Monsoon Clouds - 12. Married Life
Chapter 12: Married Life
12.1 A Quiet Beginning in a New City
At exactly 6:00 a.m., I stepped onto the platform of Chennai Central Railway Station—crossing an invisible line into my married life. Rajesh was there to receive us. He wore a practiced smile, and I returned it with one just as artificial. Dad didn’t question much. From the station, Rajesh took us to a small one-bedroom apartment he had already rented. Most of the essentials were in place. Dad stayed with us for a few days, helping me settle in and arrange what I would need before leaving me there.
The moment Dad left, loneliness crept in. It was just Rajesh and me in the house—and silence. Rajesh, as always, spoke very little. I quietly managed the home, arranging everything for him. He never complained, never questioned. Even if I forgot to add sugar to his coffee, he would drink it as it was, without a word. With food too, he ate whatever was served. If he didn’t like something, he would simply stop eating—never expressing dissatisfaction. Our home felt like a silent film with two characters: no dialogue, no expressions.
After returning from the office, Rajesh immersed himself in the television or the newspaper. Sometimes I wondered what he would do if the TV wasn’t there. I got my answer when the cable connection failed for a couple of days. I hoped—perhaps foolishly—that the absence of television might lead to conversation. But I was wrong. He filled the silence by rereading old newspapers and magazines, just to pass the time.
Getting emotionally close to him felt impossible. We lived under the same roof, moved around the same space, yet there was no conversation, no connection, no physical closeness. Strangely, I didn’t even feel regret. I wasn’t eager to grow close to Rajesh either. Days passed, and we remained like two unfamiliar strangers sharing a house—more like an unpaid maid and cook than husband and wife.
He never took me out—for shopping, movies, or even a casual walk. For groceries, I would tell him exactly what was needed, and he would bring back precisely that—nothing extra, nothing less. Satya Uncle, aware of Rajesh’s nature, often sent me money under one pretext or another. He also sent sarees for every occasion. Dad, too, sent clothes for both of us during festivals, along with small gifts for Rajesh.
We were invited to family gatherings and festivals, but Rajesh always found a reason to avoid attending. During the wedding, I had received a lot of gold. Rajesh’s mother was especially fond of jewelry—she had received plenty at her own wedding and continued collecting more over the years. She owned almost every ornament imaginable, even gold hairpins. Satya Uncle had gifted two full sets of weekly jewelry—one to Vani and one to me. I requested him to keep mine safely, to be taken only when needed.
Over time, I lost hope of ever growing close to Rajesh. Though we slept on the same bed, there was never any physical intimacy. His behavior remained a mystery—an unanswered question that lingered in my mind. Usually, he watched TV while I sometimes joined him. When I felt sleepy, I went to bed. He would come later. That was our routine—quiet, distant, and emotionally empty.
* * *
12.2 A Night of Hope and Hurt
That evening, a romantic movie was playing on television. I expected Rajesh to change the channel, as he usually did whenever such scenes appeared. But that day, he didn’t. The movie continued, and slowly, I found myself drawn into it. Memories of Rahul surfaced uninvited, stirring emotions and sensations I had long buried. I noticed subtle changes in Rajesh too—in his movements, in his restlessness—and for the first time, a fragile hope took shape within me. I thought perhaps something might finally change that night.
Carrying those emotions with me, I went to bed. Deliberately, I lay on his side of the bed. He came in shortly after, switched off the light, and moved toward his usual place—only to realize I was already there. He didn’t say a word. I shifted slightly, and he adjusted beside me. For the first time, I felt Rajesh’s touch—awkward, unfamiliar, and rough, his body tired and sweaty. He pulled me closer. I was tense and anxious, yet I told myself he was my husband, that this was his right, and perhaps also my responsibility.
I surrendered myself, trying to believe in the promise of closeness, hoping to experience the warmth and intimacy I had imagined. But everything ended almost before it began. In a fleeting moment, it was over. Rajesh turned away from me and went back to sleep, facing the other side.
It took me a few moments to understand what had happened. At first, I blamed myself, wondering if I had done something wrong. Then reality sank in, and I couldn’t stop my tears. I am certain he heard me crying, but he offered no response.
For the next fifteen days, we avoided each other completely. He hid his face from me, and I felt too ashamed and uncomfortable to meet his eyes. The silence between us grew heavier, filled with confusion, hurt, and a deep sense of rejection.
* * *
12.3 Silence, Waiting, and Quiet Acceptance
More than two months passed after that incident, yet I struggled to erase it from my memory. What troubled me even more were the constant questions from people about “good news.” They had no idea what lay beneath the surface. It had been over eight months since the marriage, and still, there was no progress—only explanations I could never give.
Around that time, mobile phones were becoming common, though not the smart ones of today. They were simple Nokia phones, meant for calls and the occasional snake game. Satya Uncle gifted me one so he could speak to me whenever he wished. He always treated Vani and me equally—sometimes, I felt I received even more affection as his daughter-in-law.
That small device made a big difference in my life. It reminded me that I existed beyond the walls of my home. I began speaking regularly with my mother, Vani, and Satya Uncle. Sandhya would call from the US whenever time zones allowed, most of her conversations revolving around Ayush and his little activities. Ravi, too, called once in a while. After moving to the US, he had begun to sound more like a caring brother.
Despite everything, I kept waiting for another chance with Rajesh. I was married now—he was my husband. Beyond cooking and cleaning, I believed there were other responsibilities too, ones I wanted to fulfill sincerely, regardless of the past.
That long-awaited moment finally arrived. Rajesh was unusually happy one evening—he had received a much-anticipated promotion. I was the first person he told. I felt genuinely happy for him, proud of his achievement. He brought sweets and biryani from the office, a quiet celebration, perhaps the first of its kind since our marriage.
As usual, he watched television, and as usual, I carried hope into the night. He came in, switched off the light, and pulled me closer. The room was filled with the fragrance of jasmine. He was gentler this time, slower. My heart felt light, holding on to every small touch.
But before I could even fully feel that closeness, it was over—again. This time, he left the bedroom altogether. I was too stunned to ask anything, and somewhere inside, I knew it wasn’t the moment to question him.
I went to the bathroom and took a bath at that odd hour, hoping water might calm me. The stream from the shower mixed with my tears until neither could be told apart. After that night, we never spoke about it. I slowly gave up trying and began to accept him as he was—even though he himself seemed unable to do the same.
* * *
12.4 An Anniversary of Waiting and Rupture
Days began to blur into one another, each following the same routine—preparing breakfast, packing lunch and dinner, and filling the long hours with television as my only companion. Most of the neighbors didn’t speak Telugu, so interaction was limited to polite smiles. Rajesh, too, was uncomfortable with me talking much to others; he had made it clear from the very beginning that he preferred I keep my distance.
Then came our first anniversary—one full year completed. Yet, despite the passing time, we were still strangers sharing the same roof, and somewhere deep inside, I feared we always would be. I longed for a fresh start. I wished him good morning, and for once, he responded with a smile, as if the day held some promise. I received two sarees—one from my father and another from Satya Uncle. Rajesh received two as well, one from each side of the family.
For the first time since our marriage, I gathered the courage to ask him if we could go out for a movie and lunch. He didn’t reply. I understood that silence meant no. I then suggested a visit to the temple. This time, it wasn’t a direct refusal—just a vague “we’ll see.” That small uncertainty felt like hope.
I asked him to come home early in the evening so we could go together. I cooked with extra care, preparing what I believed might be his favorite dishes—though it was hard to tell, as he ate everything with the same expression, whether it was chicken or bitter gourd. He seemed pleasant that day, his mood lifting the atmosphere around him. I received anniversary wishes from many, and for the first time in a year, I felt a quiet happiness, even though I didn’t know how long it would last.
I finished my chores quickly, dressed up, and waited—heart full, expectations alive. But waiting was all it turned out to be. Rajesh came home very late. I couldn’t tell whether it was intentional or unavoidable. Anger rose within me, but I swallowed it down. I didn’t want a fight on this day. I forced a smile, hiding my disappointment. For the first time, he murmured a soft “sorry,” barely audible, and went in to freshen up.
The rest of the evening slipped back into routine—dinner, him watching television, me preparing for bed. I wanted something to change that night, something meaningful. So I lay down on his side of the bed. When he finally came in and switched off the light, instead of joining me, he chose the far end of the bed. I waited, counting moments, hoping he would come closer. He turned away and fell asleep.
Unable to bear the distance, I moved toward him and placed my hand on him. I could feel his warmth, his body damp with sweat. There was no reaction—neither acceptance nor rejection. Taking his silence as permission, I moved closer. That night, I crossed a line I never imagined I would. Even now, the memory makes me uncomfortable, but at that moment, I think I was only craving a married life, a sense of closeness.
Before I could fully understand what I had done, reality struck hard. Years of stored anger and helplessness overflowed, and I spoke words I should never have uttered. My father always warned me to be careful with words spoken in anger or joy. But that night, I lost control and said, “Why don’t you consult a doctor?”
In the dark, silent room, the sound of the slap echoed—again and again in my mind. It was the first time I had been hit since I grew up. I covered my left cheek and ran to the bathroom, trying to clean myself. Tears flowed freely, stinging like ointment on an open wound.
I don’t remember how long I stayed there, crying. Even the foul smell of the bathroom didn’t bother me. I didn’t want to see his face again or share the same space. I took a bedsheet and slept in the hall that night. That was the last night I ever slept on the same bed as Rajesh. He didn’t come to check on me—why would he? After all, I blamed myself.
From that day on, whatever bond we had grew weaker. We barely crossed paths. If he was in the hall, I stayed in the bedroom, and if I was out, he withdrew. Whenever calls came from my home or his, I put on an act—pretending everything was fine. There was no point in telling them the truth and adding to their pain. Some silences, I learned, are carried alone.
* * *
12.5 Living Apart, Moving On
Satya Uncle visited once, sensing that something was not right. He knew Rajesh well and could read the silence between us. For me—and perhaps for Rajesh too—it had become an unbearable challenge. The only way I could protect myself was by staying away from him, pretending to be unwell and faking my periods. In villages, such matters are governed by strict customs, and Satya Uncle did not probe further into our relationship. He stayed for a few days and left, carrying unanswered questions with him.
Life gradually lost its meaning. I existed, but I was no longer living. Days passed without awareness of dates, occasions, or purpose. Clothes were worn only to cover the body, food was eaten only to survive, and bathing became just another routine. I visited Hyderabad a couple of times when my parents fell sick and returned without any discussion. Rajesh never asked when I was leaving or when I would come back.
Meanwhile, Ravi completed his MS and secured a job in a reputed company. More importantly, he revealed that he was in love with his classmate, Sanjana. They had studied together at IIT and continued through their MS. He told me first and sought my help in speaking to our parents. Sanjana belonged to Haryana, her father ran a spare-parts manufacturing business, and her family was financially well-off compared to ours. Unofficially, Ravi and Sanjana were already living together in the US, working in the same organization and deeply in love. Around the same time, Rama Rao Uncle also fixed matches for Satish, and Satish seemed genuinely happy about it.
It took time to convince my mother, after which we spoke to my father. Eventually, everyone agreed. Given how my own marriage had turned into a disaster, the thought that Ravi would at least marry the person he loved and live happily made sense to all of us. That understanding became the turning point, and we gave our consent. Sanjana’s parents also did not resist much, knowing that Ravi would settle in the US.
After a simple and formal engagement, the wedding date was fixed according to their vacation schedule. The plan was to have the wedding in Haryana and a reception in Hyderabad. Ravi’s marriage brought life and energy back into the family, while I felt like a living corpse, merely moving through days.
My father asked me to come a month before the wedding, as I was the only one who could manage all the arrangements. Immersing myself in the wedding preparations helped me forget my own reality. The long-awaited occasion was finally set. Ravi and Sanjana planned to arrive a week before the wedding, stay for two weeks, and then leave. They had already planned their honeymoon in Europe on their way back to the US.
Rajesh did not comment on my travel plans for Ravi’s wedding. My father called him personally, and Rajesh confirmed that he would come a day before the wedding, despite the strained relationship between us. Before leaving, I organized everything at home, knowing I would be away for more than forty-five days, and made arrangements for Rajesh as well—because, despite everything, I still believed it was my duty.
* * *
12.6 A Grand Wedding and Subtle Unease
I did not do any shopping for Ravi or Sanjana, knowing well that their tastes were different. Most of my shopping was for clothes for our relatives, as expectations tend to be high, especially for an NRI wedding. Ravi sent money to Dad specifically for shopping. Mom and Dad were not very interested, but I forced them to buy a few things, knowing it might look odd in front of Sanjana’s relatives if they didn’t. Revathi Aunty helped us immensely during the shopping, and in the middle of all this wedding chaos, I almost forgot everything else about my life.
Once Ravi arrived, days began to fly. Relatives started filling the house, and the atmosphere turned completely festive. Ravi sponsored the entire wedding, and Sanjana’s parents were equally generous. They arranged flight tickets for all our close relatives and provided five-star hotel accommodations in Haryana. Beautiful gifts were given to everyone, and I was presented with a diamond set and expensive sarees. The wedding was conducted on a grand scale, one that would surely become a benchmark for many future weddings in our community.
Every family seems to have one person capable of stirring trouble even in calm waters. In ours, that person was known as Telegram Uncle. In those days, telegrams were the only way to convey urgent messages, and more often than not, they carried bad news. This man had earned a reputation for delivering such news so frequently that people forgot his real name and simply called him Telegram Uncle—including me.
He was always on the lookout for new people in the community to target. He could not attend my wedding as he was busy with another one, but his intentions were never limited to celebrations. He enjoyed sharing sensational news and borrowing money, which he never returned. His attention soon shifted to Rajesh, perhaps because Rajesh was quiet and kept to himself. I noticed Telegram Uncle speaking to Rajesh a couple of times, but I was too occupied with wedding arrangements to give it much thought.
Even Mom noticed this and asked me to warn Rajesh to stay away from him. Knowing Rajesh would not listen to me, I still agreed, not wanting to worry Mom further. Her concern was understandable, given Telegram Uncle’s reputation in our family. She tried her best to keep him busy by assigning him one task or another, but somehow he always found his way back to Rajesh.
The wedding and reception were truly a feast for the eyes. Everything went smoothly, and the celebrations passed like a beautiful dream—too fast to fully absorb. Rajesh left soon after the reception. I chose to stay back while Ravi was still around, and Rajesh did not object to it. Sanjana, meanwhile, found it difficult to adjust initially. Coming from North India and having spent most of her recent years in the US, her way of thinking was quite different from ours. Ravi did his best to bridge the gap and maintain balance between both worlds.
* * *
12.7 Accusations, Abuse, and an Unexpected Truth
Mom wanted to pack the entire world for me, but that was impossible, so she packed as much as she could, as if I were traveling for the very first time. Looking at the amount of luggage, Dad felt it would be better if he accompanied me, as handling everything alone would be difficult. It had been more than a year since we had traveled together, and Mom also wanted to join and visit a few temples around Chennai. The three of us traveled together and informed Rajesh in advance.
Rajesh tried to prepare the house as best as he could and cleaned up as much as possible, though it still looked messy. Mom stepped in and helped restore some order. After two days, Mom and Dad left. Their departure left a sudden emptiness behind, especially after the warmth and joy of the past couple of months. While my parents were around, Rajesh behaved exceptionally well, almost like a different person.
Once they left, silence once again ruled the house. There was no change in either of us—we simply slipped back into our old, distant routine. One evening, Rajesh came home completely drunk. Though he drank occasionally, that night his eyes burned like hot coal. As usual, he turned on the TV, and I was about to leave the room when he spoke.
“So… are you still meeting Rahul?” he slurred.
“What?” I could not believe what I had just heard.
“Don’t act smart. Your uncle told me everything about you and Rahul.”
“I have no idea where he is now.”
“He knows everything, that’s why he calls you regularly.”
“What are you even talking about? I have never seen or spoken to him after that one evening.”
“I’ve seen you getting calls from the US many times.”
“Sandhya and Ravi are in the US—they call me. Rahul has never called. And we already told you everything about Rahul earlier.”
“Who told me?”
“Dad explained everything to Satya Uncle and asked him to tell you before the marriage.”
“My father only said there was a match with Rahul that got canceled at the last moment. He never mentioned any love story.”
“That’s not my fault. Go ask your father.”
“Why should I ask my father? If you did everything with Rahul, was it just love—or more?” he asked, his voice filled with disgust.
“Please shut up. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying—and what you did. You couldn’t control your desires, so you’re still in touch with Rahul, waiting for him.”
“Please don’t say that. I haven’t spoken to him. He’s gone from my life forever,” I said, breaking down.
“If you had control, you wouldn’t behave like this. Is this what your parents taught you?”
“Don’t bring my parents into this. They raised us the best they could.”
“Yes, I can see how well. You had an affair before marriage, and your brother married after a live-in relationship.”
“You don’t even know how to keep a wife happy, and you’re talking about morals!”
This time, the slap didn’t hurt as much as the first. His ego was bruised, and the only way he knew to assert his dominance was through violence. The house, once ruled by silence, was now taken over by aggression. Fights became frequent. Every time he drank, he dragged Rahul into the conversation, leading to cruel arguments that often ended with a slap—or worse. Over time, I became numb to his abuse. Sometimes he pulled my hair and hit me. It hurt deeply—a girl raised with care and tenderness, now being brutally crushed by the hands of her husband.
After a long time, Sandhya called me. Thankfully, it was in the evening when Rajesh was not around. After our usual exchange, she shared something important.
“I met Rahul yesterday at a mall in New York during our long weekend trip. He has changed a lot—gained weight, and it’s easy to tell he drinks heavily now. His wife, Ria, was busy shopping, so he spoke to me freely. Vamshi took Ayush out for a ride. Rahul’s mother passed away last year, and his father suffered huge business losses. They don’t have children yet. They’ve consulted many doctors, tried every option, but there’s been no success. He knows the reason. He said ‘sorry’ feels too small for what he did to you. His wife doesn’t care for him, and he lives like a servant in his own house. He’s unhappy in his marriage and believes this is his punishment for hurting you.”
She paused before continuing.
“He wants to talk to you and apologize personally. He insisted on getting your number, but I didn’t give it without your permission. I only told him you’re married and living happily. There’s no point in sharing the truth of your life with him now.”
* * *
12.8 Tears for a Past Love, Trapped in a Broken Marriage
I could not stop my tears after hearing about Rahul’s miserable life. Even though my own life was no better, I found it impossible to accept that he was suffering so badly. It took me a long while to regain some control over myself.
I was deeply thankful to Sandhya for not sharing my contact details with him. I even asked her to delete Rahul’s number from her phone, fearing that someday I might grow weak and ask for it myself. My married life was already moving on a rough path, and the re-entry of Rahul into my thoughts—or my life—would destroy it completely.
Sandhya understood everything without explanation. She agreed that it was the right decision and promised to do as I asked.
For the next few days, memories of Rahul occupied my mind. I tried my best to push them away, but I couldn’t. It felt foolish to cry for someone who had walked out of my life. Still, I had always wished for Rahul’s happiness, even after he abandoned me. Deep down, I didn’t blame him entirely; I believed fate had played its cruel role.
My frustration only added fuel to the fire at home. Whenever Rajesh brought up Rahul, my anger exploded. I became aggressive in ways even I hadn’t seen before, and Rajesh seemed shocked by this side of me.
Soon, his drinking turned into a daily habit. He stopped giving me money altogether. With no provisions at home, I struggled to manage cooking and household expenses. Left with no choice, I told Dad that Rajesh’s salary was delayed. Dad supported us for a couple of months, but soon he began to question the situation.
As a last option, Dad spoke to Satya Uncle. He already knew about Rajesh’s behavior and quietly started sending money to cover our monthly expenses. I continued to do my duties—cooking, managing the house, maintaining order. If Rajesh felt like eating, he would; if not, he wouldn’t. Nothing really changed in our days, except whether a fight happened or not.
This is how I continue to live my so-called married life—caught between memories of the past and the harsh reality of the present.
* * *
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