Being Mrs Poopie

Rajarshi Bhattacharyya, to the outside world was an ace guitarist of some of the most popular underground metal bands in the country. He was a Partner at BCG for the climate change vertical. Some called him a mentor, some a creative juggernaut, some a force to reckon with and so on. But to me, he was always poopie. We met as clueless 21 year olds, who had no vision or mission for the future. The only thing we were sure of was each other. 

We had an impossible love story that transcended geographical, cultural and emotional barriers. We were poles apart as individuals. He had a deadly focus on anything he touched, while I drifted along like a butterfly. I didn't get along with half his friends, didn't like the music he played or listened to, didn't like his taste in food and didn't agree with his spendthrift ways. 

At times he dominated the relationship and at times I did. But eventually, the man always had his way. The house decor, the big spending decisions and how the child should be raised, he merely consulted me in such matters, for ultimately he would take the call. 

We dated for 6 years and were married for almost 8. He promised me 99 anniversaries together. He lied. Or maybe he meant it, now I'll never know, for he literally "dropped dead" doing what he loved the most - his job. I begged him to quit and consider leading a less stressful lifestyle. But he never listened. He missed seven months of my pregnancy due to his international travels and missed my delivery. I reigned down on him like a wounded dragon and he experienced a woman's wrath firsthand. But there was still no stopping that shameless, ambitious, headstrong, driven man. 

I quickly realised when our son was born, that I had two babies to take care of. My baby husband and my baby son. He may have been a maverick to the world, but at home, I couldn't differentiate between the two. The competition between them got hilariously ugly. The conversations between them were, "I came first, therefore your mumma belongs to me", "I will sleep on Mumma tummy, you sleep elsewhere", "Go away Riaan", "Be quiet", "Pinch your cheeks" and so on. 

The silly games they played, shocked, appalled and amused me. They would both watch my face intently as they swung from one daredevil stunt to the other. "I'm so glad, we have a little boy. He is so tough and can be flung around in any direction", he would say and throw the baby around like a pair of dumbbells. 

He was a perennial fence sitter. He would express a desire to buy something for the house or himself and would take a year to finally purchase it. House and baby related matters, were strictly not to be discussed with him on the weekends. He didn't like it. "Figure it out", was his life advice to me, each time I went to him with a problem - personal, professional or house related. 

I love my grandfather and brothers so much, that I ended up marrying someone just like them. Especially my grandfather. Poopie and he had the same qualities - quiet, humble, passionate, dedicated, hardworking, hugely successful, minded their own business, didn't like gossiping and had hearts of gold. I performed his 11th day puja yesterday and the Pandit-ji told me that I prayed with all my heart and that I pronounced difficult Bengali mantras better than even a Bengali speaking person would. Then he re-assured my mum-in-law that poopie's soul has attained Moksha, that there would be no re-birth for him. I wasn't surprised upon hearing this. That's exactly how my appuppan took his last journey as a soul as well.

Now I have so many stars in the sky, watching down upon me, I know. But this pain in my heart, will it ever go? Each time my son or I reach a milestone in life, will poopie experience it? When the baby and I are in pain, will he feel it? Does he still love us? Does he regret leaving us so suddenly? Does he wish to come back? So many unanswered questions.