Virgin Nuns and the Loser Cousin

Last night, my wife called two of my unmarried cousins, ‘virgin nuns’. Truth be told, I have little fondness towards them, but I am reserved in my judgements. But more on that, later. Last night, after a rant that first started with her aunt’s husbands from her mother’s side, then moved to the aunts on her father’s side, then to her cousins, who she wished would all die. She said she wouldn’t give a damn, and then the venting was directed towards my side of the family.

If you haven’t figured this by now, I am quite a critic, a judgmental animal. I point my judgmental crosshair at everyone, everything and also, myself.

My wife said that she’d rather spend a few days with me, rather than attend my niece’s wedding in Goa, coming January. I do not care for my niece as much, or her mother (my cousin). It’s true. I would attend it, as an excuse I need to meet my extended family again. This is a family I care a good bit about. My wife has no intent or interest, and she sees no value of it, and so we’ve decided against that trip next year.

My cousin is married to an evangelist. I dislike this for several reasons, biggest of which is because I think they run a fraud business. My wife doesn’t seem to care about that fact, because she unlike me, is religious. The youngest of the cousins, from that family just turned 50. She’s obese and clearly ignorant, also lazy. She makes no effort towards improving her quality of life and her fitness. She works in a corporate, she’s an established woman who earns well and choose to live with her parents, who are now 87 (I think) and 81.

Personally, I think that’s convenient for everyone, sensible too, and nice of her. My cousin doesn’t do any of the chores to help her parents, but she is there every day to spend time and to talk with them, and vice-versa. I think that matters a lot when you’re single, or aged.

Not the idea my wife has. She regards my cousin to be a ‘loser’, who didn’t marry, chose to live with her parents instead of being independent. She is there, apparently only to finance the remainder of my uncle and aunt’s lives or in the words my wife chose, “till they kick the bucket”. Also, turns out my cousin needs her maid’s help to bend and tuck in the saree she wears to work. Unfortunate, but possibly true.

My mistake was to compare my wife’s fitness regime to that cousin’s, which might have been why she directed her outburst towards my family. My wife has been down with a fever, and body ache this past weekend. I’ve tried my bit to be nice and take care of her. Now that she’s been recovering, I’ve urged her not to pop Calpol pills to suppress symptoms as a habit, instead find the root cause and treat it accordingly. Go to a doctor and make a daily, proactive lifestyle change that includes a better diet, exercise and more. My wife has taken my recommendation as criticism, and has taken it more personally than I anticipated.

The rant then left that set of cousins, to my other cousins from my eldest aunt. These cousins are religious and properly, bible-thumping, bible-teaching religious. I hate them for their religiousness and for being miserly. But I’ve never called them virgin nuns, which my wife felt apt. Apparently, I don’t care for them and yes, she’s right. I’m guilty of wanting to meet them, but have never made the effort. These cousins are now 61 and 64 I think. They never married, but live together. Again, convenient and making the best of what they have. They took care of their paralyzed mother till she passed away while she was in her mid-80s. I don’t think I have it in me, today, to take care of someone selflessly like that. I will respect them for that. As much as I hate their religiousness, and their reluctance to mix with family, I’m sure there is a valid reason behind their choices.

When I had my fill of my wife’s rants, I said, ‘Ok, I think I’ll just go sit by myself in the hall’. As I walked out, I realized, she’d wished a lot of people would die. I don’t know if this was my moment and version of “Jack’s Smirking Revenge”, but I opened the door for just a few moments and blurted. “Well, I will be very happy when those sluts of yours, start killing themselves, one by one.”

polite door close

My wife has many friends, but there are a few gems in there. And by gems, I mean, dingleberries. And by dingleberries, I mean they’re like leeches, that attach to the body till they’re sucked it dry. Let’s start with comparisons.

Among the closest and infallible friends is a 36 or 37-year-old girl who works in Amsterdam. She got a role there after working in the company’s Bangalore office. She dresses up now, like a clown in the movie, ‘IT’, bloodshot eyes, an exaggerated smile that she believes will attract the fairer skinned. The look is atrocious and just as scary as the movie. The last time, she went out dating she found an Irish guy in Amsterdam. My spidey senses told me something was funny about it. Coming from a hyper-traditional, Brahmin, South-Indian family, you’d assume there would be a gradient you slowly work up, as you spend more time in the foreign country, before you land up with someone from a completely different culture. Not the case here!

My wife ranted on end about how her closest friend was ignoring her, because she found some guy. I didn’t find that very odd. It seemed like a natural trait for my wife, to rant, and for that friend to abandon. From what my wife told me, she was now in Amsterdam trying to avoid a father who was now completely blind, an aging mother, sending only pittance back home while her sister who only recently married a shippie was now mother to a daughter.

I had warned my wife about this behaviour and this odd dating manner. Months passed, and my wife heard from her again. The Irish guy was cheating on his wife and he had randomly disappeared overnight, after spending months with her. The dreams of turning Irish now fell into the depths of the cold sea. The reality of a friend in Bombay still present, she was back to having her feet on the ground. I know when to, and when not to rub it in my wife’s face. I chose to be quiet.

The other dingleberry is cold and knows what she wants. She’d dated a rich guy twice her age from the age of 16 or 17 or so. There’s a word for this kind of fetish, but it’s best not uttered. The good news is that girl is now 37 or so, and the guy in his 50s. Both have see-sawed with the idea of getting married. While this goes on, the girl is enjoying her ‘youth’ with other guys, who will pamper her, take her on outings for the weekend to hill stations in their Mercs and Beemers. She knows how to get gifted, favours and other materialistic goods, while offering attention and more in return. An entrepreneur at heart, a natural opportunistic, an independent woman and a socialite who spends her weekends other women, mostly divorced and living off the alimony meant for their children, she returns every evening to live with her parents.

I wonder why she’s not a loser, but my cousin is.