39) Domestic violence

Suffering comes in different forms and mine was marriage. I just married the wrong man and suffered to no end.

I was an Arts graduate and pursuing PhD in political science while my husband, Neil was a MBA in marketing. Our elders got together, exchanged horoscopes and waved the green flag. We met before the engagement as my sister chaperoned and I didn’t find him galling enough for rejection.

He told me tales about his work as a client servicing director in Ogilvy, an advertising design shop.

We got married in the spring of 2001 and within the first month differences started to show up. Neil was too hyper for my taste; too animated with exaggerated gestures.
He brings to life a vivid description from an English song:

And you don't talk so loud
And you don't walk so proud

Either moving, talking on the cell, shouting at the maid, reading or playing the stereo, he made noise wherever he went. What I began to hate was he brought the degenerate office language home and prone to use a b******* and m****** and used F**** as a word filler. Later, I learnt that these swear words were common, harmless parlance in the advertising world!!!!

I hail from a cultured family and most of my ancestors are teachers. My dad is a professor in IIT, Delhi and mom a Principal in a school. So, the cultural shock from a daily Saraswathi Vandana to finding my companion floating in whisky and gold flakes was a huge disappointment.

Neil wasn’t my ideal partner and neither was I; we were two poles of a magnet. But I was taught that marriage is something sacrosanct and one must haul the cart no matter how difficult the load or burden was.

I became pregnant and that gave me a reason to look forward to in life. Neil wanted an abortion from the start and his reasoned he wanted a great looking wife in his Ogilvy parties than an out of shape rotund one. These advtg guys are so impressionable!!!

Slowly our arguments gathered momentum and in his emotional fits even raise his hand. My parents saw the marriage going downhill and hastened me home even in the early stages of pregnancy.

I still remember the day my brother came to pick me up and Neil just couldn’t tolerate me going there and distraught that abortion now was no longer feasible. He abused me in the choicest of words – words like prostitute, who is the father of the child? flew thick and fast stinging me to the last bone – besides slapping me. My brother tried to protect which infuriated Neil further. He kicked me in the stomach and I passed out in pain and shock.
I woke in the hospital to find that he had killed the fetus and I can never, ever become a mother again. My brother was so enraged that he stabbed Neil with a table knife. We did not press charges and our divorce fait accompli.

I was sad as to how my life had panned out with nothing but misery in its run. I ran into Ms. Sudhamurthy and she asked me to volunteer in her foundation. They manage 40 street children and teach them occupational vocation like electric repairs, plumbing, carpentry, car mechanics, weaving and any vocation that has a potential for earning. In addition, we teach them hygiene and values so that they grow up with better morals than a Neil Chatterji.

My life is trundling along nicely as most of these kids address me “Didi” and find a kind of peace and fulfillment that I’ve not found before.

As to my ex-husband, I believe he is now the Vice President of Ogilvy, drinking and smoking to excess with the fond hope of kicking the bucket early.