of privacy

D (the ex-husband) and I had been married for just over a quarter. As with all newlyweds, privacy was highly desirable and in our case, something we didn’t have. We lived in a house with aging parents and only one western toilet, which was unfortunately attached to our bedroom.

We lay in our bed one Saturday, discussing in hushed tones what we could do about our situation. It was the middle of the night, so it was eerily silent; we could hear nothing except for the sound of the crickets, the wind whistling in through a partly open window, and my mother-in-law’s incessant snoring.

Honeymoon Horror Stories – I

So I’ve been back in Delhi a whole week, and have been putting off writing about the honeymoon which, btw, was the craziest thing I have ever done. We rode all the way from Delhi to Manali – that’s close to 600 kms if you take the obvious route.  Since we were so high on life, we decided to take the longer route.

And you know what? I want to tell you all about the trip. I really do. But there’s a part of me that believes that if I put it down here, write about it, it’ll be over. And I don’t want it to be over. I want to bask in the glory of being a newlywed as long as I can. I want to think of the crazy bike ride as something that just happened.

But the truth is, it’s been three weeks since I got married. The henna has faded and I’ve taken off the red and white bangles and sindoor and the sarees. One week since we came back from the honeymoon. I’m back to being me and dragging my clumsy lead-like feet to work. And the only thing that will maybe bring the zest back into life is to talk about the trip. So I need to get around to that. Now.

So we started on the 21st at around midnight, and went down (we live on the second floor) to load all our stuff on the bike. I reached first (or was it his plan all along?) and noticed a ‘Just Married’ sign on the bike.