Page 65 of One Indian Girl
‘You are bored of me?’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘So?’
‘I am being calm, okay? But I have an image of the wife I want. The mother of the kids I want. I am not judging you, but I think I want a housewife.’
‘What?’ I said. My fork almost fell out of my hands.
‘It’s what I have seen growing up. I go to work, make the money. Wife takes care of the home. Simple needs, happy family.’
‘What are you talking about, Debu? Didn’t you say women could achieve anything today? Didn’t you encourage me when I had to apply for distressed debt?’
‘I did. I still admire you. I respect all women who achieve big things. I think it is great...’
‘But you can’t be with them?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe not. Maybe I could. But you made me think about marriage and I did. I visualized a future home. I would like my wife to be there for me and my kids.’
‘And I can’t be that?’
‘Will you leave your job?’
‘Why, Debu? Why do I have to leave it? I like it. It’s rewarding and fulfilling to me.’
‘What about the home?’
‘What about the home? You are going to work too, right? Why can’t I?’
‘Oh, so you want to work and I stay at home?’
‘I didn’t say that, but why do I have to choose one of the two?’
‘I get it.’
‘What, Debu?’
‘You make more money. I should quit my job, right, not the high-flying you?’
‘Will you stop it? Stop calling me high-flying or whatever. When you do well I am happy for you. Am I not? Why can’t you be?’
He looked at me once and then sideways. I let out a deep breath and spoke again, as calm as possible.
‘Nobody needs to quit if they don’t want to. We can still have a good happy family,’ I said.
Debu kept quiet. I could tell my words did not convince him.
‘Say something,’ I said, putting my cutlery down.
He remained quiet, continued to eat in silence. Tears welled up in my eyes. I wiped them with a tissue.
He placed his hand on mine.
‘Don’t cry,’ he said.
‘Don’t make me cry and then say “don’t cry”,’ I said, my voice breaking.
‘Leave all this banking and morning meetings. You are stressing yourself out.’
