Little did they realise that when I did have what they regarded as my “priorities” right my whole world had imploded. I was not as lucky as they were; I had married a man blessed with striking good looks who I learnt the hard way had a roving eye.
Harendra had first set his sexy, seductive eyes on me at a sixteen-day memorial service.
My eldest sister’s mother-in-law had finally succumbed to breast cancer after many years of treatment and, as in-laws, we were always respectful in our duties. I was assisting with handing out sweetmeats and savouries in little confectionery boxes for the guests to take with them after the service when I found my hand being held longer than usual. I tugged and when it was not released I looked up and into eyes that made me catch my breath. It was not so much the colour, but the look: soft and dreamy and very seductive. Those eyes made me feel I was the only person in the room. My cheeks flamed as I was drawn into his gaze.
My sister nudged me with her elbow and I hastily pulled my hand away.
“You are holding up the queue,” I whispered as I looked at him, secretly thinking he looked gorgeous.
Suffice it to say that he too was smitten and before I knew it the proposal had been arranged. Harendra was related to my brother-in-law. With my sisters’ track record of being perfect wives and daughters-in-law I knew the family was expecting no less from me and so I was determined that I would create the perfect home and family for my perfect man.
The wedding took place within a year and Harendra was the perfect gentleman throughout the twelve months of courtship. He lived in Durban and visited me twice a month, always bringing with him a variety of chocolates and a bunch of mixed flowers. The colourful display of roses, daisies and carnations was arranged in one of my mother’s brass vases and placed in the lounge for all to appreciate. The chocolates I distributed to the rest of the family to savour or devour. I had to keep my figure for the big day.
Harendra soon charmed his way into everyone’s heart. I was extremely proud that I was to be his wife; after all, he was quite a catch. I knew I would remember for the rest of my life the day we exchanged vows, garlands and rings. I was welcomed into Harendra’s family although we moved immediately into a home his parents had set up for us. We were, I thought, very blessed for many newly-weds lived with their in-laws and had to get used to living with an extended family. I did not have the misfortune of butting heads with my mother-in-law for Harendra’s attention. She was liberal minded and Harendra’s father and siblings tended to mind their own business, but at the same time they showed me the love and respect befitting a daughter- and sister-in-law.
I must admit I was a bit crestfallen when Harendra declared that we did not need a honeymoon for we lived in Durban and that was like being on a permanent honeymoon. We had the balmy weather, sand and surf at our disposal. But I soon got over my disappointment and was delighted that our home gave us the privacy we needed. I went along with his decision like the perfect wife. He was thrilled to be my first and I was thrilled to be initiated into the world of love by a man who was experienced. I prayed he would love and appreciate me for the rest of our lives.
Because we lived in separate homes and respected each other’s privacy my relationship with my in-laws was excellent. Still, my mother-in-law always sent over Harendra’s favourite meals because my culinary skills needed improving. I graciously accepted her offer to feed us. Like the perfect fertile wife I delivered a perfect baby boy within the first twelve months of our marriage. Six years into our marriage I had brought three mini Harendras into the family, all perfectly spaced with two years between them. I dreamed secretly of having a baby girl but when my last born arrived Harendra insisted I have my tubes tied. I agreed on condition that he had a vasectomy. Surprisingly, my perfect husband obliged and so my dream of a baby girl remained just that – a dream.
I worked at retaining my perfect figure after each delivery, thanks to my mother ensuring I followed her instructions. My post-birth tummy was firmly wrapped to strengthen the muscles so it wouldn’t wobble unattractively during my intimate moments with the man who had helped create our babies. This made breathing difficult but I persisted. I breastfed my babies and refused to let Harendra see me in the wrappings until I was satisfied he would not find me repulsive. Harendra had always praised my body in the honeymoon stage of our marriage when he could not keep his hands off me, and I did not want his desire for me to wane.
I focused all my energy on my husband and our beautiful, healthy sons, modelling my marriage on the examples set by my sisters. I selected the clothes my husband wore, always making sure that his socks perfectly matched his suits. I wanted him to be the best-dressed insurance salesperson in his company. I ran a perfect home, learnt to cook perfect meals and secretly congratulated myself when tempting aromas wafted through the house and I was able to share my dishes with my mother-in-law.
Our boys were always neat and clean before my Harendra arrived home and they were often already tucked up in bed. He was in a very competitive industry and I wanted him to retain his position as salesman of the year. He put in many late nights in order to keep his title and I did not want him coming home to a chaotic household. I never left the boys’ toys lying around for him to trip over; everything had its place. As a perfect wife I never allowed my husband to change a diaper or wipe a runny nose. That was a mother’s task. I also made sure I was always perfectly coiffed, dressed and scented. No traces of baby food or drool on me. I wanted him to be proud of us. What I did not realise in my quest for perfection was that my marriage was far from perfect.
One evening the dam of frustration burst its banks and the effect of the emotional flood shattered me.
“You are suffocating me, Gayatri! I don’t even get to decide what I want to wear any more and as for the boys … have you ever asked me if I would like to change a diaper or feed my sons? If I so much as lift a finger to do something in this home you are there to do it as though I am not good enough. You have absolutely no idea how you make me feel. I have had enough!”
“But Harendra …” I protested. I was shocked at the venom in his eyes. Where was all this coming from? Was it the stress of trying to maintain sales? For once he left me speechless, my eyes wide and never leaving his face. Thanks to the weekly facials which I had so lovingly bestowed on him, Harendra had a lovely creamy complexion. Now, that lovely creaminess was mottled and suffused with rage. I thought he was going to burst a blood vessel. My handsome thirty-two-year-old well-groomed husband was having a meltdown.
My mind was reeling. Why had he not spoken to me about this before? Was I so unapproachable? My God, I thought everything was perfect but it seemed he had no desire or appreciation for perfection.
“But Harendra …” I finally managed to get the words out, “I thought this was what you wanted. After all, you have such a stressful job.”
“You have made it stressful for me. Do you know what I have to go through to keep my position in the company so that I can give you all of this?” He threw his hands in the air. His yelling brought the boys rushing into the bedroom. They were terrified. Their perfect father was turning into a perfect stranger. I wanted to remind him that his parents had provided us with our home.
“Mummy,” wailed my youngest, running straight into my arms.
I threw Harendra a look of disgust. His selfishness was upsetting my boys. He looked at the boys and then shocked me even further when he went down on his knees and opened his arms and the two older boys ran into them. They had tears streaming down their cheeks. They had never before heard us raise our voices to each other. He gave me an accusing look over their shoulders.
Was I so intent on creating a perfect family life like my sisters that I had become blind to Harendra’s unhappiness and discontent over the years? I was hurt and bewildered. Was it really all my fault that he was behaving like this? It was only much later that I learnt there was a perfectly valid reason for this so-called “meltdown”. Where and how Harendra found someone who gave him the space and attention he said he needed I do not know.
When the D-word was mentioned I was devastated. My pride