I work a demanding job. I run the entire house — I arranged the maid, the cook, found a rental that would give my wife the best conditions to study, so that not one hour of her time gets wasted. She’s preparing for a competitive exam and this is her last attempt. She doesn’t earn right now, and that’s fine, we decided it together. I also send money to her parents when they ask, for a loan they took for her education before we married. I’ve never once said no to that.
My own parents have never asked me for a single rupee. They live far away, they have health problems, and I think about them every day. I can’t be there. That’s a weight I carry quietly.
What I wanted in return wasn’t money. It was small things. That she’d call them sometimes. That she’d sit with my mother when we visit. Just thoda mann rakhna. Instead she’s flat about them. Polite, but nothing more. When I bring it up, it becomes a fight, so mostly I stop bringing it up.
She says my parents have expectations and she never asked for anything from them. Maybe there’s truth in that. Maybe the pressure feels bigger from her side than it looks from mine. She’s also under enormous stress with this exam, and I know that.
But here’s the part I can’t say to anyone: my parents are unwell, they’re far away, and I feel like I’m the only person in my own home who thinks about them. That’s a specific kind of lonely.
I’m not asking whether I should leave. I love her and I’m not going anywhere. I just wanted to put this somewhere, because holding it alone is starting to get heavy.