Once upon a time, because nobody starts stories with once upon a time anymore, my brother told me he is vehemently against the institution of marriage and that he would never subscribe to it. I guess love and hypocrisy takes you a long way, friends. (I can’t stop laughing)
Bitch got married. Then, he shamelessly threw his hands up in the air, and celebrated the success of a long and tumultuous journey. I genuinely want to be embarrassed but I can’t lie or deny the fact that, I LOVED IT.
I’m sure a large number of people sighed because it finally happened after very eventful challenges here and there. Again, what’s the fun without it? Together, they now cooked a story cinematic enough to tell their kids and I can confirm with first-hand experience that it was absolutely beautiful. The minimalistic approach and simplicity behind the people and the wedding was what made it throughly enjoyable.
A few hours after the wedding, we were assigned the task of purchasing the necessary items for my brother’s first night – a slightly huge list for what was not even the first night. I have understood that the first rule of marriage is to quietly obey the instructions that are handed over to you and not question or analyse them unless it is causing substantial damage that needs some interference. No good ever comes out of it.
We nodded and left wondering what they would do with the things we buy tonight. Obviously, several jokes based on imaginary scenarios were cracked all along the way. A tinge of excitement still made it’s way despite the tiredness when I discovered that we were heading towards the Koyambedu market.
I’ve lived in Chennai for four years and visit the place often. Koyambedu market was one place I’ve never explored in all these years. There was something strange, interesting and mysterious about it that caught your attention. It almost looked like an abandoned, unfinished set from a gangster movie.
Within minutes of walking-in, I was overwhelmed with the aesthetic sense of a market. How privileged should one be to look at the struggles and daily lives of flower sellers and think, “What a great frame.”
I hated how all lived experiences are a frame in my mind. I thought of M and how much she would have loved being here. The entire space was lit with neon lights that were directed towards the flowers making them look eye-catching. This was our dream land – people and stories. She liked capturing moments, and I liked observing them. I sent her a few pictures, asked her to visit once, and shut my phone.
Be amidst people, I told myself. We walked by for a while and stopped at a shop to buy a few flowers. It was a small window where my mind had found few moments of peace amidst the chaos. A friend of mine had picked up a rose for me. When he gave it to me, I experienced what they call shyness induced by a man. Weird.
I can’t remember the last time I felt that. He was a man I was and am fond of. We love and respect each other dearly. There is a solid friendship and a sense of ease we offer to our equation. For a long time, I thought he was the love of my life. Ideal, so much so, that the laws of the universe conspired in ways we didn’t see coming. That’s the problem, where is the drama?
Love should not be allowed to be ideal.
It’s the imperfections, conflicts, and differences that fuel it’s power and strengthen it through and through. And so, life decided that I turn gay and he pursue women that will give him the life he yearns for. Dead end.
As we travelled back from Koyambedu to Avadi, my friends constantly screamed at each other, I nearly had an headache. By the end of the day, they had exactly two functioning brain cells. I sat silently watching them. As much as the noise was annoying, I was brimming with gratitude. We did what we said we would. We stood by each other, at 10, and at 26, through hell hole, like rocks of different shapes and sizes that underwent erosion and weathering but all of it dissolving in one solid destination, the earth’s surface. We were one, and finding each other was easily the most profound events of our lives.
Tears welled up, so I closed my eyes for the rest of the ride. I replayed episodes from the wedding. Throughout, I had stepped aside from the limelight because my brother and sister already make me feel like I’m the light in their life. I didn’t need to do or be anything in order to feel so. I was happy being an observer.
With every instance that happened to cross my mind, I knew it in my gut that love led the way. As it should. The sheer number of relatives who came with their fair share of drama had put troubles aside and worked tirelessly to reduce tasks off the chart. Immediate family members and especially friends who spent a crazy amount of time, energy, and money, not once, but perpetually, to go above and beyond their way to make sure there is not a single setback. In my opinion, it wouldn’t have been wrong if they had frowned a little. They’re humans after all. There was not a single moment where even a trace of a complaint had surfaced. My sister and brother-in law who constantly went out of their comfort zone to accommodate for others. Some day, I hope to achieve the composure, patience, consideration, and tolerance my sister posses. They are the highest form of love.
My sister-in-law, generally anxious, handled the wedding with grace. There have been days I’ve spent shitting my pants, wondering if this is the beginning of change. Clouded with doubt, I have turned restless. Then, I naturally go back to conversation from the past. I had asked my brother if I can come live with them. Out of habit, and without second thought, he had said yes. When he had asked her about the same, she replied something along the lines of “Of course, it’s Soundarya, obviously she can.”
Her generosity extended like the depths of the ocean throughout the wedding. I vividly remember standing next to her parents when my brother tied the knot. They were weeping, I was terrified by how familiar I was to this occasion. As a single daughter, I understood her plight and all the emotions the parents of a single daughter could feel.
It was only when we were decorating the room that it struck me how rare it was for a queer person to have an average marriage experience. It didn’t matter to me that I could not experience them. What mattered was that my parents had missed out on something they must have spent their entire lives looking forward to. I carried the guilt and burden of being the single daughter and walked to the terrace. The harsh winds blew over my face, banging the gate, as I sat on the slab.
Helplessness was the worst feeling in the world. I wanted to scream. And then, like a balm to my wounds, I heard my brother’s laugh from the tank above – my dearest brother who teaches me time and again, to take life as it comes, and genuinely do the best with what you have at hand.