When I got married, after the traditional home coming was
over, I remember the desolate feeling I got as I watched my family leave me
with my husband’s family. It has all felt surreal up to that point. That moment
when they all left, leaving me feeling all alone among people who were
strangers to me, has been the loneliest moment of my life. I knew that darling
was there. He told me not to cry. He held me as I sobbed uncontrollably. But I
had never felt as lonely as that moment. I felt as if my family had abandoned
me. I also knew my feelings were irrational. I was the one who had wanted so
badly to get married to darling in the first place. I had zealously planned the
wedding, been very happy throughout the ceremony and had had a wonderful
honeymoon. But that moment, when I was alone in our room, after my family had
left and darling had gone to talk to his parents about dinner arrangements for
friends who were coming for dinner I felt wretched and miserable.
All my life I had laughed at brides who cried at the wedding
ceremony, Each time I saw such a bride I would ask someone, why one earth she
was crying on what was undoubtedly the happiest day of her life. I didn’t
realise the pain of separation until the wedding of my best friend, where I saw
her father shedding tears holding his only daughter.
Then came my wedding. I went through all the motions
happily, until the moment I mentioned of earlier. One reason for my misery was
my innate somewhat inexplicable understanding that no one else would understand.
That this pain was shared by only me and my family. That darling’s family was
not prone to, having only two boys and no girl given away in marriage.
I know that saying “given away in marriage” is rather archaic.
But in the Sri Lankan context it is true even for today. Even today, children
stay with their parents until it is time for them to marry. After marriage most
of the girls move from their childhood homes to the homes of their husbands, i.e.
husband’s parents. They become a part of the husband’s parent’s household. This
is so at least for a short period of time, which was the case for me. After the
wedding is over there is an understanding that the bride would come to live the
husband’s family at least for a day or two. There is even a traditional handing
over done where the bride is given away by the bride’s father to the groom’s
father.
And for those who have always been a loving caring and
doting family, it is the most difficult moment of their lives to part from
their families. There are fears. There are doubts. There are uncertainties. “What
would the new family be like? Will they treat me well? Will I fit in” so on and
so forth. They even include the rather
crazy doubt of “Will my family forget me?”
Because you later find out that families never forget their children,
that fathers always love and adore their daughters, that mothers would call you
everyday just to find out if you ate, that to your siblings you would always be
the, well, you.
So while I was eating my heart out and wanting to curl into
a ball in a corner and die, what was playing over and over in my head was that
I had not done enough by my family. That I had been mean to my mother
sometimes, that I hadn’t been attentive enough to my father, that I should have
been a better sister. I thought of how I should have gotten up in the morning and cooked for my family. It was remorse of a
kind I had never known before. It was unbearable. I had been the average kind of child. Maybe
more than average. I was spoilt rotten by my parents. I wasn’t unkind and I did
stuff when it pleased me, not a moment sooner. I picked fights with my siblings
as all do.
And then I did the unthinkable. I called them and told them
that I had not been a good daughter and a sister. In my remorse, I had not
realised that they were also feeling blue, trying not to miss me. Nangi had
gone to bed without dinner. Malli had gone and gotten drunk. Thaththa had been
staring into blank space. Amma told me that they all loved me and that I
shouldn’t feel like that. I could hear how she was trying to stifle a sob.
I don’t want anyone to think my family is made of a bunch of
cry babies. In reality, they are all very hardy and strong. But separation is difficult. Especially, when
you have just gone and deposited your child among people whom you hope will
love her and take care of her as you have done.
Why all this ranting after years of getting married? I was
in the party that went to hand over darling’s cousin to her in-laws today. She
held on to me so hard and cried that everything I had felt in my moment of
misery came rushing back. She is very close to darling. When she didn’t see
him, she called “Ape ayya ko?” (“Where my brother?” ape meaning more mine than
ours in this context) and was weeping into his shirt a moment later. I knew how
she was feeling. I didn’t say anything, because I knew that no words would encompass
the pain of loss she was feeling at that moment.
That is when I realised that for the rest of my life, I
would not be able to see another crying bride and not remember when I was also
weeping into my brother’s shirt. Just one word to would be brides, be nice to
your family. Do everything you can for them, while you are with them. Later would be too late.
