Our international relationship had already forced us to live apart. This time, he was the one doing the journey. Coming to Delhi as my "husband" to avoid problems with my flat owner...
We hadn’t seen each others for a month and the context was going to be different as we would have to survive a "grown-up" routine: work and no more hostel facilities (including the life saving 24/7 food service!).
Inevitably, some sources of disagreement appeared regarding:
-the amount of spices in the food. Non spicy doesn’t mean plain!
-my need for a few moments of solitude. Colleagues in the office, crowd on the way and a Vikas eagerly waiting for me in the flat. When do I breathe?
-the sharing of household tasks.
Our relationship had survived the distance, the disapprobation and the peer pressure. We were not going to let some small problems put us down. Compromises can always be found but only if you open your mouth and speak your heart out.
During his 12-day stay, we also managed to meet part of his family. I had received orders: no touching, no kissing and no mention of us living in the same flat! We had lunch with mamaji, mamiji, baya and the likes. Eight people looking at me with curiosity. Me focusing intensely on my food to avoid a conversation in Hindi. I loved seeing Vikas talking to mamiji. I had no idea what they were saying but the cherished relationship was apparent. All in all, they were really nice (mamiji even said that she would approve our marriage) but I felt slightly out of place because of the linguistic barrier.
Time was flying… Then he left…
Jaan, mera pagal ashique, mon poussin ;o), see you on the 14th of March!
*Indians have a term for every type of family relation you can imagine. A short guide here.