Doctor Biwi

In pursuit to relieve the tedium of singleton life, I decided to take a plunge in the high tides of the revered, bitter sweet tradition of marriage.Highly recommended by my parents and given great reviews by friends.

Having made up my mind,the trivial issue of finding my better half needed to be addressed. A long distance phone call, and I found my vital stats appearing on the leading newspaper in India ,’’tall,handsome boy working in US OF A’’

Everything completely true of course, as it supposed to be in a matrimonial advertisement. Unlike some of my unbridled and truly handsome friends,I could never venture to ask a girl out because of which the dream I nurtured of having a girlfriend never blossomed .So for all the blokes like me,the print and electronic media was a savior.

The plan was to have a shortlist of potential wives to be. So when I reached India ,it would be easier finding the one. Suggestions were pouring in from all quarters, novice and experienced. Even my boss who would otherwise show no interest what so ever in my being, said in the end of one of the meeting,’’All the best Rahul, hope you are able to conquer the elusive status of getting engaged in one trip’’, he said looking at couple of my colleague who had to make three trips to the motherland to find themselves the coveted soon to be married status.

With stars in my eye and spring in my feet I reached hot,sweaty Delhi. I was greeted by excited family members and a file full of bio-data. It was neatly arranged and labelled according to the likings of my mother, father and sisters.It was deja vu all over again,memories of the time when I had to be admitted to high school flashed in front of me. Besides mom and dad, maternal and paternal uncle too had opinions of the school I needed to be sent to.

With consensus, I was given a day to relax and catch up on my sleep before I started my exploration. The next day I was woken up by voices coming from the living room,the schedule was being planned and the first stop on the agenda was meeting someone of my parents choice, girl from their hometown Patna. Someone they figured would be soaked in Bihari customs, who would know how to cook choka, sattu for their son, who was eating chalupas, nachos from Taco bell.

Next I met someone who credentials seemed impressive to my sister. Her father was in IRS,but the way he grilled me he should have been in the IPS. As soon as the words H1B visa was uttered from my mouth, I could see him loosing interest in me as his potential son in law.

‘’Oh you don't have a green card,’’ he said with a look of pity on his face for me. In an instant I was transformed from a catch of the year to last season stale fish who needed to be dropped and kept aside. How my feelings were hurt that day. Marriage or no marriage ,I took an oath on the name of the then Prime minister Vajpayee , one day I will be a green card holder. And then no one I repeat no one will be able to call me H1-B visa wala.

Dejected and desperate as only 10 days remained to go back, I took matters in my own hand. Armed with a folder full of bio data's arranged alphabetically by my father.

If in Amar, Akbar, Anthony ,Amitabh Bacchan had imaginary bells ringing when he saw Praveen Babi, I had the same experience seeing the snaps of each and every girl. Wings of imagination would fly me and the girl in the current snap and you know how guys think. Don't have to draw a picture for you, Do I ?

Then a bio data caught my attention which did not have a snap, girl from Delhi and doctor by profession. Curious to see how she looks, I said to my father to make inquiries

Calls were made and it was agreed upon to meet the girl at her house next day. On arrival at her house, the following evening, I was greeted by a firm, solid army colonel hand shake.My soft hands which were not used to such brutality were taken by surprise

It being sultry April evening we were offered cold water first. As I was about to pick up the chilled water glass, my mother jumped in. Fearing the water maybe not filtered might not be good enough for her US living son.

‘’No Behnji, he wont have cold water,he has sore throat. He will have tea.’’ she said as I left the glass on the tray.

‘’My mom is so perceptive’’, I thought,even I did not know I had a sore throat. Later she explained to me why she said so. Tea will have boiled water by default and that will be good enough for her sonny boy but not water which might be filtered or not.

Another round of tea,snacks with Dhokla,samosa, ,kaju barfi ,gulab jamuns made the rounds.The drive from Delhi to Gurgaon had made me hungry and seeing hot,steaming paneer pakodas , I was unable to stop myself.

‘’Please have it with the dhaniya pudina chatni,’’ said my prospective mother-in-law offering the chatni to me. This time I was elbowed by my sister, trying to tell me to eat less.

God, do I really want to get married and get another female presence in my life, I thought to myself not being able to eat or drink on will.

The girl arrived in the living room as I tried to gobble down a kaju barfi which I had manged to pick up as everyone else especially my mother and sister were looking somewhere else.She was wearing yellow green salwar kurta and had put just a lipstick unlike the other girls I had met who had been to the parlour for the day.We were ushered to go out of the house and talk privately.

Couple of hours and couple more meetings later I found myself engaged to the girl,or now I should say my would be wife.

Back in San Fransisco, I was treated with utmost reverence among unmarried friends and colleagues with the unprecedented success I had achieved of getting engaged in first trip and that too to a certified and bonafide doctor.

Skip and a hop and the D day arrived. It is a good thing that the groom gets to dressed in best finery and is treated by family and friends like a king as afterwards he will never get to experience that euphoric feeling ever again.


Someone learned once said,only thing constant in life is change. There were changes, good,bad and some perplexing. A companion for life who would not let you win any argument sums up the good and bad. The perplexing one was her speaking in a language which was unfathomable.

It was like the interaction I had with the Chinese moving guy ,only that interaction was short and with her they are longer and frequent ones.

Nearly a month after our marriage and out of my honeymoon period at work, I had started doing my full fledged work. One evening I came back home with a headache and a frown on my face due to it . She asked me ,’’what happened, you look in pain ‘’?

‘’I am having a splitting headache .There was loads of work at office today,had to meet a deadline. Did not even have lunch.Can you get me a Advil’’? I said

She went inside, I thought she had gone to get the Advil but instead she got me some biscotti and Parle G biscuits in a plate. ‘’Eat these ,while I prepare dinner. You are having a headache due to hypoglycemia. It will get better as soon as you get some glucose in your body.’’she said with a look of a learned man.


‘’What,What,What has happened to me ?’’ I got concerned hearing those words I had never heard before.She shrugged her shoulder and sat next to me,placed her arm on my shoulder and explained,’’hypoglycemia means low sugar, which happened because you did not eat . Your body was telling you that in a form of headache’’she said.

Aha,OK , I felt relieved now and felt I was in safe hands.

Few days later the sense of relief felt a little dwindling. A fine Sunday afternoon , I was cooking lunch and she was studying ,as I had taken over the duties of kitchen as expected from the 21st century male.

Tears from flowing down my cheeks as I chopped the onions for a week. The damn tears blurred my vision and the sharp side of the otherwise not so useful knife, cut my thumb. Unlike someone else, I was not used to seeing blood,and that to my own,I cried for help.

‘’Nidhi,come here. I have cut my thumb’’I shouted. She came running in panic.I was pressing my thumb with my other hand , afraid to look at it again, not before my doctor arrived on the site.

‘’Let me see,’’she said. My cut was fully exposed now and fresh red blood was still oozing from the cut .

‘’It is a small cut, lets wrap the kitchen towel tightly and sit down with your arm raised. It will stop in 1 minute.’’.I saw she had gotten relaxed the moment she saw my cut. The sentiment was further amplified as she picked up a piece of peeled coconut and started munching it for a snack.

Are you sure? It is still bleeding.’’ I asked worried about my state.

With her mouthful of coconut,she came to me with a band aid,’’let me put it ,you will be fine’’.

Was I happy to have a Doctor at home or not ,it is difficult to say.She having seen worst things in ER, my simple cut was triage to a level which needed 30 min of sympathy time.

Slowly I have learned the language she spoke,and even learnt a little to show off to friends and family.

My sister called me one day,and in between the usual gossip about chachas,cousin, aunties etc , she said to me she wanted to know ,if paracetamol available in India is same as a the medicine she had with her in Dubai with a different name.

‘’Nidhi is not here, you tell me,what is the ingredient in the medicine’’? I asked her confidently

If it is acetaminophen , it is same as Paracetamol ,I said with more confidence.

She answered from there,it was acetaminophen. I could sense surprise in her voice hearing the terminology from me

I assured her paracetamol in India is acetaminophen, so she can take the one she had.

Happy on giving some medical advise to my folks, I definitely felt it was good to have a doctor wife.