FOMO
Flashbacks, lists and a seeking heart
Radhika wriggles free from under her husband’s heavy arm and walks into the bathroom to relieve herself. Job done, she turns to the mirror and gazes. As always, something feels missing, something just a degree off from reality. She shakes her head quickly to get rid of those pesky thoughts, pulls up her hair into a messy bun and drags herself to the kitchen.
With accustomed efficiency, she starts the coffee, breakfast and lunch at the same time. She swings between the chopping board and the fire, taking quick sorties to wake her husband, then the children, pushing the children to bathe and check her mobile for the latest updates from the family WhatsApp group. In two hours, two meals are cooked and three people herded out of the house. Just another normal day.
Finally, she sits down to her own late breakfast and scrolls through her notifications. Her sister-in-law has posted a photo of herself wearing a slim gold bracelet and captioned He remembered Akshaya Tritiya 😍. Radhika scrolls through the comments, the oohs and aahs, the jealous asides about what prosperity was waiting for her, the religious approbation and of course, the all important details — cost, wastage, tax and the gold rate.
Radhika sighs again. For her, there was no prospect of gold on the horizon. Her husband, scoffing at the superstition that buying gold on Akshaya Tritiya guaranteed prosperity, had buried Radhika’s hopes before she even had a chance to explain them fully. Anyway, Radhika muses, trying to comfort herself, it’s not like I actually wear that much gold. But…how would it feel to be the center of attention, to have a husband who, like in the impossibly cheery ads, not only buys gold for his wife, but also chooses a design she likes…It must be wonderful.
A sense of loss creeps up on her; one more item to be added in her secret notebook, the one which was filled with meticulously organised lists of all the items she had ever wanted, dating back to her teens. It wasn’t a very hefty tome, but however many items she crossed off it, new ones continue to aggregate.
She sighs, goes into the bedroom, retrieves it and flips to the jewellery section. For a second, she pauses, unsure if this latest want belongs in the husband section.
She goes back to the husband section and starts reading. The first entry, she remembers, she’d made when she was thirteen.
She had just had her first period and after the ritual poojas celebrating her new-found womanhood, she’d been sitting, exhausted, curled up in pain, drifting in and out of sleep. Her mother, grandmothers and aunts had been sitting in the same room, chatting. They too were exhausted after preparing all the sweets and savouries and ensuring every step of the ritual was correctly performed (after furious, whispered deliberations at each step). Soon, the topic had shifted to her future.
One of the aunts commented that Radhika’s mother had better start saving up for Radhika’s marriage, that it was just around the corner. A grandmother nodded, saying that she had been married at sixteen, which was just three years away for Radhika. Another aunt piped up saying that it was illegal now to get married so early and nowadays, to get a good match, Radhika had to at least complete graduation. Nods of acquiescence followed this statement from all but the grandmothers.
Radhika, who had been listening keenly while feigning sleep, gave a silent cheer for her aunt and started thinking about what constituted a good match. Obviously, it had to be an arranged marriage. Her family would never accept a love match. The rest, she would have to figure out.
Later that day, she’d started the section titled “Husband” and her first entry had been “Arranged marriage.”
Radhika caresses the page. Over time, the list had grown, based on advice from her parents, overheard gossip on how life turned out bad for those unfortunates who had let mere emotion get the better of them and made ill-advised love matches, or the even more terrifying tales about those whose marriages were childless or where the husband didn’t earn enough or worse, where the husband did what everyone called “immoral things”. She smiles, remembering how curious she’d been at what those immoral things could be. When she’d finally found out that they meant those husbands who had extra-marital affairs or those who drank and gambled, all she’d thought was — if it was so bad, why did they show so much of that in TV and films?
How naive she’d been, she thinks. She looks at the page again and pauses at a sub-section entitled “Love”. A bitter nostalgic smile plays on her face as memories flood her.
She had been sixteen. One day, after school, one of her closest friends, Nadiya, revealed that she had a boyfriend who she had met near the mosque, and most exciting of all, he was coming to see her. True to her word, outside the school, a boy had been waiting. Her friend blushed and smiled. Radhika could feel the happiness emanating from Nadiya and a reciprocating warmth flushed her cheeks. She too wanted to glow like Nadiya, wanted that blooming rose of a smile. That night, she hesitatingly added “love” under the husband section.
Over the next few weeks, she questioned Nadiya about how she’d met her boyfriend, how she knew it was love and what they did together. Nadiya discoursed at length on the zing of interest when she’d first seen him, the warm feeling in her chest and body during subsequent meetings, the involuntary smiles and blushes, even when he wasn’t there, the electric thrill of holding his hand for the first time, the way her thoughts always turned to him.
Radhika made mental notes of everything. So, her first step had to be to find someone with whom she felt that first zing of interest. She meticulously went over the list of boys she knew. She didn’t remember feeling anything for anyone. They were just boys; louder, noisier versions of herself and her friends. She resolved to try harder, pay more attention to what she was feeling.
Over the next few months, she took discreet second glances at every boy she saw on the street. Nothing. She started thinking that maybe, love was not for her and anyway, it was no fun looking at boys. They always seemed to be running about screaming and worse, they seemed to be always dirty. Radhika hated mud.
So, she went back to her usual routine, ignoring the boys. Radhika’s mother, who had noticed her daughter’s sudden interest in boys, not unnoticed by Radhika, heaved a sigh of relief.
That year and the next were filled with a flurry of studying. Radhika still felt that burn when she saw Nadiya’s smiling face, but consoled herself thinking love hadn’t been written in her fate.
One evening, after late evening study sessions, Radhika and her group of friends were walking home, complaining about the amount of homework they had to do and discussing the latest movies. Nadiya had, as was becoming more frequent, stayed back. Her boyfriend would drop her near her house a little later. Just as the group turned the corner towards the road leading to their houses, Radhika saw Nadiya’s father and some other men walking towards them. Nadiya’s father approached them.
As his tall frame loomed over her, Radhika felt her stomach drop — Nadiya was in trouble. Her father was generally very soft-spoken and Radhika had never seen him this angry. Her heart started beating faster. He asked Radhika brusquely where Nadiya was. Radhika was now certain that somehow Nadiya’s father knew about Nadiya’s clandestine boyfriend and being the conservative family they were, they would never accept such behaviour from their daughter.
Radhika gulped to clear her fear-clogged throat, said that she didn’t know. His round face turned an alarming shade of red as he asked why she’d left Nadiya alone. Radhika stuttered, not wanting to give up her friend. A deep breath later, gathering up her courage, she said that Nadiya had been working on a math problem, but today, she was expected home early and couldn’t wait for Nadiya.
Nadiya’s father gave her a look of disgust at this patently flimsy lie. He started to say something, but stopped. Radhika ventured a peek at him — anger, fear and distaste warred in his face. Then, he strode off.
Radhika and her friends looked at each other, each trying to picture the certain altercation in their heads. Horrible scenes like in the movies, where lovers were parted and sometimes killed, played in front of their eyes. Although they were reasonably certain that Nadiya’s father wouldn’t physically harm her, they feared what other punishment he would foist on her. For a second, they thought about bravely running to warn Nadiya, but they couldn’t afford to get caught in this mess; their parents would be furious. Fear and shame mingled in their eyes. They could do nothing now. Silently, they walked back home.
Back home, Radhika’s mother was waiting for her, arms crossed, throwing inquisitorial daggers at her daughter. Radhika’s heart fell. Nadiya’s father must’ve told her everything.
Radhika trying to hide her fear, asked in what she hoped was a quizzical manner, why her mother looked so angry. The mother started questioning her about Nadiya. Radhika gave a shrug, admitted that she’d met Nadiya’s father who was looking for her, but that she didn’t know where Nadiya was. She repeated the same story she’d told Nadiya’s father; adding that, these days, she wasn’t close to Nadiya because she didn’t want Nadiya’s dropping grades to influence hers.
Mollified at the mention of grades, Radhika’s mother let her go. Radhika apologised silently to Nadiya and vowed to explain it all when she next saw her. But, she never did.
Radhika and her friends pieced together the events of that day from overheard gossip. Nadiya had been caught with her boyfriend on his bike. Her father had forcibly dragged her home, after threatening to kill her boyfriend if he ever came close to her again. Nadiya had been sent to her father’s village under the care of her grandmother and within months, her marriage had been arranged. Nadiya’s family moved away soon after.
When Radhika heard all this, horrified and frightened of the same fate visiting her, she had crossed love off her list, blotting out the very outline of the word in feverish scratches.
Radhika smiles again, cheeks blushing in simple pleasure. Despite the events that followed and the years that had passed, every time she thinks of Nadiya, she still feels that initial burn, now tinged with shame at her actions. But, she had made the right decision, hadn’t she? Getting involved in other people’s love affairs was never the right decision. And without their parent’s consent, nothing would work. How could anyone survive without their whole extended family’s support? Blood was blood, after all.
She lets out a sardonic Hrmph! From jewellery to this. She flips back to the jewellery section, filled with notes on what she should want. There’s a check against almost everything on the list. Her parents are well-off and at the time of her marriage, had bought her all the jewellery she was supposed to need. Only one item was left — large silver anklets which she’d seen in a movie and wanted. It had been one of the few times she’d ever craved anything, but her parents felt they were too ostentatious for a good demure wife. Maybe she could ask her husband for them. They weren’t as expensive as gold and if her husband bought them as a gift, definitely her parents wouldn’t say anything. She nods to herself. That might work. The only thing left is to find a way to make her husband think it was his idea. She flops back on the bed to think. Just then, the bell rings.
It’s the newspaper delivery guy, here for the month’s dues. She pays him, then glances at the clock. It’s almost time for the first soap opera of the day. She switches on the TV and sits down. But her mind isn’t on the drama on display. It keeps bringing up Nadiya’s face. She sighs and tries the newspaper instead. It doesn’t work either.
She fumes to herself. Why is her mind fixated on Nadiya? Maybe she’s just feeling nostalgic. What is she missing? She has everything, doesn’t she? And she has the lists to prove it. She has checked off almost everything in her book. Her book. Maybe that would give her an idea. Every thing, every experience she has ever wanted, told she needed— it was all in the book. That’s why it was there after all, so she wouldn’t miss a single thing.
She flips through it for the second time that day, trying to find any unchecked items. She starts with the Family section where one item remains unchecked — a sibling. She had been so jealous of her friend’s sisters and brothers. The casual touches, the hoarding of certain items which their sibling would like, even the fights — Radhika had really wanted to know how that felt. Even though she has cousins, it just isn’t the same. They see each other only during festivals and it’s difficult to build a strong bond in a few days. That’s something that’s never going to come true, she thinks, a tinge of regret blurring the edges of the thought with bitterness.
She flips to the next section — Husband. She’s all checked out there. He has a steady job, is nice to her, remembers her birthday, buys her jewellery, is great with the kids. A but nudges its way into her thoughts, trailing a picture of Nadiya’s blushing happy face. She tries to push it away, but she’s never been able to lie to herself. She sighs and wonders if she is past the age to feel such a cinematic-dramatic-love, such overweening happiness. She hadn’t even managed to feel that happy on her wedding day.
She had gotten up at 2 am that day, switching off the alarm at its first ring. The first stirrings of excitement and anticipation roiled in her belly. She pictured herself, all decked out in her wedding finery, walking softly towards the wedding fire, her jewels flickering, her sari shimmering, a happy smile on her face. All eyes would be on her. Then, she’d sit next to him and steal glances in his direction as the priest recited the shlokas. She could see herself so clearly. A twist of despair laced into her thoughts. She couldn’t see his face. She tried to picture it, but it just wouldn’t come.
Thankfully, her mother arrived just then to shoo her off to the bathroom. The first ceremony started at 3 am and she needed to be dressed before then. She quickly performed her daily ablutions, just in time for the first ceremony — the nalangu. She wasn’t really looking forward to it. Being smeared with turmeric and then doused with cold water was not her idea of a great time, but she didn’t have any avenues of escape.
She sighed and stepped into the room where all her female relatives were waiting. On a small stool, a container of turmeric paste, one of kumkum and another with turmeric-dusted rice were waiting. She sat cross-legged in front of the stool. Her mother was the first, applying the cold paste on her cheeks and the backs of her hands, ending the ceremony by anointing her with kumkum and sprinkling the rice on her head. Her aunts lined up to repeat the process. Why did she have so many aunts, she thought, self-pity and boredom welling up to fill her eyes.
Just then, her current best friend, Shalini peeked into the room and waved. Dressed in a flowing turquoise sari, with heavy earrings and arms full of bangles, she looked breathtaking. A warmth rose like a flood, obliterating the self-pity and Radhika’s face broke into a large involuntary smile. Her mother waved Shalini in and asked her to join in. Grinning cheekily, Shalini took a large amount of the turmeric paste and applied it liberally to Radhika’s cheek. The paste dripped down her face and everyone laughed. Shalini giggled and applied some more turmeric, this time to Radhika’s nose. Radhika shook her head like a dog, trying to get the wet paste to fall, but everyone else admonished her to sit still.
She sat quietly, scowling at her friend, although her heart was still singing. Shalini scooped up a large handful of rice and poured it over Radhika’s head. It cascaded down, some sticking to her face, entangled in her hair. Shalini quickly took a snap and jokingly threatened to send it to all their mutual friends, while Radhika glowered at her.
Then, came the water. Radhika was ushered into the bathroom where another small stool was waiting for her. She sat and her aunts picked up the first pot of water and poured it over her head. She gasped. The water was cold and seeped through the folds of the sari, taking some of the turmeric with it, depositing the wet powder into the folds of her body. She had an almost overwhelming desire to scratch, but thankfully managed to control herself. Then, another pot and finally a third. It was over. She stood, shivering a little.
Shalini caught her eyes, smiled commiseratingly and mouthed, A few more minutes. Radhika smiled back, warmer now.
Everyone left her to wash off for real and get ready for the next ritual. As she rid herself of the turmeric, Radhika found herself humming. She thought, I’m finally starting to enjoy it.
Radhika smiles again in remembrance. She missed Shalini, who’d left India shortly after Radhika’s marriage and who she now knew only via the happy Facebook photos with her wife and children.
After Shalini, there really hadn’t been time for friends. Her world had spun smaller and smaller, until all that was left was these four walls of the house. Not that she was suffering, she tells herself. I am happy. She forces the words from her mouth, unconvinced. They fall flat.
She flips through her book again. The wedding section is also fully checked. It had been hectic, ritual after ritual. All the things in her list, the decoration, the jewellery, the food — all had been arranged. She couldn’t complain. But now, when she thinks of her wedding, all she remembers is how tired she’d felt and how happy she’d been to fall into bed. Now, whenever someone talks excitedly of a wedding, it’s all she can do not to smirk. Yaam pettra thunbam*, she thinks.
But, it can’t be all bad. If it was, no one would be married, right? She tries to dredge up some feelings of happiness, of wonderful memories.
She remembers holding her children right after they were born, seeing their heart-stoppingly perfect faces and for the first time that day, a true smile explodes. Snapshots of their childhood swim like over-excited fish in her eyes. I am happy, she says again, this time, a little more convinced. Even if she can’t have that one feeling, she still has treasures of her own.
A bolt of realisation strikes and she frowns. Maybe that’s what it is — jealousy. She remembers her sister-in-law’s wedding and how cheerful she’d looked. There had been no trace of the tiredness which Radhika could see in her own wedding pictures. And despite six years of marriage, her sister-in-law still didn’t seem to have fallen into the mind-numbing banality Radhika is in. When she looks at her sister-in-law, she can see in her shades of Nadiya’s happiness.
And the realisation hurts, a deep dull ache that gnaws on her insides. A hurt birthed from a lifetime of unfulfilled longing, from jealousy at others who seemed to all have what she’d never felt, from despair that she was stuck with a husband who couldn’t arouse such feelings in her. She’s missing out on what is supposed to be an integral part of life — the infamous, hyped romantic love. Why her? And, when she wants it so much, why was the Universe so cruel to let this escape her? And why doesn’t the longing ever go away?
Alternating images of Nadiya and Shalini and her children cavort in front of her. She smiles tentatively, as once more warmth seeps through her.
A stray thought breaks in, What am I missing? Her mood plummets. She has to do something. She sits up, determined. She tries to remember a time, a place when her husband looked handsome. She can’t think of any.
She jumps down, opens her laptop and scrolls through all the photos. Nothing jumps out at her. With every photo, her stomach sinks further.
She’s gone through all the photos and there was nothing. Not one photo in which she could imagine her husband smiling at her like in the movies. Not one image she could transform into a romantic scene. A scream chokes her, extracting tears. She curls into the chair and thinks, Do I have no imagination?
She squeezes her eyes, forces herself to imagine her husband smiling at her the way Nadiya’s boyfriend did. His same dry smile shows. She changes tack, imagining him bringing her a surprise gift. In her mind, he gives it, but his face is unresponsive. She tries again, this time going for a more domestic scene — the two of them sitting, sipping coffee, talking, smiling.
She relaxes into her imagination. This seemed more real. She thinks about what they would talk. Movies, maybe. For a second, she contemplates if she could tell him how she feels, but the very next moment, she recoils. How would she? She doesn’t have the words, know the proper forms to address this. They’ve never spoken about feelings; all their conversations have been practical, real, about things that needed to be done. And this system has worked. Should she bring feelings in now? Would he think her crazy? They were already married; there was nothing else left. Pipe dreams were for the young, the unsettled.
A voice inside her whispers, Stop sabotaging yourself. You’ve a good thing going. Don’t upset the balance.
Another voice demands, But he must feel something too, right? Maybe he wants these things too.
An involuntary smile breaks. Her husband rarely wanted anything, from her, from the kids. He was pretty content. Maybe I should just let it be, she thinks.
Minutes pass and she sits, undecided now. The chair’s hard sides cut into her legs, but she’s too lost to heed it.
Then, her phone rings. It’s her mother-in-law. She answers, transforming into the cheerful, dutiful daughter-in-law. The banality, the sheer predictableness of the call soothes her. Her sense of loss is papered over by known demands and she lets herself be drawn into the cocoon of family politics.
The clamouring, arguing voices inside her fade, slipping back into hibernation.
*A Tamil saying — Yaam pettra thunbam, peruga vaiyyagam — literally meaning, Let the world experience the grief I felt. It’s used often, especially when the other party seems oblivious or naive, and especially by new grandparents.
© Indira Reddy 2019

