Since childhood, I starkly recall the tears and goodbyes each time my father left to defend the borders of our country. Sure we missed him, but other than that, what it really entailed– including bringing up the children or managing a home alone– those repercussions never really impacted us much. So, even though the concept of long-distance relationships is not new or alien to me, the impact of the trials and tribulations of day-to-day living without your partner only hit me when I stood face to face with them in my own marriage.

Oblivious to the outside world, we lived a sheltered life in a small backward town in Uttar Pradesh, where my husband ran his industry. All seemed manageable and well till my daughter turned five and was ready for school. After a rather traumatic hit-and-miss attempt at boarding school, I had no choice but to shift to the serene and picturesque hill station we’d chosen for her school. Usually, I would’ve been ecstatic at being away from a joint family, amidst so much beauty, except that that meant living alone with my five-year-old.

Never had I ever lived on my own and taken care of anyone else – my mom always did that for us. I didn’t even know the names of dals, leave aside learning how to cook – for the staff always did that. It was a nightmare! There were no mobile phones back then, and calls had to be booked through telephone operators to be able to talk to one another, with a maximum talking time of six minutes. There was no television to speak of, with Krishi Darshan and movie songs being the only popular telecasts. Dropping in at the neighbours was a 15-minute walk through the hills. I did all of that from when I was just 25, starry-eyed and filled with Mills and Boon ideas of romance, for the next ten years, till my elder daughter finished schooling, and I not only survived but learned to live.

There is a saying that goes,

“If you want to live together, you first need to learn how to live apart”
~Anonymous.

Despite times being simpler with gadgets, machines and other lifestyle conveniences, life today is much more complicated. Mobile phones are great to have, but we have round-the-clock access to each other– video calls and texting so that one can’t escape minute-by-minute tracking of one another. To many, it may be the most significant measure and the epitome of love, but with time it gets intrusive and stressful. In all of this, what only matters is not how many times one calls the other, but the fact that are you or will you be there for me when I need you?

Being together in the same home doesn’t always mean the relationship is beautiful. We lived in the same house together but could not even sit next to each other or exchange words in front of our family. There is much more anticipation, excitement and mystery in a long-distance relationship. For when you meet, all the distance fades, and you both are in the moment, together, giving your best to each other. Just holding hands, going for a walk together, or simply talking and listening to each other way into the night; these moments make for the shared, glee-filled lasting memories.

Together or apart, each relationship continues to grow and change as each one of us evolves over time. Of course, there are jealousies, insecurities, and doubts, especially when we’re away from each other. The trick is to constantly reassure one another of our love, commitment and loyalty. We need to find things to do ‘together’, although apart – through dialogue, reading the same books, watching the same movies and then discussing them later.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder and is not just a cliched quote repeated into oblivion. It’s a conscious choice made daily– a feeling of being so connected that the miles in between cease to matter. You are so secure in each other and yet free to follow your individual passions and pursuits. It is utterly essential to be in a committed relationship and still continue to remain true to ourselves.

But then, these are just my musings.
~Angels’ Musings

I come from a service family with a set of liberal and forward-thinking parents, who, however, always upheld the norms of society. They inculcated in us three siblings the importance and necessity of a good education over the fluctuating value of money. I repeatedly heard my parents say, “Education is the best investment we’ve given our children.” Despite a comfortable lifestyle, service class resources were always limited, yet we were empowered to the best of our ability to chase our dreams.

My mother was not a working woman, but we never seemed to lack whatever we needed, most of all, love and emotional support. Of course, times were different then; life was simpler, expectations from parents weren’t high, and our needs were few. But the healthy mix of love, laughter, and discipline holds me in good stead even over half a century later today. I did work for a while before marriage, and what a feeling it was! Being able to spend without thinking, to be able to buy things for the home, or just the feeling of being able to contribute in my own way gave me immeasurable joy and unwavering self-worth.

And then began the tread of ups and downs – more downs than ups, if I’m being candid– and I began to see with clarity the value of being a working woman, which I, unfortunately, was unable to achieve then. Maybe things would’ve worked out differently for us. Indeed, my children would’ve been financially more secure, but to counter the absence of which, I enriched them emotionally, and I’d like to believe that has played an intrinsic role in moulding them for the future.

I firmly believe, married or not, our daughters need to be financially independent to stand on their own feet and contribute towards the family income. With it, not only comes a sense of selfhood and achievement but an immense sense of responsibility and agency in the face of all odds. Children, too, learn a lot from working moms– they begin to value and respect hard work and learn to contribute in their ways towards household chores. However, just like everything else, this has a downside. On the one hand, we command greater respect by adding to a single income, and yet we also no longer feel the need to mould and adjust to circumstances at home or to improve the marriage. We start believing we can make it totally on our own, which upsets the delicate balance between Yin and Yang. Not just the money but also the warmth, care and concern we, as women, possess is equally nourishing. And yet, the home may feel complete without the presence and balance brought by the man of the house.

The best gift to give to our children is to encourage and empower them to be financially independent, to go after their dreams, and to use their education and ability to the maximum. We need them to understand that to grow taller and taller, our roots need to go deeper under the gravel so that we stand firm, grounded and unshakeable.

I may not have been able to work when I needed to the most, but life has given me a second chance. My daughter encouraged me to start working, and lo! Here I am, now at 70, with so much to look forward to at every new dawn. It feels like emancipation in its truest sense because I have achieved not just what my parents strived for but also a sense of completion and a well-lived life by and for myself.

~Angels’ Musings

I am the daughter of two immigrant parents who are, by all accounts, are a product of a successful arranged marriage, which will turn 50 in December. I was born in a small southern town in the US. My folks were among the first Indian families to grace the Blue Ridge Mountains.  And for as long as I can remember I have been caught between two cultures. The dance I had to do between being born in America and brought up by Indian immigrant parents was never more on display than when it came to relationships – love, dating, marriage… all of it.

I consider myself very lucky to have an open relationship with my parents. They are quite progressive and truly fostered my independence in every aspect of my life. But, there was a great divide when it came to dating. Simply put, my mom could not relate. At all. Casual dating  was a foreign concept to her. She did not stand in my way of dating, but she also could not ever really understand it. In high school I fell in love for the first time. HARD. I dated a boy for 3 years. As we sailed into the spring semester of senior year, he smashed my heart into 4000 pieces. That is a story for another day, but I will never forget my mom’s reaction. I was left broken in the way only a first love heartbreak can leave you. My mom swiftly tried to come to the rescue. She arranged a dinner out with a few of my best girl friends. As we lifted our forks to eat my mom made a quick toast. I was starting to tear up, imagining what words of comfort and strength she would impart to her wounded daughter. She took my hand and held it gently, like she has so many times over my life. She looked deeply into my eyes, then around the table of my girlfriends who had lifted me and held my fragile heart and simply said, “Well, aren’t we all glad that is over”. That was it. We never spoke another word about it.

Dating was simply one of the few things we could not really, honestly talk about. My mom’s ideas and notions of dating came not from her own experiences, but from watching soap operas. Her standards and expectations of a partner were less based in reality, and  more based on romantic comedies. For a long while, this led me down a dangerous path of holding unrealistically high expectations for love, relationships and for the people I was dating.  I envisioned date nights to be wild, romantic, over the top acts. Imagine walking into your bedroom with a new dress laid out on your bed with a note attached to be ready at 8. Followed by a whirlwind evening filled with surprise after surprise – dinner at your favorite place, a concert, coming home to your bed covered in rose petals… you get the idea. But, that, that is the stuff only in movies. Those ridiculous romantic ideals are smoke and mirrors and oftentimes fade as quickly as they appear. It also can lead you down a yellow brick road that leads to nowhere, but disappointment. Disappointment in others, in your relationship, and, worst of all,  disappointment in yourself for allowing these ridiculous expectations to swirl around in your head and color your love life.

It has taken me a while, but I’ve come to realize that I am a much happier, more fulfilled person, and better partner if I ease up on expectations. I stopped chasing the mirage and looking wildly from side to side searching for the perfect relationship anywhere I could find it on the horizon. We are all only human. None of us are actors on a movie set. Nor are we stepping out from the perfectly curated pictures posted on social media. We are real people trying to navigate through the muddy waters of life and hopefully do that with a partner alongside us. Once you have that person, let’s all try to ease up expectations – of ourselves, of them, of the relationship. The excitement of the new relationship will wane, and after it does, you want to have a relationship based in reality. One that includes some whirlwind date nights, of course.  But also one where you can be real with each other. Honest with each other. Lowered expectations lead to a greater acceptance of each other, and that can make even doing the laundry together feel like something truly special. And, after the laundry, cuddle up on the couch, turn on the latest Hollywood blockbuster romcom, laugh, squeeze each other’s hand and be grateful those expectations end when the credits role.

My daughter is graduating high school this Saturday and I’m wondering what to wear to the ceremony her school has luckily organized for the class of 2020. I should be thinking about what to say to her, words of wisdom she can carry to university and beyond, but it’s so much easier to pick a sari than find the right words. What new is there to say? I’m a housewife and my story is a somewhat cautionary tale she’s heard a million times before.
Once upon a time there was a soft-spoken young girl who dreamed of living a life of adventure and becoming a conflict-zone correspondent. This was incompatible with the ideal Indian Marriage her family envisioned for her, so the girl decided to become a dentist, instead. It was not to be. The girl failed med school entrance exams and doomed herself to the wastelands of Economics, on the rebound. With a barely-passed degree in hand, she moved to the land of pagodas to spend a ‘belated gap year’ with her parents. While her friends back home interned in newsrooms, earned a living, partied, dated, and rented apartments, the girl volunteered at the international school and took lessons in guitar, painting, computers, flower arrangement, and tennis. Soon, well meaning aunties started whispering to her about Monday-fasts and a fairy godmother appeared with deets of a suitable Indian boy. Intelligent. Educated. Independent. Decent. Attractive. Similar background.
“Really?” gasped the girl, aghast.
“Life is better with a companion and when you find the right one, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth!” advised her father.
“The good ones get snapped up fast, so best not wait until you’re left with the dregs,” warned her mother.
“The boy’s mother is a real diamond,” nudged the fairy godmother.
So, flights were booked and a meeting of parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, and close family friends from both sides was called. Tea, pastries, sandwiches, and many pleasantries later it was agreed that the boy and girl could step out into the garden for a chat. “Nirula’s Banana-split is my favourite and I love chana-bhaturas,” said the girl. “I like Hot-chocolate-fudge and pao-bhaji,” said the boy.
“Gabbar or Mogambo?”
“Gabbar!”
“Me too!”
“Asterix or Tin-Tin?”
“Asterix!”
“Me too!”
“What’s your favourite Disney movie?”
“Aladdin!”
“Mine too! Your ideal wife?”
“Intelligent, with twinkling eyes, meets me with a smile. Your ideal husband?” “Handsome, intelligent, treats me like a princess.”
“Done!”
“Do you have a motorbike?”
“Yes… and, better, a magic carpet!”
“Done!”
The ‘roka’ happened quickly, followed by a formal engagement, and before the 21 year old princess and 22 year old prince could name and shame their respective troublemaking mamus and masis, they were married and sailing into the sunset on a magic carpet… blissfully unaware
that the story was just beginning.
The carpet carried the couple way out beyond their comfort zones to faraway new lands and landscapes, some rough, some smooth; through stormy weather and calm; good times and bad; lessons, wanted and unwanted; across countries, cities, and continents, some exotic, some not. Rules were made and unmade, there were tantrums and truces, apologies and promises, a million little compromises and kindnesses, red lines drawn and withdrawn, castles built and erased, wishes fulfilled and postponed. Along the way they added a baby and when the baby asked for a puppy, they got a pup. There were diapers and TeleTubbies, picture books and encyclopedias, vaccines, dolls, birthday parties, report cards, playdates, festivals, braces, college counsellors, and holidays. There was laughter and tears, giggles and barks, debates and dictats, new mistakes and old, joy, pride, worries, and satisfaction. There was friendship, companionship, sacrifice, inexperience, romance, and parenthood. Memories were lived and recorded…
“Is this the life of adventure I dreamed of?” thought the girl, a lady now, seated on the magic carpet, sipping the tea her husband and soulmate of 23 years had made for her. The clue lay in something her daughter wrote for her university application:
“…. this is the answer to a dream I never knew I had.”
I’m not sure what to wear to my daughter’s graduation, but I know what I want to say as she steps into the same old brand new world…
“Make what you like of my fairytale, but remember, my darling… there is no script. Write your own…”

Cycling down the scenic Toronto Islands, the skyline emerges even clearer, as do the host of couples driving past me. I wonder if my ‘happily ever after’ too, would squeeze into prickly bicycling gear on an odd August morning for a weekend escape.

All these years, my gaze was like the scattered light of a disco ball. A bit all over the place and ready to be hitched at the first romantic vision  of “accidentally bumping” into someone– The ‘One’, for me, to be precise. But dating in your 30s, is all about being a laser-focused beam. You eye your targets and lock eyes with the right prey. And after a much-requested rewatch of Indian Matchmaking, conversations with my family have found a new life of their own. My parents display an unwavering faith in my recently acquired skillset– of rejecting proposals and inventing the most creative red flags to seal their fate. Mismatched socks on the second date? Red. Dislikes animals but furry cats in particular? Red. Stared at my hands for way too long? That’s at least a deep maroon!

After making friends with many palm readers, and eventually myself, I’m now at a point in my life where I know exactly what I’m looking for. The laser beam has narrowed further and I refuse to spend my time on approaches that have no potential. The idea of meeting someone online, conversing, figuring them out and then taking it from there, seems excellent. But personally, this window shopping for dates and introductions had never worked for me. Hence, much like my befitting corporate leap, I was on a journey to optimise for healthy, aligned connections with that much more speed and ease.

Here, my mother’s optimisation tactics deserve a special mention of their own too. Her browser history is replete with searches that could unbolt the darkest of Alibaba’s caves, or summon the witches right back from their stakes. The first tab calls out to the ‘Best Matchmaker in Canada’, and the seventeenth, rather slyly, settles for ‘Canada Matrimony’.  Nestled between them are her more rooted visions, for Indian Matrimonial Services and Exclusive NRI Matchmaking. These searches, coupled with her strong desire to see me off as a bride in ammachi’s deep vermillion Kanchivaram silk, call on me to find the promise of that golden fairytale future, someday, in time. Surely, there is a drumroll insert somewhere in here.

But if you’re someone like me, who has had a few failed relationships, and a heavier heart thereafter, know that the peddle can get rough. For the longest hour, a long-term partnership may feel like a pipe dream. For a part of me, it still does. But the more I infuse a positive approach into the wheels of this bus, the negative thinking stops churning around the same self-sabotaging behaviours. When I notice my mind spinning its wheels in the mud of my own past fears, I simply opt for compassion and choose a new thought.

And my baggage here may have helped me qualify for a weightlifting open too. But instead I chose to invest in an emotional muscle or two. I wrote down the names of the last few people I had been with. Right next to each name, I listed the top five things I liked about them and the top five things that I didn’t. I looked for any patterns. Mine was a bold chevron. One that eventually gets overwhelming with each stripe because of my anxious attachment style. Deep breaths, yeah? Then I underlined the qualities that I liked the most. Voila! These qualities are what you should look for in your search for a life partner.

It is an ongoing process. I’m learning, myself, from scratch. But more importantly, I’m living, from abundance. Now when I meet someone new, I give them a fair chance. And no matter how fierce Taylor’s lyrics get, I’m not about to destine myself to a life alone with the cats on a couch, if the first introduction doesn’t work out. Me and my jade roller go to bed each night knowing that I’m doing my best to put forth intentional action. And yet sometimes the thing we are trying to grasp for is being held out of our reach because something better is already heading our way.

I hastily cycle past the rather romantic spots of the lush Toronto parkland, but the thought of returning to this place with better company is not once lost. When the scene is set right, it must not be as straining to lose yourself under the gaze of a gazillion lofty lights. It has taken a while for me to trust my gaze. But now that I do, all that remains is for the stars to align.

My first ideas on marriage were borrowed from a partnership that lasted fifty-two years. It sounds like a lifetime. It very much is. I witnessed the old-world charm of love, longing, and loss all bundled in a lifespan and, more importantly, in my formative years.

As a young Christian couple back in the sixties, my grandparents relocated from the lush bounties of Kerala to the remote interiors of a mundane town on the hinges of Tamil Nadu. An arranged introduction, a pair of rings, and a sermon later, the two were declared man and wife. There was only enough time and space to memorize each other’s family names. Love was a far cry, a whisper rather.

Between my grandmother’s affluent upbringing and my grandfather’s humble origins, his Nikon camera captured their journey and the romantic potential of a young, tender, and ‘slow love.’ In his camera film roles, she held the visual space and vivacity of a wife, a woman, and most importantly, a person coming into her own being. She was the first muse to an avid photographer– a handsome, jovial man and her brother’s friend, whom she had known for one fortnight before they uttered their vows aloud. The days, months, and years following this marriage displayed a courtship that could put Bridgerton to shame. For the first time in twenty years, my grandmother became the centre of someone’s attention and retained this sort of love, warmth, and caregiving in her husband’s gaze.

Abundant with solo shots of her in front of majestic mountains, beaches, and bridges to the most mundane activities captured at an odd wedding, the kitchen, or their bedroom, she stands there sporting luscious silk sarees and a heart-wrenching smile. You can look and tell when one wishes to live their brightest times out of a dull, depleting monochrome album. My grandmother has repeatedly expressed that desire verbally too. She holds the grief of not having documented enough between them in a fifty-two-year-long marriage. Long, not old. Before one left the other behind, these photographs are all that remains of their love and a beautiful companionship in the wake of time.

This brings me back to ‘slow love.’ The kind that can underline and define a marriage. The kind that is hard to imagine, much less pursue, in an era of relentless dating app swipes and cursory likes. Instead, you slow things down in your mind, so the familiarity is never fleeting but naturally carved out. The kind where the idea of discovering one another is not a headrush but a steady walk down an uphill road, hand in hand. The kind that compels your grandchildren to revel in its memory and set out to search for its traces in reality. The kind where you take a lifetime to get to know yourself and, in turn, get to know your partner a tad bit more closely. A slow and steady kind of love.

In some sense, I do believe slow love makes for safer relationships. Your expressions of love are not hurried. You learn the communication necessary to relish the pace of a budding romantic relationship. You long for the warmth of handwritten letters and face-to-face interactions, and if you’re daring enough, a five-decade-old photo archive, like my grandfather’s, would do too. Early, earnest commitment can nourish a fertile plane that leads to intimacy, mutual understanding, and deep love. Perhaps, sometimes, it is their very condition. The hope is to capture the intent and ideal of a love that is simply learned and lived every day to the fullest.

Do you really want to understand the nitty-gritty of living with your partner before you marry them? I’m not sure!

Do you worry that it could result in all the things that can take romance out of the relationship? Hmm, that’s a worry!

Is your relationship healthier if your partner has been brought up with the courtesy to put the seat down after his visit to the loo, or is it an insignificant detail that does not matter?!

This really cannot be something we talk about!

 Is the tube of toothpaste squeezed from the end or are there lumps and bumps and a messy top with no lid? 

It can be appalling for a tidy girl or maybe it gives her the opportunity to return to the lazy girl she always was, bathroom tidiness be damned, the loo welcomes a messy twosome! 

I am lucky to have a partner with super loo etiquette because all of those idiosyncrasies mentioned above would have driven me bonkers! I am also trying desperately for my boys to pick up on these little but important codes of courtesy as soon as possible – it’s never too early to understand some of the polite mannerisms that living together requires.

A relationship can become so comfortable when you get used to the real sights and sounds of cohabiting that there is no need to mess with the equation. If I were put in that spot, I might just find it the comfortable cocoon that needs no changing, even if I know that the end result could be the beautiful butterfly called wedded bliss! 

Making a home together can be euphoric at any time. Pre-marriage, post-marriage- it’s a very special time. All the culinary arguments, who’s turn it is for groceries or making lunch take their time to fall into place and settling in can be a quite the joyride. I am sure my Mum and Aunt’s would have enjoyed establishing equal relationships if society saw it as acceptable for them to live with my Dad and Uncle’s before the priest finished the wedding chant’s! For a group of ladies that did not even call their husbands by their first names, to show some form of respect for their traditionally older male partners, it would have been an awkward but revolutionary time. As generations have moved on, I think both men and women have enjoyed the equality they bring to their relationship when they begin to live together. Even if equality is not what they have settled for, there are rules on who does what around the house! I offered to pay all the bills online when we first got married but the type-A character I am married to was never sure it was done right, so I stopped! 15 years later, he would be grateful if I took it on, trust established over the years and all that, but heigh-ho, that ship has sailed, Type-A can stick with it! I wonder if we had established these rules as a couple living in, we could change how we wanted to do things once married! 

Independence and money are always important to living with someone. I think more women would keep their careers going longer if they are living with their partners and both individuals are contributing to running a household, whether equally or otherwise. I did find giving up on a career difficult when I had children, but it was my decision entirely, I wanted to spend that time with my kids, I wanted them to know I was around, it mattered to me and I was privileged to have the financial and emotional support to do so. Had we lived in, I might have struggled to shake off the job as I may have had financial responsibilities to both the family and to the structure of a household we had established. I speculate though, and for many, this may never be a matter of choice!  

In the end, every couple has to find space and comfort in the cards they are dealt and the circumstance they are in. Some have the ability and freedom to make that decision on living-in and experimenting with cohabitation, others don’t and find a certain charm and romance in the unknown. 

Is there complacency that could set in and make a live-in relationship a rut? Yes, but that can happen to married couples too. 

May you never head for holy matrimony? Possible, and you may still thrive in the relationship. 

Whichever way you do it, there will be arguments, hurt, hugs and chuckles along the way. Both versions will always be the experiment you hope never fails.

It could be magical figuring out if a long-term relationship is actually for you given the opportunity. It could save both people much heart-ache if a couple can realise quite quickly that living together is beyond unbearable. And then again, you could establish rules on toothpaste tops that you agree on and loo manners that are acceptable and find collaborative ways that makes things chug along because there is so much more that keeps two individuals together. Above all, you will establish roles and rules on finances, kids, careers and life to come, which could be very fruitful. You may still bumble along when life bowls you that googly, but you will have had the experience and strength of the past to drive into the future!

The Railway Woman

As we travel and make new homes in unknown lands, we grow to appreciate new cultures but also use a focal but distant lens to observe homes of the past. I notice this in myself when I speak with family in India and know that I am not alone. 

In full disclosure I must admit that my British passport will never take away the tears I shed when I hear the Indian national anthem but the odd tear has started to run down the cheek when I hear “God save the Queen” as well! My heart swells when I hear the lyrical notes the 9 year old strikes in Britain’s got Talent and wrenches with equal gusto when I hear the tribal singer belt his chords on Indian Idol. I truly am a “desi” at heart, and yet, feel fraudulent when I hear family and friends talk of Indian nationalism to mean never criticising those in political power or call out simple cultural anomalies that should never stand the test of time. So, does moving away from India as a child of the endearing 80’s still give me the right to criticise what I see through the lens of dispassionate distance?

What does it mean to be a Non-resident Indian? For many it means not paying taxes in India, for others, they prefer having a travel document that makes moving across the globe, visa-free, slightly less tedious. For me, I have gained a new home in Britain, lost the right to my Indian vote, and am bringing up children in a mixed and diverse culture, some of it great and some of it not. I have laid my bed and am very happy in it. Nothing is ever dusted in gold, not even the streets of London but I always like looking at my glass full – brimming with twinkling Scotch and soda, my first sips of which were at my Dad’s bar in Delhi!

India has now become my home away from home. I go back to meet family and friends, continue to have commitments that take me back and it’s the place I take my children to show them my past. I am a flawed person, some of that past is great and some of it is not. India and my family made me the confident individual I am but I slowly find myself feeling less at home in the homeland, and it breaks my heart. My secular upbringing now feels challenged, the country’s economic boom no longer hides its social and cultural biases, they feel stronger than ever before, and can’t be camouflaged in the cloud of familial euphoria that landing in Delhi brings. 

There is so much my India brings to the international table. A country of a billion plus, that is the largest manufacturing hub in the world of vaccines, it stands proud in what it can deliver to 2021. A life-saving drug, is just that, a shot in the arm to bring humanity back to some sort of normality, any nation that has a role to play should stand tall in what it can contribute, and Bharat does it best. And yet in the last decade, a word hidden in my secular dictionary, “sedition” is displayed in newspapers black, white and pink every day. The hushed silences my homeland suggests are necessary for an easier life tingle my spine. Is my criticism unfair or do we as NRI’s hold India to higher standards and therefore feel it’s our birth right to berate our homeland when we see a flaw?

Does living in the land of your birth make you the stalwart that has to constantly defend its values, its culture and the nationalism that comes with it? And if not, it’s a mystery why we do it. My mother defends the government I criticise, she, on the other hand can criticise the bad behaviour of a bureaucrat at the passport office and sees fit in having him hauled up by a senior. The man had a bad manner, he also now has a big “x” in his customer service report! Had I said the same thing, I would be called the NRI expecting perfection, when she does it, she is a tax-paying citizen, well within her right to have him rapped on the knuckles.

So, does our relationship with the motherland change fundamentally when we chose to live in a different geography? Analytically speaking, mine has. I have found my voice to say things can go wrong everywhere, even in India. There is plenty wrong in Britain, but no one tells me off when I say it. As I look forward to India thrashing England in the test match at the swanky and shiny pride of Gujarat, Motera, my cricket loyalties are intact. I hope that redeems me when I say, come on India, grow up, and learn to take some criticism on the chin.

The Railway Woman

I was about 5 years old, hopping and skipping along to catch up with my grandfather as we went for our Sunday walk, just him and me, talking, me asking him a 1000 questions and him sharing   life lessons with me, disguised in funny, interesting stories. He was a very gentle soul, with twinkling eyes and a mischievous laugh. All week I used to look forward to this walk with him. I felt safe. I felt happy.

I was born into an industrialist family in North India. The small city as I knew it, then almost entirely consisted of people and their families who were employed in the family business. I was sent away to a boarding school in Nainital when I was 5 for fear of turning out spoilt and obnoxious. Today when I look at myself, I am not sure if my parents sent me 5 years too late! Anyway, I was too attached to my mother and became very unwell. One day the Principal called my parents and asked them to take me out of boarding school and make me a day scholar. Mission accomplished! My mother moved bag and baggage into our 30 room mansion high up in the hills and life was finally in place. My father would come ever so often to visit us which we eagerly looked forward to. My mother and I formed a bond which was deep and strong and I knew that nothing bad could happen as long as she was by my side.

I held my younger sister’s hand and took her for her first day in kindergarten, down the hill we walked, my mother, her and me. We had a 6 year age gap and I clearly remember the tremendous sense of joy and pride I felt as we walked into her preschool. She was 3 and had clenched my hand tight. I looked at her, and smiled, and told her I will be waiting. She knew I would be.

The first time the man I was dating dropped me at the airport and hugged me – the tears just rolled, I can’t explain it, I just felt a stab in my heart at the thought that I might never see him again. It seemed I had always known him, notlike I had only met him twice! I knew then, that this was it. I had always believed I would only get married when I met someone I couldn’t live without. I knew in my heart that this man would always love me and have my back.

My eldest son was born after 20 hours of intense labour. My husband was with me in the room throughout. As he proudly cut the umbilical cord (perhaps he wanted to make sure,  he always says my umbilical cord with my mother still hasn’t been cut!!) he was beaming hearing the cries of our son. I have never seen him this happy. Ever. He walked over and placed our first born who was screaming on me. In that instant, as he snuggled into me and put his tiny fingers in my palm he stopped crying.

Today as my kids are beginning to discover the world I want them to see it through their lens – not mine. But ever so often they look at me and stretch their arms out and run to me. As I hold them tight, they know I have got them.

My husband and I, both, have demanding, stressful global roles which amongst a multitude of other things mean travelling the world on our own. Yet we are connected in a way that is difficult to explain and we both know that home is only where we are together.

Trust. It’s as simple as that.

Anuradha Gupta is Founder, CEO for Vows for Eternity, and Indian-American matchmaking service headquartered in New York, with offices in Delhi, Mumbai and London.

www.vowsforeternity.com

The years have flown by and I often find myself wondering if it has really been 12 years since I got married and then I see some grey hair and I am reminded that indeed it has! So much has changed over the years, I have lived in more countries than I could have ever thought, got married, had kids, loved, lost and gained so much. And then the internal changes, which are a lot more drastic but a lot more intangible and have come after much soul searching.

Years ago, my notion of life and of relationships was so different to what it is today. Life was this little bubble that I lived in, a world made by me, for myself where everyone is safe. I have always been a die hard romantic and an intense all or nothing person. I have always believed in the sanctity of marriage but have often found myself being caught between believing in the sanctity of marriage, yet not being sure if I had it in me to be with one person all my life. Is that how human beings are wired – to love and to be with one person all one’s life? I couldn’t answer that then, I still can’t answer that now.

But today I know that life usually turns out very differently to the way we imagine and it’s very important to go with the flow and at the same time to trust your instincts. Look inward, listen in to that voice which speaks very softly and you won’t go wrong. I was 34, living in London when I first met this man who was the polar opposite of who I am. On so many levels we are like chalk and cheese. I am a vegetarian, whilst he can eat anything that crawls! He is a finance guy who can spend hours over an excel spreadsheet, whereas for me the excel works as a sedative, putting me to sleep very rapidly! Our backgrounds are different, cultures are different, even our styles are quite different. He is very chilled out, always seems to be in a state of zen, in control of his emotions, very humble – everything that I am NOT!

I met him for the first time in May 2008, in London, over an evening which lasted 5 hours where we spoke about everything from politics to sport and time just flew. And then we didn’t speak to each other for 4 months as we were both busy with work and travel. I reconnected with him months later and we met up in LA. We shared a wonderful few days, some of the best in my life, we drove for hours to watch the sunset over a glass of champagne overlooking the ocean, went for long walks, spoke for hours, went for a cycle ride by the beach, had the most fun dinners and time just stood still for those few days. Till the clock struck and it was time for me to leave for London. As he came to the airport to see me off and I said goodbye, I felt like I was leaving something very precious behind. That’s when I knew. This was the man I wanted to marry. I couldn’t understand it then, how could I know that I wanted to share my life with someone I had just met a handful of times? I still don’t understand how that happened, it was just so unlike me.

We got married exactly one year after we first met. Over the years we have gone through a lot together, seen a lot of ups and downs – good and bad times. Our relationship has changed drastically, it started off just with the two of us and then over time it was our individual families that one got to know, we had kids that in so many ways changed the dynamics of the game. It brought a phase of adjustment, a steep learning curve and the realization that our lives will never be the same again. And for that I am truly grateful. Becoming parents has been our biggest blessing.

I believe in change, and that it is the only constant. Sometimes I wonder what brought us together and kept us together – it couldn’t have been the kids as they came in so much later in our lives. So what was it? On the surface there is so much that is different, but deep down in things that matter to us, we are so similar. Most importantly, we are best friends. It started with our first meeting, it was so easy. We don’t have stereotypical roles in our marriage – perhaps because neither of us are people who would fit the typical mould.

We are both strong individuals who sometimes butt heads but also respect each other immensely because we are so different and bring such different things to the marriage. Today, when I look back at the headstrong, impulsive, volatile person that I am and the balance that he brings to my life, I realize how important friendship is to a marriage. Our relationship has seen so many seasons and even 12 years later I look forward to us stealing time to get on our bicycles and go on a ride by the beach, with the wind blowing through our hair, the sound of the waves as they crash and us just soaking in the moment as the sun sets.

Anuradha Gupta is Founder, CEO for Vows for Eternity, and Indian-American matchmaking service headquartered in New York, with offices in Delhi, Mumbai and London.

www.vowsforeternity.com