‘Great,’ I muttered. I thought for a while and said with a touch of wistfulness, ‘I think I miss sleeping under the stars most. I don’t think I’ve even seen a sky full of stars for years now.’
Vijay only listened quietly. I guessed he was lost in the reminiscing.
At night, it was even tougher trying to put Peanut to bed because I was doing it all by myself and trying to get her used to sleeping in her own room for a change. I first fed her, then lay down with her and read her three bedtime stories, the pictures of which she looked at with great interest. I sang her two lullabies, and then tickled her tummy lightly until she drifted off. With this cleverly devised, well-thought-out and ridiculously elaborate bedtime routine, she was finally asleep by 11.45 p.m. I kissed her soft white cheeks, quietly tucked her light blanket around her and went back into our room.
Tonight, Vijay had not helped me with Peanut’s routine at all and this made me feel a bit annoyed. He had kept calling out that he was busy whenever I asked him to come in. I presumed that he had probably been Facebooking again. I finally walked into our room to see him sitting on the bed, and just as I was about to tell him off, I noticed he was giving me a strange sort of look.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ I asked suspiciously.
‘Like what?’ he said.
‘I don’t know … All … cockeyed.’
‘Cockeyed?’ he said indignantly. ‘Honey, that’s my special romantic look. You forgot?’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I guess it’s been a really long time. But anyway, I don’t feel romantic. How can I, after putting our baby to bed for about three hours – all by myself.’ I flopped onto the bed, exhausted.
He wriggled over next to me and said, ‘Well, maybe this will change your mood.’ And he switched off the light.
The room was flooded with darkness, and I found I was looking up at a sky full of stars and a beautiful crescent moon.
Vijay had covered half of the ceiling right above our bed with glow-in-the-dark stickers. The twinkling stars and the bright crescent moon on the black ceiling gave the eerie yet romantic effect of a night sky – if not a real night sky, at least a planetarium-type night sky. I stared up at it in utter delight, and noted that he had thoughtfully arranged seven of the stars into the Big Dipper. It was slightly awry, but it immediately caught my fancy and became my favourite part of the sky.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I said.
‘You like it?’ I knew he was beaming, even though I couldn’t see his face.
‘Love it,’ I said. ‘It’s brilliant.’
He stretched his arm out invitingly, and I lay my head on his shoulder and curled up against him, still looking at the night sky he had created for us. We were both quiet for a few moments. His breathing was steady and calm in my ear and I murmured seductively to him, ‘It’s not exactly the same as the Bangalore night sky. But it’s definitely kind of romantic, isn’t it?’
I was answered by a gentle snore.
I smiled to myself in the darkness, and wrapped one arm and one leg tight around my sleeping husband. He stirred a bit and murmured something into my hair that sounded suspiciously like ‘Goodnight … my little Buntvinder,’ and then his breathing became even once more as he drifted off.
I lay there with a silly smile pasted on my face and a feeling of unusual satisfaction spreading warmly through my entire body. Maybe things hadn’t changed that much after all.
Besides, we’d only had three years together. There was clearly a long bumpy road ahead of us, stretching maybe – who knew – about fifty years?
Which, I thought as I finally drifted off, was just fine by me.
Acknowledgements
I owe a lot to the following people, so a big thank you to:
My grandmother Didu, who told me that ‘to have a talent like writing and not use it is a Sin Against God.’ Dear me.
My mother Chitra, sister Gitanjali, and my best friends Richa and Kunal – who read, believed in and critiqued various versions of the story.
The people who helped me through the maze of first-time publishing – Vivek Gaur, for all his help and advice about getting started and my aunt, Poonam Sahi, who guided me at every step in a very fairy godmother-like manner.
The team at HarperCollins – especially Karthika VK, who apparently startled her driver by laughing out loud while reading the manuscript in her car, and Resham George, for her gentle yet firm deletions of extra material, and overall painstaking work. Also, Saurav for the design and Shuka Jain for the art direction on the cover – and for being eminently good-humoured and tolerant about my nit-picking.
The rest of the family for all their support, especially Vijay’s parents, who also became mine – Mummyji and Papaji.
And last but not least, Vijay himself – the ever-patient, ever-forgiving, constant source of material that I call my husband. Honey, you’re a lot of things, but above all, you’re a riot.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
YASHODHARA LAL graduated from IIM-Bangalore in 2002 and has over a decade of experience in the corporate world, across the FMCG and media industries. She lives in Gurgaon with her husband Vijay, and the three children they innovatively refer to as Peanut, Pickle and Papad.
Yashodhara began her journey in writing with her blog, described as ‘a serious attempt to take life less seriously’, now at www.yashodharalal.com.
Just Married, Please Excuse is her first book.
First published in India in 2012 by
HarperCollins Publishers India
Copyright © Yashodhara Lal 2012
ISBN: 978-93-5029-227-3
Epub Edition © February 2013 ISBN: 9789350299609
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Yashodhara Lal asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
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