What the Heart Still Holds

“Babe!” … I can almost hear it. His term of endearment. And the echoes of it in my memory stir up emotions so strongly tied to that word. It meant more than just him calling me. It meant belonging. It meant safety, it meant security, it meant: home. Twenty years ago.

Who can begin to recount where it all went wrong? I certainly can’t. Was it when I resented him for not helping me build the crib for Baby 1? Was it when I found all those pictures of him with someone else barely a month or two before he called me his? Does it even matter, now that it was all so long ago?

But on days like today, the loss feels fresh. The tears come fast, as if it all happened just now, all over again. How many times must we relive our losses in one lifetime? My only thought as I walked back from catching a glimpse of him this evening, picking up our daughter, was: I don’t want to be shaped by my losses.

I recently watched the movie Life List, and that quest for true love stayed with me a little longer. I found myself wondering — who was, if there was any, my true love? And to date, my answer has always been him. For all the misery that came later, he was still the only one who saw me and gave me what I longed for. I cannot say that he loved me, but I can say that the way he loved me was how I believed love to be, or how I understood it at the time.

When I moved to the US on a visitor’s visa, waiting to be married and granted a work permit, I spent endless weeks and months alone. To ease that time, he would come home loaded with books from the library for me, for us. We spent many companionable hours reading. That’s where I made my first acquaintance with Abraham Verghese, whose books I adore to this day. And Chitra Banerjee... and so many more authors I had never discovered during my younger years spent on Western writing.

He indulged my need to get out of the house, even after long days at the hospital, and would take me to the shops or out for a meal. Sometimes we’d visit friends and share a few laughs. I was always entranced, regaled by his stories, his wit, his endless charm.

I don’t want to dwell on all that went wrong. It was too much, and too painful. And those who need to know already do. This is just about the love — or at least, the illusion of it.

I remember one cold December day, driving to Commercial Street in Bangalore. We passed all the shops and went straight to CKC. When I asked what we were doing there, he simply said, “I want to make sure you are mine.” I wanted a ring like my mother’s — a gold band with three little diamonds (I knew nothing of big solitaires then). We came home and showed his mother. She was pleased, but said, “Why didn’t you make my son spend more money!?” I was surprised, and we all laughed.

I missed Atte a lot after I left. We did speak a few times — brief, to the point — but every time I saw her after, she was kind and cordial. She passed away last year, and I was grateful to be part of her final rites, even if I wasn’t allowed to say goodbye earlier.

These are cherished moments of a short-lived marriage that I want to remember and hold onto — and someday pass on to my children. I don’t want them to think it was all bad. After all, they came from that union, and there must have been something good. So here are the good bits, or the ones I remember now. Perhaps, with time, I’ll recall more and add them in later. Who knows?

A biryani welcome. When he picked me up from the airport and took me home, I found a cooker full of biryani waiting for me. It was probably enough for six meals, and the middle-class Brahmin girl in me thought how thoughtful this was — this would do for us while I got settled in. (A couple of days later, of course, I was gently asked why there had been no more cooking done!)

Winter boots. I wanted boots for the winter. They cost $100 back then, and he bought them for me.

The Coach handbag. At a mall in St Louis, he lovingly bought me a Coach handbag. He bought a bunch of things like that — an avid online shopper he was too.

Mismatched shoes. I was eight months pregnant with Baby 1 and couldn’t see my feet. We left the house in a rush for a dinner reservation in the next town. When we arrived, I swung my feet out of the car and realised — horror of horrors — I was wearing two shoes from two different pairs. Embarrassed, I hid behind him until we were seated. We laughed so much, and it remains one of my fondest memories.

Sunday temple breakfasts. We often tried to make it to the temple in St Louis for the South Indian breakfast. It became a favourite ritual.

Arby’s nights. Once I figured out the routes, I’d pick him up from work and we’d grab takeaway from Arby’s. I loved their chicken sandwiches — they had apple in them!

Movie nights. We used to go watch movies at the theatre nearby. I forget what it was called now.

Bailey, the Great Dane. We babysat a friend’s Great Dane puppy called Bailey. It was amusing to watch him alternate between being annoyed and entranced by the little dog.

The surprise 30th. He threw a surprise party for my 30th birthday. It didn’t quite go as planned — just as he was taking me out to make room for the caterers, they arrived! That was funny.

Obama’s rise. We watched Obama’s rise together — those early, electric days.

Entourage. He introduced me to the show Entourage, which will always stay etched in my mind as one of those mad, coming-of-age American series.

NPR and CNN. I learned about Anderson Cooper and all the CNN anchors. He got me hooked on NPR during our drives. And we laughed through quiz shows like Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me!

I loved watching him. Truly. I think it was my adoration of him that formed the foundation of what we had. I loved watching him put on his starched shirts, the tie, polished shoes, and finally, the white coat. I was married to a doctor, and I was so proud. His pager would go off at night, and I’d listen in awe to his crisp instructions and his measured tones as he dictated a prescription. He was everything I had ever dreamed of — handsome, charming, well-read, funny, intellectual…

Of course, there was a lot he was not — but this isn’t that post. This is just the one about all that was beautiful about then.

Yes, it was all about me fitting into his life and becoming a part of it. And for the most part, I loved it.