Freedom after marriage is such a popular notion; unsuspecting unmarried women spin dreams of being able to wear and do exactly what they want afterwards. Extreme late-nights are within reach and on the horizon shimmers this mirage of being able to be the queen of one’s own destiny…finally. Unfortunately, that is exactly what happens.
Post marriage, to me, atleast everything has seemed more heightened. My parents seem a bit older, my grandparents even more so; my sisters and cousins are friends now, and my friends almost a part of the family. I don’t know when the metamorphosis started but all relationships suddenly require more work, more maintenance. People who you saw once in a while because your parents visited them and inevitably dragged you, now fall into the endangered species category for you because, if left upto you, you might never see them again. So you need to fit them into your life even more seamlessly. You are now required to have a separate thing with them- add to checklist. Your eid visiting list is severely modified as you chuck out the people you visited because of your parents relationships with them and add in the people you should visit because of your own rapport with them- and this is not counting the must-visits- (let’s not even go there). The births, deaths, achievements, forever multiplying as friends find partners and insist on reproducing, can no longer be celebrated by your mothers representation for the entire family- your module of existence suddenly becomes separate because you are now married. Your invitations to weddings are separate, so RSVP is also your own. It’s like after a long easy ride, free of the boring ritualistic family social commitments. I’m suddenly told that I have to do my own driving. But take the same routes. The have-to’s of my parents are finally changing…into more have-to’s of my very own.