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Monday, May 06, 2013

Dear Prospective Husband (Fiance? Dude?),

Don't mind the opening salutation. I am usually awkward with openings/beginnings but 30 seconds or a glass of wine later (which ever happens first), I get better. Less deviant, more lovable.


I have no clue how or what made you stick around here that you're actually on to the second paragraph of my letter to you but I have to give it to you for your resilience and patience. Must say, I am getting/going to get lucky with you. To make things sound less creepy, let me begin by telling you that it's a choice well made by you, in order to have decided to invest in me for the rest of your life (hypothetically, so). I mean, I did a fab job at undergrad managing 20+ kids as the class representative for 3 years. I have learnt enough about adjusting in all situations. Oh, and I come from a school which had no canteen so I can also survive long intervals without any food and boring fodder coming my way. Life skill enhanced, right?

I would yet again like to reiterate, as I may have tried to, while having a face to face conversation over a coffee, post coital smoke (assuming, we'd have gone ahead with it since I am giving you blog space) and numerous occasions including when you handled me after I vomited on your shirt outside the washroom because I drank a little too much for my own good, I am not the best person to have committed in a relationship with (long term, that too). I come with flaws. Major flaws. Let me list some of flaws and somethings that I expect you to do while you're still wearing that rock we exchanged at a terribly uncomfortable ceremony with our set of ugly relatives and over excited friends.

  • I love birthdays. And Christmas. I go overboard on birthdays. Cakes, paraphernalia out of paper strips, hats that read dunce, gifts- lots of them, outfits and cards. I like to blow hard earned money and effort on birthdays. As much as I do, I expect the same in return, in terms of effort, time, intensity and maybe even money. No one likes cheap Charlie on birthdays and Scrooge on Christmas. Make sure you put in extra effort in getting my gift wrapped, complete with ribbons and bows, surprise me with breakfast in bed (I am not big on desserts) and pamper me with books and other gifts that you may think I will like. I promise, each of your birthdays with me around will be an affair to remember. 
  • Share your sweaters with me. This requires you to be burly, to say the least. I love parading around in my father's sweaters, tshirts and sometimes even my guy friends' clothes- depending on how brilliant it is and how giving they are. With my husband, it'll be practically sharing his winter wardrobe- atleast round neck sweaters and college hoodies. Part with a smile on your face. Don't be grumpy about the bit. It is a metaphor for love in my books, sharing a part of what one wears.
  • Be prepared to be featured in my stories, a recurrent character on my blog- with a pseudonym and a part of all of my tales that I recite with joy to friends, audience and families. This is a peril, I come with. Bear with it and I promise I won't write a lot of mean things about you. 
  • Nurse me to health when I am hungover. Even if both of us are hungover, I expect you to extend a hand in completing the chores of the house, cleaning the toilet seat with vomit projectile and making me a glass of fresh lime when I need it.
  • Annual vacation in October. Beginning with Shinjuku. You can have a place of your choice and a month of your choice, I will gladly abide.
  • Getting together with me comes with a tricky condition that we won't socialize much except for our friends who share similar interests and are not toxic like most other couple friends. I will make beautiful dinner- complete with eggnog and the works if I have your word here. I can't manage family dinners/outings/get-togethers. Maybe, a strong reason for getting married to you is that I feel you're not too keen on this stuff which will keep us reserved to our respective business' or the one we have rolling together.
  • You have to enjoy (or feign interest) in listening to jazz, blues, funk, rock and pretty much everything that's on my iTunes library. One rule: my music. No questions asked. No headphones used. You can calls dibbs on Xbox. 
  • You have to take charge in dealing with mathematics in case we bear a child. 
  • You'll also have to agree that we will kill our child if it's a baby boy. Or give it away for adoption. Whichever you're comfortable with.
  • Appreciate when I cook. Whatever I cook. Even if it's grossly inedible, you are to only appreciate the effort and eat it without creating a fuss.
  • We clean the house together. We host dinners together. No red wine. No paper cups. 
  • No, your best friend can't crash here. Neither can mine. 
  • Be prepared to sign divorce papers if you misbehave with waiters when we go out to dine. If you can't handle the alcohol, don't do it. 
  • I can't do bank work so you'll have to manage with that. 
  • Don't criticize my driving skills or parking skills. 
Having said all of this, I come with a list of bearable qualities too. I will go to any extent to extend my support in order for you to accomplish a task. Even if it means, being the only person at a Justin Beiber concert because you're his vanity van driver. I will bake from time-to-time for you to impress your co-workers, friends and family and make your ex-girlfriends jealous. I promise to not take you shopping cause I am aware that it ruins great relationships. I will also let you have last serving of cereal cause I am not too fond of it. And, I will share my diet coke with you. That's a big one you've got so cherish it till our fifth anniversary.

See you at the altar.


(It happens to be 23 anniversary of the day when my parents got married in between fully drunk Punjabi family and friends. I happen to have final exams that I haven't studied for and this seemed like a better idea than starting with communication theory. Don't judge me, I usually write realistic pieces for personal consumption.)

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