you feel?’

‘How do you think? On Top of The World!’

I watched him cook for a few moments. There were no hanging dark circles, no paining joints that seemed to slow him down, and most of all- no aura of cold, irreparable despair. He really seemed better.

‘Okay. I’ll just go brush and then make some tea for the both of us,’ I said, turning to go to the bathroom.

‘As you wish Gugi as you wish! Today your Devanand is here to take care of everything.’

I smiled widely as I walked off, my heart as light as a bird in the sky. It did feel like everything would be taken care of, if only for today. It would just be me and my husband, if only for today. At sixty-eight this was all the certainty I could get. I would make my peace with it, if only for today.