Half Married

“I am half married”! Said Yogita Katyar in a pale voice. In fact, almost in a whimper, hard to hear. While sipping her cup of coffee, she stared with her lifeless eyes overlooking the architectural marvel of Montreal-our home for many years now; while we both settled at a perfectly designed terrace cafe. Having heard this new terminology “half married”; I almost sipped the boiling coffee from my mug and burnt up my throat. Unable to reply and a little bowled over, I didn't know what to say. I had heard this phrase for the first time since my long career as a relationship consultant.

A couple of days back, Yogita had called me from a friend's reference as she wanted some consultation about a life issue that was now becoming traumatic and unbearable for her. For the first time in my professional career, I had this strange conversation. She insisted to meet me at the cafe and not in my clinic. I was perfectly alright with this as I wanted her to be in a comfort zone; not mine! Against the majestic sight of Mount Royal, we met late afternoon just before Christmas.

Yogita is a woman in her late 30s; almost touching her 40. Very simple, fair, and confidently dressed up in a georgette printed jumpsuit; an educated, well brought up, and independent woman. She had a feeble look on her face, that was remarkably visible under the patch of the foundation she had put. She had a Sindhi background and was living in Montreal for the last 10 years with her husband Mayank and her 7 years old son Yugant. Coincidentally, we were both Indians, and like many, we too came to this part of the world to explore our dreams for global exposure and got happily settled here. Montreal was equally comfortable for us just as India was.

When I first saw her entering the cafe, there was a flash of sadness in her eyes and a very flat look. This may be from a counselor’s point of view, but overall she was a pretty woman. Her simplicity had a perfection. In my short 10 year career as a life skill expert, this one case brought out the women in me, I could not detach my emotions and think like a professional, after I heard Yogita voice her story.

We ordered a large cup of coffee and the aroma of the strong beans lighted up the perfect ambiance for our conversation. It was 4 pm. The winter chill had slowed down public life a bit. As if half of the city was in the grip of the long and dark months. Yet the outdoor spirit of the Montreals' was all there insulating the passion for life among them. Occasionally the church bell was ringing and amidst this backdrop, we started our conversation. Soon, Yogita started to reiterate about her life, opened up slowly like a blushing rose. Each petal as if was brought closer to me the varied dimensions of her personality. She said, “I always thought that we marry because we all have social, physical, emotional, and economic needs. She paused. But what if none is being fulfilled within marriage? Should a man or women remain deprived of the basic human needs?” I was however a bit confused to hear this, yet I started making my diary notes and continued to listen to her patiently; for that was my work! She continued while her hands cuddled the warm cup, the smoke from the coffee and our breath melted into the air. I calmly rendered my ears to her.

Yogita hailed from Nagpur. As she finished her Masters's in fine arts, her parents, a very simple Indian family, got her married to another decent Sindhi family from Surat. It was a usual arranged marriage. About a year after, though they were pretty well settled in Surat in a family jewel business; Yogita and Mayank had big dreams to settle abroad. Hence they tried their luck for Canadian immigration. They wanted to settle abroad for better prospects, a more qualitative and independent life. As if they were destined to, they got through the formalities very fast and after 1.5 years of their marriage, finally shifted to Montreal and made the city their new abode.

They had a pleasant life. A couple pretty much in love and immensely fond of each other. By next year, they welcomed the birth of their son Yugant. Slowly, life gathered momentum. Yogita became a full-time mom and Mayank worked in one of the factories in Montreal. Earning well, happily they would spend the weekends touring around the beautiful city and bonding with their little infant. Life looked magical.

Suddenly, Yogita kept the cup back on the coaster and stared again towards the boutique shops, her deep sad eyes, kept staring lifelessly. She said, “When the tides change, the waves do cause some damage to life! And often, there is hardly a moment to understand or even think before the destiny flip flops you”. Continued Yogita in a hoarse voice. She recalled, “It was just a day before the Christmas holidays. The city was dolled up in the Christmas roses, orchids, lilies, and carnations everywhere. The snowflakes completed the magic of the season. The Santa of hope lightening each home. The party fever was at its peak.

A celebrating air vibrated in streets, malls, cafes, and homes. The kitchens smelled of cakes, wines, and barbeques'. An aromatic freshness embraced everyone. Amidst the shivering winters, the snow blankets hiding the streets, the trees, the flowers, and Christmas carols surrounding the globe, my phone rang. I thought it must be a call from my parents in India to know where we shall be heading for our annual Christmas vacation” narrated Yogita in a pensive mood and again went into her daydreaming. I waited for her comeback and sipped the brewing coffee while making quick notes.

Meanwhile, the cafe was buzzing with the people, yet we both sat in a cozy corner undisturbed and unperturbed. People rushing in and out. A few relaxing and chatting. No hurriedness to go anywhere just like both of us. There was an aura of silence and calmness. Maybe it was inside us that day. Yogita looked so poised and charming. While I sat composed to hear her untold chapter, her phone rang. She excused and spoke with some caretaker and took a record of the routine work that he had done. Later she called her son Yugant, who was now 10 years. That was the first time, since we met, that she smiled. I must mention, her smile was on her face. She looked pure as a dove, feather-like when she spoke with him. She enquired about his day, his taekwondo class, and his tiffin. She sounded like a very warm caring and responsible mom. This was the first impression I made observing her for half an hour now.

When she kept her handphone, there was a twinkle in her eye. She told' “My son has just returned from his school”. In a moment she got back to her story. She sighed and reiterated, “8 years back, a couple of days before Christmas when the world echoed with jingle bells, my life came crashing down.” She sighed and said, “I can never forget that unfateful day. My phone rang, I rushed to find my mobile while keeping the cake in the oven and setting the table with the special dinner that I cooked for a small party at home. It was a call from the hospital informing me that Mayank had a confrontation with a few colleagues at the factory and in a rage that grew violent, he was hit with a rod by the fellow group. I was devastated to hear this, the cake got burnt, the candles flickered and the splendor of my home was ruined in a moment. I rushed to the hospital with my 2-year son, who carried the Santa; too young to understand how our small world was about to crash”.

Yogita took a sip of water and I was anxiously waiting for her to break the suspense fast. She told, “The doctors informed me, that the rod was hit on Mayank's head that caused an irrecoverable brain damage wherein the chances of survival are minimum and incase he survives, he would have to live in a vegetative state for the entire life”. She paused. I wondered how courageous she was in recalling that night and calmly recited without making much rhyme about the fatal accident.

She continued' “Mayank was only 32 and I was 28 then. Both of us are at the peak of our youthful-colorful life. And I knew from now on, life would not be the same. That day changed the woman in me forever. From a hypersensitive, feeble girl, some dimension made me courageous to bear to watch Mayank supported by several medical types of equipment all over his body with a 24*7 caretaker assistance. While his life shifted to machines, mine too became mechanical and soulless. In short, we both restarted an unresponsive wakeful life!”

She courageously said, “I had only two options that day, I thought while carrying my kid and his Santa in my arms. Either I would have cried relentlessly and cursed the destiny or be the man and the wife for my home and cope up with the devastating slap of destiny and accept it to continue this endless challenge in front of me”

I must say, although I was a thoroughly professional yet I felt an emotional connection with Yogita that day. Maybe of our Indian origins, we were emotional and sensitive. Or too compassionate to feel the pain and trauma that she went through emotionally and Mayank physically.

Meanwhile, she excused again and called at her home to speak with Mayank. She sounded like a caring and affectionate wife. On phone, she inquired about whether Mayank had taken his medicines, and if the home care attendant has sponged him and made to eat. She told, “After 8 years, Mayank has little memory and has started understanding but speaks only yes or no. Nothing more than that. His brain has shown very little improvement, the only silver lining is that he recognizes me and our son.” She further added, “Doctors say maybe some day a miracle can help him recover but the hopes are bleak. And I am hoping against hope. My son, Yugant; has grown up to be a sensitive and intelligent boy and cares for Mayank. He keeps speaking with Mayank in spite of no response from him. Yet he tries to bond well with his father.”

Yogita explained, “After 2 months, Mayank was discharged from hospital. They were provided for a home care attendant 24*7 with complete medical care for him. However, the practical challenges started thereafter. I had to take the plunge to be the sole bread earner for the family. With the least experience of working in Montreal, my qualifications of a master's in creative arts could not fetch a job. So I joined a departmental store to restart and accept what life had offered on my platter.” She continued, “For a year, our parents kept coming in shifts for Mayank. But after a couple of years, it was difficult for them to keep switching between countries. They were shattered by what destiny had thrown at us, so they too slowly succumbed to ill health. Within a few years, it became difficult for them as well to cope up and come often here. And of course, it wasn't possible for us to shift back to India for obvious reasons.” Here the government was providing for the health services and Mayank's company had fixed an allowance every month.

Till this, I thought, Yogita had come to meet me for helping her out from this stagnant piece of life and how she could keep her positive outlook and continue to gear up with a sane mind. As if she read my mind. She smiled and asked me, “Do you know how I could survive all these years of not going mad? What kept me going? Hopping between hectic job shifts, meager income, and responsibility of a vegetative partner and a young son.” I didn't want to guess and patiently allowed Yogita to continue. She said, “All these years my strength has been a family from India who is my neighbors. A couple of our age with two kids of 2 & 3 years.” She added, “The moment my life curtains fell on that unfortunate day, Hemant and Nikita have been my sole support and more than friends. They have stood with me like pillars and have helped Mayank to accept the fatal reality and not let him break emotionally. Yugant has had a stable childhood because of the father-like love that Hemant gave.”

There was hope in Yogita's voice while describing this family. It seemed she was too fond of them and they are genuinely bonded well. Her serious, unhappy face lighted up by the mention of the couple; the first time since our conversation started that day over a cup of coffee. Thereafter, she sounded cheerful, confident, and alive. I found that amusing and was also a bit unsure of what was coming ahead. In this part of the world where relations wither making it hard to find a close warm group, this was the first time, I saw the happiness in Yogita's eyes and a dazzling smile.

She further continued. In fact, she confessed for the first time, “4 years back, I was completely deserted with life and the trauma that became my existential reality. I was becoming suicidal. Had no strength to continue working so hard to earn for the family and return home to find a man who was not in a position to provide any comfort to me. Probably, I started hating myself and hence developed a dislike for Mayank too. I would get irritated often and failed as a mother to happily live with Yugant and provide him with a happy environment at home. No social circle, no outings, no married life. I felt like a decorated lifeless body. As if my mind was crippled completely. It was a barren life for over 6 years and this would have to be continued for uncountable years.”

She cleared her throat. Several emotions ran across Yogita while sitting opposite me. And these were the honest expressions that a young woman had practically gone through bravely. Easier said than done, but it was the worst hurricane of fate. Yogita continued, “4 years back Nikita wasn't able to cope up with the cultural shock while living in Montreal, two small kids with just a year gap, and went back to India to stay with her parents. In her absence, I took care of Hemant as well. He would usually come home for dinner and spend a good time with Mayank and Yugant. I too enjoyed his company as there was someone who knocked on our door and was willing to share our loneliness in a profound way. He came into our lives like a horizon. His presence brought laughter to our home. After years, I and Yugant had someone to share our daily stories with. He was so caring and responsible that he took from me a lot of my household responsibilities very subtly. He brought back in me 'life' and gave childhood to my son Yugant.”

I noticed there was a charm on her face. An entire conversation, this part of her life brushed off the sadness that hovered over Yogita since we met this evening.

I was curious to hear her story. Yogita finally confessed, “I and Hemant became very good friends. As if two lonely people cushioned against each other and gave something to look forward to. Meanwhile, Hemant too had his share of a struggled relationship with Nikita due to long distance. The communication gap was increasing between them. While Hemant was eager to have Nikita and their kids back to Montreal, she was not too keen to come over till the kids grew a bit. But as years passed, Nikita on one pretext or the other singled out for not willing to settle here. She placed her kids back in India in a school and wanted Hemant to return back for them. Hemant started feeling lonely and frustrated. He would visit them twice a year but really missed Nikita and the kids as he was out and out a family man. Nitika often felt that though Montreal is one of the best places to settle yet the comfort of being at 'home' and the hustle-bustle of India, she always missed. She felt that her bits of childhood and youth are scattered all over there. The noise, craziness, and warmth of her hometown never left her in Montreal. She found it difficult to adapt herself to settle in another country and gradually felt that she wasn’t able to cope up with the culture here. Although she married with consent knowing that she will have to permanently settle in Canada, still practically she couldn't. On the contrary, Hemant while working as a chartered accountant in Montreal and settled for over 12 years, wasn't willing to shift back to India.” Yogita sighed and said, “In short, we were two people missing our life partners and yet not finding any practical way out.

Yogita continued, “Finally, after a year of friendship, I and Hemant became more than just friends. I don’t know how it happened but gradually we fell in love with each other. Crossing all boundaries, our individual marital status, our extended families. When we were together as if nothing in the world existed. “What I liked about Yogita was, she wasn't justifying her relationship with Hemant. She was honest in telling the truth as it was. There was neither any guilt nor any remorse. Her closeness to Hemant didn't keep her away from shedding away from the responsibilities as a wife and a mother. And same was with Hemant. It wasn't a teenage infatuation or the first inexperienced cinematic love. It was a relationship that developed between two mature people who had had their share of challenges. Yet I asked myself, did their life issues give them an excuse to go berserk in forming an intimate relationship outside social boundaries.

Meanwhile, Yogita kept sharing, her charm slowly becoming infectious. Her beauty as if reflecting now outside her aura. She said, “Hemant and I would now look forward to meeting desperately like a young couple. We would finish our work and look after Mayank together. He took over the complete charge of Yugant and my responsibilities. Yugant too became fond of him as if he enjoyed being with a man that he must have missed all these years due to Mayank's illness. Whether it was taking Mayank for check-ups, his medicines, or Yugant's school, Hemant came into my life as Santa and within months put my shattered life on track. He made living so joyful. My happiness became, smile revisited my lips and his concern, his charm attracted me more towards the man in him. Many times, when we would be lunching out, we would often share how our lonely lives brought us together and gave a new meaning and light to our deserted lifeless days.”

Yogita told, “A year passed. Hemant by then had become my life support. As if it was difficult to keep away from his company even for a second. Maybe we both provided to each other the much-needed emotional and physical companionship. And though we were aware that there wasn’t any future of our relationship, we kept sinking into each other.”

I finally understood why Yogita consulted me. In an open country like Canada, where social bondages do not exist and free will prevails, it is easy for couples to restart new life. But the dilemma was, the Indian roots! Hemant and Yogita, I must say two half married couples to their first spouses. Living a lonely life for years, bounce into each other at the age of 40 something. Become friends, then companions, and then passionate lovers. Yet their responsibilities are immense. Circumstances ripped off their minds, but hearts melted and embraced each other to make them complete.

A woman, who has single-handedly looked after her home and earned to fulfill all materialistic responsibilities. Hemant is a charming man, who loves his wife and children and desperately yearns to live in a family. Two lonely people, meet and find solace in one another. Mayank, living a traumatic life, his hopes, his dreams shattered at such a young age finds no hope in crawling back to a normal life. An unexpected violent incident took away his identification from him. Nikita, a warm-hearted, simple Indian woman, unable to cope up with the cultural shock and the stress of two kids with very less gap, finds more comfort in her own country at her own home. Failing to take over the challenge of making Montreal her home. And Yugant, a 10-year-old child, who has been grown single-handedly by Yogita, misses the shade of being with an active father.

Human relationships can be so complex. It is not a question of right or wrong. Who are we to judge it? The only barometer can be the consequence of decisions and how much a single resolution of your life affects the people who really matter to you and make up your small world. Your inner circle.

Yogita continued, “Help me find a solution. I am madly in love with Hemant, and he too is. Yet we have the responsibility of two families. My young child and a husband who will never recover from the brain damage that ruined our life and dreams. Hemant is a lonely man who stopped pleading with his wife to come back after requesting her for years. Where and how do we take our life path? How can I leave Mayank like that? It could have happened with me as well. But our relationship status 'half married' gives a sense of incompleteness to both of us.

Crawling towards our 40's we have started feeling the need for a companion in life. As age withers and we cross our 40s, 50s, and 60s; a lonely single life is not what we want for any one of us. There looks no horizon for our complicated life. Guide me, help us find a solution. I will give you a call after Christmas. I thank you for unburdening myself today.” She smiled, hugged me, and finished her coffee.

After an hour's rendezvous with her, I could see optimism on Yogita’s face. The youth and child in her recovered. I recalled how she entered as a pale, stressed, and dull woman when we sipped our coffee. A slice of pastry lies on the plate along with a strawberry. As if its red color blushed on Yogita's cheeks when she started speaking about Hemant.

Her phone rang, I could see a blush on her face. Hemant came to pick her up. They had to watch Yugant's music performance. Incidentally, it was just a few days before Christmas. The city breathed in white everywhere, layer after layer snow filled the streets, the lights, the tops of homes and cars. The complex human relations too unfolded. Hemant came inside the cafe, Yogita introduced him to me. What a charming man he was! Perfect Indian looks. Dark & handsome, as if straight from a barbara Cartland novel! An exceptional persona enough to flatten a woman. I must say, both of them looked fantastic together. They took my leave, hugged each other, and went by. They had planned a Christmas party at home to surprise Yugant. The oven must be smelling the rum cake, the candles lit in their warm home, and the woods lighting up with the crackling sound of their eternal romance.

I watched both of them from the terrace cafe while they sat inside their car. There was something really sweet about this half-married couple. I am a little confused, whether they were half married to their spouses or they now visibly look like a “half-married” couple. I wore my overcoat, switched on my mobile. There were 35 missed calls from my husband and my 7-year-old daughter followed by a message. It read, “To the woman who is “half married” to her work. Your better half and your 7-year-old heartbeats are waiting to welcome you to our arms. The cake is baked, the fire is lit, the wine is ready, the dining is set with your favorite food. Come soon, our Santa; Christmas for us is you!”

I smiled, a tear ran down my cheek, looking up at the silver sky and the majestic snow-white spectacle falling on my face, I thanked God for giving me enough reasons to celebrate Christmas, year after year, and never having to face a 'half married phase'! It was getting dark. The crimson evening moon lit the sky. Walking across the cobbled street, the graffiti's dazzled the walls exuding the vibrant artistic touch of Montreal. While I encapsulated the many energies of the city and its people, I drove my car overtaking Hemant and Yogita, winked a smile at them, and said to myself, “I will bring Christmas your way”!