I swear I'll never come home this late again, please, Neelu, just open the door. I've been standing outside for three hours now, getting bitten to pieces by mosquitoes. I can't stand here any longer, Neelu. Please, open the door this time. Look, whatever you want, just tell me. Whatever it is right now, I'll give it to you. Please, just open the door. It's already four in the morning, Neelu. Dawn's going to break any minute now. Please Neelu, open the door. Alright, how much money do you need, tell me? Will two thousand do? Here, take it—I'm giving you two thousand. Look, I've slipped two thousand rupees under the door. Now please Neelu, open the door. The maid will be here soon. If she sees me like this, she'll know again that you've kept me standing outside all night. Then she'll go around to all the other houses where she works and tell everyone that when I come home late, my wife locks me out and makes me stand in the yard all night. Is that right, tell me?
I told you already—I won't do it again. From tomorrow I'll come home by midnight. From tomorrow I won't stay at the club past midnight anymore. So what do you want me to do? All the big businessmen don't show up at the club before ten. By the time I meet with everyone and leave, it gets this late. How am I supposed to get those big construction contracts if I don't meet with them, tell me? To settle the side payments properly, I have to keep in touch with them—you know that. Alright, I'll try to come earlier tomorrow. I'll be home by midnight, please, my dear, I'm begging you Neelu, where else can I go at this hour, tell me? Please, open the door now. Alright, do you need another two thousand? Alright wait, look—I'm giving another three thousand. Just look under the door, I've pushed it inside. Five thousand rupees, Neelu, please! I won't do it again, I swear by my ears, I won't do it again.
Forgive me, open the door now, Neelu…no no, I won't ever be this late again. I'll remember. Yes I'm telling you, believe me, I won't do it again. Will you open it now? Alright alright, I said I won't! Just forgive me this once, please, my love! I've already told you—next month I'll buy you that wine-colored car. I'm serious, I even talked to my brother today about that big contract. Once that deal goes through, I'll get you your car right away, believe me, Neelu. Yes yes, I will, I will…. So open up now, will you?…Ahhhh, I'm saved.
…The door finally opened. My wife opened it. If I'd known before marriage that the rest of my life would be spent as my wife's servant, then no matter what happened, I would never have married. Though all men say this after marriage, yet before marriage they're the ones desperate to get hitched. When will I marry, bring a wife home! Never mind all that for now! Let it be. Let all that be. Thank God! I'm alive thanks to today. If my wife had locked me out again, I'd have spent another night on the veranda floor. Then tomorrow, covered in mosquito bites, I wouldn't be able to go outside. After I spent that night on the veranda and went to the office the next day, even my laborer looked at me with a smirk and asked, 'Sir, didn't you sleep last night?'
# The Eyes
“My eyes went all fuzzy from the gas last night—seemed like a good idea at the time, but then I couldn’t sleep properly. You think that’s okay?”
Nowadays they don’t miss a chance to joke with me about it either. The way they carry on, you’d think my wife was the only difficult woman in the world. The truth is, every household has some version of this—some mess or other—it’s just that mine happens to spill out more than most. My wife doesn’t really understand anything. Come home even a little late, and she won’t let me through the door that whole evening. “Where in God’s name were you so late?” Once I was thinking to myself, maybe I’ll just go sleep by the petrol pump, then it occurred to me—no, the laborers sleep there at night too, and if they found out I was sleeping there because I came home late, they’d tell her for sure, and she still wouldn’t let me in. This woman-business, it’s something else. Sometimes she turns life into such a hell that I think, what’s the point of any of it? I want to just walk away, go wherever my eyes take me. But when my head cools down, I realize—I’m the one who often goes too far too.
Today I was late again. Once you sit down at one of these clubs, you can’t just get up and leave like that. Even if you’ve got plenty of important things to do, there’s no way out. Neelu doesn’t understand that. She only understands money and household matters. Can’t really blame her either. The poor thing is buried in housework all day, never goes anywhere except for shopping. And since the wedding, I’ve never seen her have a single friend. The household is her entire world. I understand that’s why she does what she does. But there’s a limit to everything. She made me stand outside for three hours. What kind of normal woman makes her son-in-law stand outside for three hours! Still, I never lose my temper with her. There are reasons for that, of course…. I’m getting a bad feeling. Just now my wife came right up to my face and…
…No, no, I didn’t! Believe me, Neelu, I didn’t touch any of that stuff. Adnan Bhai was sitting next to me and had a little—that’s where the smell’s coming from. No, Neelu, believe me, I don’t do that anymore. Come on, come on, listen, my dear, I had just one peg, nothing more, believe me!…No, no, I won’t have any more, never again, Neelu, not ever. I was wrong, Neelu! Look, don’t yell at this hour of the night, please! I said I won’t have any more. Okay, okay, I’m begging you, understand? Forgive me this once. Okay, okay, I won’t have any more! I really won’t. Phew… This wife of mine, she’ll root out every little thing, track it down to the exact detail. At the club, even if I don’t want to drink with everyone, I can’t say no to them. But how do I explain to anyone that there’s a Yama waiting for me back home!
Anyway, everything I’ve said against my wife just now—it’s not all fair, really. I understand why she does what she does. The children are growing up, and if I, their father, keep coming home so late, how can she possibly raise them properly? That’s why she does all this. Neelu was barely seventeen when she got into HSC—I mean, she’d just enrolled in college and went for one single day—when I brought her home as my wife. No, there was no love between us. Neelu’s uncle asked me first: “Will you marry my sister? If you’re willing, just say so.”
“You don’t need to worry about work anymore. My brother has more than enough. Whatever business you want, he’ll help you. And I’m here too!” My contracting business had only just begun to pick up a little. Work was coming in slowly, but without cash in hand, I couldn’t take on many of the offers that came my way, even though there were quite a few. That’s how contracting works—the more money you have, the more work you can do.
The first time I went to see Neelu, to be honest, I never would have married a girl like that under normal circumstances. Of course, I wasn’t thinking about marriage at all back then. All I could think about was how to get through the next month. Where to scrape together some money for a new project. My father didn’t do much of anything. We had land once, but he’d sold almost all of it except for the plot our house stood on. I was the eldest among six brothers and three sisters in a sprawling household. I never saw my father work to keep the family afloat. What little property we inherited, along with a few fields, barely kept us fed, let alone provided anything else. None of us siblings got much schooling. Only my youngest sister studied for a while, and now she works in some insurance office.
Truth is, I married Neelu partly out of obligation back then. There wasn’t much of a courtship to speak of. I was consumed with work. How could I expand it? A family that size needed feeding! I used to get work through Neelu’s uncle. He’d get the bigger contracts and would throw me some smaller ones from time to time. That’s how I earned his trust. I worked with Neelu’s uncle for almost three years before the marriage. Through that association, he knew the state of my work, and being from the same town, he knew pretty much everything about my character. My father-in-law is a wealthy man, and kind-hearted too. It didn’t take me long to understand that he’d be relieved to get Neelu settled with me quickly.
For one thing, Neelu had a rather dark complexion. On top of that, this girl of marriageable age had fallen in love with one of the day laborers who worked for the household. My father-in-law knew nothing of any of this. He was a busy man, always rushing around with work. Then one night he discovered Neelu wasn’t home. After searching, he found out that the day laborer had run away with his daughter. My father-in-law has a quick temper. That very night he gathered his brothers and brought the girl back. The very next day, Neelu and I were married. My dower was fixed at five hundred and one rupees—her father decided the amount. It was four in the morning by the time they found her and brought her back. That same early morning, Neelu’s uncle called me. I got frightened. Getting a call at that hour, I panicked, thinking perhaps some materials had been stolen.
Our contracting supplies lie outside all night, especially the steel rods—those I’m always worried about. I’ve lost considerable amounts of rods to theft before. So I was already anxious about that. On top of money troubles, if materials got stolen, what then! Neelu’s uncle called early in the morning and told me what had happened. He said they’d found the girl with great difficulty. If they couldn’t get her married off within a day or two, there would be no showing their face in the village.
Besides, if word got out in the village that she was already dark-complexioned, and now this—who would marry her then? Nilu’s uncle came to me almost tearfully and said, ‘Brother, take our girl. We will see to the rest.’ I already knew something of my father-in-law’s financial standing. He had considerable land and fields, shops in the market too. He had accumulated a fair amount of money. And they were an established household. So without giving it much thought, I agreed.
The next morning I told my parents at home about the wedding. Mother was somewhat taken aback by the news, but she wasn’t displeased. Father was very ill then. He had told Mother several times that he at least wanted to see my wedding. Father’s eyesight wasn’t good by then. He had been bedridden for several months already. A week after my wedding, while the wedding guests were still at the house, my father died. So that very evening, the *kabbin* was fixed. Around eight in the morning, Nilu’s uncle had finalized everything with my uncle. I remember it still—my elder sister, when she saw Nilu’s face, cried out ‘Oh God!’ and literally fainted. When she came to, she began loudly recounting every detail of my daughter-in-law’s appearance and broke into tears in front of the entire gathering at my father-in-law’s house. What a commotion that day!
But my father-in-law was quite pleased to have me. Even now, my father-in-law shows me more affection than his other sons-in-law, even more than his own sons. I lost my father a week after the wedding. After that, my father-in-law filled the void of fatherhood for me, always. Not long after the wedding, Nilu’s father and uncles beat a young shepherd boy—a day laborer—who had tried to elope with Nilu so badly that he died the next day. Then the boy’s family had Nilu’s father and uncles charged with murder, and they were all thrown into jail in a single day. Suddenly, Nilu’s father and four uncles were in prison. Who was to secure their release, who was to arrange bail? I did everything. My brothers-in-law were all young then, they didn’t understand much of anything. I was like the eldest son to my father-in-law, and from that day on, I became his eldest son in truth.
I shouldered all the responsibility myself and got my father-in-law and uncles released from jail. Because of this, my father-in-law has always held great affection for me. He often says, ‘As long as I have my elder son-in-law, I have no worries. Even if I die, my elder son-in-law will set everything right with his own two hands.’ My father-in-law’s affection—that shadow of a father—gives me courage for every task I undertake. I have never been angry with Nilu. She came and transformed my entire life. She was the first to make my household, my mother, my brothers and sisters all her own. When Nilu came to my house, she couldn’t even feed herself with her own hands. My mother-in-law raised her with great tenderness. Her greatest difficulty in this house was learning to eat rice with her own hands. My younger brother was very fond of Nilu.
I was always out on some errand or other. Feeding my wife, speaking to her with affection, staying under the shelter of my wife’s *anchal*—that went against my nature my whole life. It was my younger brother who, little by little, made Nilu a part of this family. Besides, they were of the same age; my younger brother was perhaps six months older than her. For about a year and a half after the wedding, my younger brother fed Nilu with his own hands. Nilu didn’t know the ways of society.
# The Unmade Life
Neelu was as simple and straightforward as they come—not a trace of guile in her. I remember it still, just a month after the wedding, how she suddenly climbed the mango tree one day to pluck fruit. My mother took her aside that afternoon and explained things to her at length. The aunts in the neighborhood still make jokes about it sometimes, but they love Neelu dearly. A girl who had never even kneaded dough with her own hands at her father’s house now holds my entire household together with a grip of iron. I have no right to be angry with her. The truth is, whatever my family has become today, Neelu’s hand is in it more than anyone else’s.
Within two or three years of marriage, my financial situation improved considerably. Neelu mapped out our household with meticulous care. She is that sort of woman—one who understands only numbers, yet has never been stingy about anything. When five poor souls from the village came to her door with empty hands, she never turned anyone away. She has given of herself freely to the entire family. She arranged marriages for my younger brothers and set up their homes. Since she took the reins of this house, I have never seen her lying in bed past six in the morning. I come home at one, sometimes half past. And even then, at that ungodly hour, she wakes to warm my food. She shows me some irritation for it—which is only natural—yet it costs me no great sorrow. No matter how late I sleep, she is up at five sharp the next morning.
My relationship with my older sister was never warm, even before I married. I harbored some resentment toward her, and Neelu knew it. But she never used this against my family. Whenever my sister had troubles, Neelu would quietly set things right without telling me—because she knows I would only scold her. She simply says to me, “She’s your sister, after all.” I know my sister is no stranger to my heart—the question is not whether I love her. But there is too much I cannot forget, and so my anger lingers. When my business was barely beginning, my sister married into a wealthy family. My brother-in-law is a well-established businessman, wanting for nothing. Even twenty-six years ago, three cars would sit idle in their courtyard. I had asked for just twenty thousand rupees to start my venture. They could not spare it. Instead, they humiliated me, spoke harshly, and turned me out of their house.
My sister barely came here after her marriage. Always that lifted chin, as though she had been born elsewhere, raised in some other world entirely. When she did visit, she would arrive in the morning and spend the day finding fault—leaving by evening for her husband’s house. And in between, I would hear it at least ten times over: “How can you live like this? What sort of existence is this?” Her manner suggested she had been raised in some foreign land! That is when the anger took root. Now, of course, her circumstances have changed. That earlier arrogance has worn away, I understand that much. But Neelu’s mind harbors no such calculations. Perhaps she sees things clearly; she simply chooses not to speak of them. Even in twenty years of marriage, Neelu has never once asked me for an expensive sari. And now, whether she asks for things or not, it hardly matters.
Yet I have never seen Neelu use her own savings for luxury or needless expense. Instead, day after day, she has helped countless struggling people with that money—so much so that I don’t even know the full extent of it.
Today, when I had to slip five thousand taka to my own wife just to get into the house, I knew that money would find its way into some household need or other anyway, which is precisely why I gave it to her. Besides, Neelu doesn’t really understand these things. She just wants money—she’s mad for it, obsessed with it—but she couldn’t care less where it goes or how it’s spent. Perhaps she does care, but she doesn’t let me know about it. Why, just the other day she took three thousand taka from my pocket. She sizes up the amount and takes accordingly. More if there’s more, less if there’s less. It’s not that I don’t notice—I do—but when I do, I never let on that I know.
The other morning, during my walk, I stopped at the market to do the shopping. I usually finish my morning walk and pick up groceries on the way back home. That day at the shop, I discovered three thousand taka missing from my pocket. I knew at once—it had to be Neelu. I called her straightaway to ask, and she just laughed. I said, “Listen, that’s the grocery money you’ve taken!” She laughed and said, “Alright, have someone from the market come by and I’ll send it over.” I couldn’t decide whether to be angry with her or not… One day a friend was telling me—his wife, apparently, had managed to save five lakh taka in just two years by quietly lifting it from her son-in-law’s pockets! Ha ha ha…. And that man is a businessman, mind you—understands nothing but his business. Yet his wife has taken up another business on the side!
No, I don’t get angry with Neelu over anything. Today I have everything. Bit by bit, piece by piece, I’ve built myself a decent life. It was my father-in-law who first advised me to set up an oil pump. Now I have two oil pumps, a brick kiln, and some twenty shops in the market.…I’ve done well for myself, and all of it has been possible only because of the disciplined life my father-in-law and my Neelu have led. We’re coming up on twenty-five years of marriage now, and yet in all that time I’ve never taken Neelu anywhere—not for a day trip, not for a holiday. I’ve never given her a birthday gift. Every anniversary, Neelu buys me clothes, a Punjabi, as she always has. I’ve never bought anything for her. My business keeps me traveling, and I’ve never taken her along, nor have I ever felt the need to mollify her by bringing her something back from my trips.
Since our marriage, Neelu has ironed all my clothes with her own hands. I’ve never had to send them to the laundry—at least not my clothes. A few years back, the stress of business gave me a stroke. I spent three days in the hospital. They had to do an angiogram to check for blockages in my heart. Neelu didn’t move an inch from my side during those three days. I can still see her tired face through the glass wall, right there in front of me. When the angiogram report came back negative, Neelu, with tears streaming down her face, was telling all our relatives the good news. Looking at her that day—her eyes, her face—it seemed to me there was no happier person on this earth. In all the years since we married, Neelu and I have fought only twice. Yes, only twice, by my count.
Once when Neelu had a quarrel and left for her father’s house, I called her and said nothing more than this: “I want to see you home right now. My wife is not to stay at her father’s place after marriage—this must not happen under any circumstances.” She came back that very moment.
Since our wedding day until today, I have slept without Neelu very rarely. Yes, I have given her nothing—nothing the way other men give to their wives. I have never driven her mad saying “I love you,” and till this day I have never told her, “Neelu, I love you so very much.” And yet I know what Neelu means to my life! One cannot be angry with Neelu, no reason on earth can make one angry at her anger. I came home late last night, and as punishment I stood outside for three hours getting bitten by mosquitoes, yet I did not raise my voice at her even once, because Neelu is mine, and it is not in me to be angry with her. That punishment from last night will stay with me—perhaps a month, perhaps longer. Then one day I’ll do the same thing again, and I will have to bear Neelu’s punishment all over again. There is a kind of pleasure in taking punishment from her. After everything, I can say this: I am at peace with Neelu. My wife’s real name is Seyeda Rashed Aktar. I gave her the pet name Neelu myself, with affection, after we were married. Every day when I come back from work and stand at the gate calling out “Neelu, Neelu” in a loud voice until I am tired and finally walk into the house, then I understand: this is peace. This peace cannot be bought with all the money in the world! Neelu, whatever you are, remain mine.