Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Another Man's Wife

She is getting married. In a couple of weeks, she will be another's wife. What a strange thought. For six years, I thought she was mine. I could not imagine another being closer to her than I was.
We were 'an item,' a couple. Friends addressed greetings to us jointly. When somebody invited me to an engagement or a wedding, they felt obliged to add, 'Why don't you get her along as well?'
People I didn't know too well would ask, 'When are you getting married?' and the 'you' was plural -- it referred to both of us. Now if I meet them, I would have to say, 'She is married,' and there would be an embarrassed silence. It's like a divorce even though no marriage had ever taken place.
I rehearse explanations: 'It didn't work out.' 'Her parents were opposed to it.' 'Our horoscopes didn't match.' 'We decided to break up.' 'We are no longer together.' I practise attitudes: Flippant and unaffected. Dry and detached. Bemused but resigned. But, frankly, if I met myself, I wouldn't be convinced.
The thing for me to do is 'move on.' I've heard that phrase often in these last few months. Mostly from her. She means it sympathetically, but it infuriates me. You ask beggars at a traffic signal to 'move on.' Or passengers in a bus. Makes me feel I'm part of a long shuffling queue going nowhere. If I dawdle too long to look at a face I like, the line behind me bristles and says 'move on...' Move on -- life is a ticket for a day in the amusement park. Move on -- we have to see all the rides. Aren't you going to check out Matrimony? I hear it's okay -- that's where all the crowds are... And then there's Parenthood... that's pretty scary and not much fun. Don't bother with Romance, it's too long. You'll feel sick at the end of it and then you can't finish all the others. Move on... it's not a great park, but it's the best around here.
But she's right: I must move on. Even I can see that.
I must move on, but where are my options ? I am 29. Six years with her have given me the aura of an 'unavailable' man. I smile civilly at women and have short polite conversations. I don't want to 'romance' any more... there's something distasteful about entering that particular rat race again. What if I try to flirt and get rebuffed ? I don't want that... it would hurt. Again.
Options, options... I had done French at college. I could take it up again. I could paint, I used to be good at it. Photography? Music? Bridge? I spend hours imagining what it could be like. I don't want to do any of these. I just want her back. That's not an option though.
I registered at a matrimonial website. Don't ask me why... I don't have any desire to marry right now. Maybe it was just curiosity, wanting to know what an 'arranged marriage' would feel like. She is having an arranged marriage. She met her fiancé through a matrimonial ad in a newspaper. I keep asking her for details about him. I want to know why he is getting so easily what I have desired for so long. I want to know whom I'm losing her to. 'He's okay,' she says. 'I think he's nice.' She can't tell me more, she doesn't know him enough. She's marrying a pleasant stranger.
I wanted to see if I could do that too. I chatted with some of the 'aspiring brides' I met at the website. It's difficult to exchange even a few lines. The medium is too impersonal. Or maybe I am too distracted. What does knowing a person's hobbies tell you about her? I can't form a judgement based on lines on the screen. I pretend to get disconnected and terminate the conversation.
I had a 'date' with a 'candidate' from the website last evening. Instead, I went to watch a friend go paragliding. Halfway up the hill, I felt out of breath and out of place. Miserable. Lay down on the bare slope of the hill, beaten by a murderous sun, and watched the gliders take off from above. One by one, the friendly, quiet people who had climbed up the hill with me were stepping into the sky.
I have decided to take up paragliding.

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