" Bahu, did you start preparing lunch for Rekha and Raj?"

"Bahu, did the newspaper come?"

"Pavi, where is my shirt?"

"Bhabhi-"

" Yes yes, I am coming..."

It is to this, I have accustomed my life to. If you are the eldest daughter, your parents make you sacrifice to just your dreams and if you are the eldest daughter-in-law, you can literally forget about having everything else as well. 

"Ma, the cooker is been kept.."

"What did you say bahu, I can't hear you..."

"Ma-"

The cooker whistle's sound swallowed my voice. I fixed the veil of my blue green cotton saree in my waist. My wet hair was still left open, while the sindoor stayed put in my forehead. 

While the green glass bangles jingled, my mind wandered away to the actual white coat that I had reamed of wearing. 

"Bahu- keep count on the number of whistles...", called Ma from her room. 

I looked at the time. It was 7:50 A.M. already! 

Do not think! 

"Bahu, newspaper?"

I ran from the kitchen to the living hall. 

Babaji was sitting on his armchair, beside the window wearing his reading glasses and sipping the cup of coffee that I had prepared for him a while ago. 

I smiled at him, gently as I reached the doorstep to check whether the newspaper boy has delivered the paper. 

I found it on the smudged rangoli, which I had taken around twenty minutes, in the morning at around 5:30 A.M., to draw it symmetrically and elegantly.  I didn't let my heart to break on the vain efforts. This is a common routine. 

I swallowed my thoughts, (if not emotions), and picked up the paper and handed it to Babaji. 

"Bahu, sugar is less in the coffee", eyed my father-in-law. 

But wasn't he diabetic? 

"Babaji, doctor had told-"

"The doctor is not drinking sugarless coffee, no Bahu?" , Babaji snapped.

I silenced immediately and looked at my toes. I saw my silver toe rings shine to the warm rays of the sun peeping through our living room's opened window. 

"Pavi, where have you been? What are you doing?"

Well this is the final call from my husband.

"Babaji-"

"Go, before he shouts, early in the morning..."

I sprinted through the house, and as I entered my room, my husband pulled me into the room, closed the door behind us and hugged me from behind. I felt ticklish as his bearded chin rested on the back of my neck. He gently kissed.  

"Ji-"

"Usshh...", and he inhaled. "Yesterday was-", he dragged in a husky voice. 

"Ji!", I yelled in a high pitch whisper. 

Yes, I was a dutiful wife, if that is what you are asking me.

"What?"

"Your sister is calling me, I came here to-"

"Give my shirt, I know..."

He pointed at the blue shirt which I had ironed last night, and just hugged me closely from behind. 

He straightened my hair from behind and pulled me closer. 

"Ji-not now, you are getting late, you need to open the shop-"

"Yeah, I know... ", as he sadly let me go. 

I turned to look at him, my husband, Rajeev Shukla. 

He had black eyes and an oval face. His long silky hair almost reached his neck. His broad shoulders and well maintained body, radiated manliness, but his heart was as soft as a flower. I realized this in a few weeks of our wedding, and well, I just smiled. 

"Do I have to go?" 

I nodded and walked to the bed and picked up the shirt and helped him in buttoning it. He stood there letting me help him. 

"Pavi?"

"Ji?"

"Bring sindoor from the shelf, please, let me put it." 

I smiled at myself. 

As he smeared my forehead with the vermilion, my smile broadened.

Well, this marriage is not as bad as I think it is-

"Bhabhi-?"

"Ji-"

"Yeah, go", he smiled. 

"Pavi?"

"Ji?"

"Saree... Very Nice...", he breathed the phrases. 

Running around the house, from morning to night, without even a minute to myself has been the single line description of these six months. I did not know anything, how to cook, wash vessels and utensils, how to iron or even draw a straight line using a chalk. But today, I run a household. 

And probably, I tolerate this for my husband. Somedays, it feels worth it, and sometimes, it feels like a sacrifice. I am human too, right?

This is not what you wished for... 

I try not to enter that area of my mind. It speaks the truth and right now, I frankly have no time for some sort of revelation. 

"Bhabhi..."

Rekha is my husband's younger sister. She is studying in 12th standard, and is a very bright girl. As soon as I entered this house, she has been someone whom I could talk to, just normally and not feel like a married woman.

"Yes, yes...coming"

"Bhabhi, where were you, can I borrow your pink jhumka?" 

"Yes yes definitely, did you call me for this?", I laughed and asked her. 

"No Bhabhi, actually today is Sushanth's birthday-"

"Who is Sushanth?", I asked with curiosity.

"My friend Bhabhi", she replied immediately.

Her chubby cheeks slightly turned pink matching her light pink kurthi. Her long silky hair, draped her back as her lit face only missed my pink jhumka. 

"Bhabhi?"

"Yes?"

"Can you comb my hair, you know, any nice design?"

"Accha, so you called me for this?", I teased her.  "Do you owe me a story Rekha?"

She just looked at her fingers while I did her hair. 

But, everything has its perks right?

A combination of goodness and less-goodness...

Well, the swing of life can be that...

So, are you looking for marriage advice, well this is it...

PATIENCE.

TOLERANCE.

SMILE.

***