Just Married, Please Excuse
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Caution: Marriage Ahead …
Yashodhara, a quick-tempered gal from the big city, is hitched to Vijay, a laidback desi boy from a small town – in
one word, trouble! The young couple must learn to adjust to married life and to each other – whether it is Yashodhara’s ‘tamper tentrums’ or Vijay’s foot-in-mouth syndrome – with a little help from their idiosyncratic staff Zarreena and Vinod, their nutty friend Vivi and, of course, their respective families.
With the unexpected arrival of baby Anoushka a.k.a Peanut, the battles escalate, fuelled by their vastly divergent views on raising a child. Will their many differences – so endearing at the start of their romance – actually turn out to mean that they are just incompatible? Will they ever manage to agree on anything? Or have they just bitten off more than they can chew?
A fresh and honest take on marriage and parenthood, this is a story of self-discovery that will have you laughing out loud – and sympathizing wholeheartedly with its quirky and likeable cast of characters.
the sound of his loud guffaws at the look on her face. The responses ranged from huffy walk-outs to cushions thrown at his head. Either way, the girl would get the message that this wasn’t a suitable boy, although the parents involved were never exactly sure why. Being an easygoing and open-minded sort of chap, Vijay was not opposed to introducing a variation once in a while. As in the case of the overly sweet and sensitive young girl that he met in Jaipur, whom he didn’t have the heart to try
around, he had reconciled to the fact that perhaps he and Sania were not meant to be in this particular lifetime, although he would always continue to hold her in the highest esteem. Dhruv’s esteem with Mummyji, however, dropped to rock bottom levels. As always, she was welcoming and polite, but she began referring to him in conversation with Vijay as ‘Woh tera bawla dost.’ As much as I was amused by the stories of Vijay’s past loves, I found myself also feeling resentful of the wistfulness
mein sauda nahin …’ My mother interrupted him to say, ‘It’s actually ghe ghe ghe ghe and not de de de de …’ Vijay had to respectfully disagree. ‘“Ghe ghe”? I don’t think so, Mummy – “ghe” is not even a word!’ My mother glared at him. ‘As if “de” is a word!’ Vijay realized that this was possibly one of the reasons why my Hindi-speaking skills were not top-notch. ‘But Mummy, “de” means “give” in Hindi.’ Mum recovered to continue, ‘That’s not what I meant. Ghe is Konkani or something. I am not
for do-gooding that somehow struck me as highly suitable for a slightly off-the-beaten-track initiative such as the rural project. But every fibre of my being was resistant to the idea of leaving Bangalore. I sat alone moodily on the chair in the balcony that evening, looking out to the view I loved – including even that unsightly yellow eyesore of a building that I decided had actually been growing on me of late. I didn’t want to move to unknown bustling Mumbai. I reflected upon how Bangalore
couldn’t help but recall her response to my suggestion a few days ago that we all go out on an early morning walk to see the sunrise. She had said with charming logic, ‘But the sun rises in the east and we are in the west, na? So how can we ever see a sunrise in Mumbai?’ I quashed the memory with the thought that it would be unfair and ungrateful for me to equate a person’s understanding of relationships with something as mundane as common sense. I gathered myself up and looked straight into her