The Secret wish List Read Online Free PDF

days, I would have cleared it without a second thought. But today, I just stand, wanting to rebel, wanting to pick up the plate and smash it dramatically into the wall and send the remnants flying in all directions. I breathe hard as I stare at it. I clench my fists. I know I am working myself up into a rage. I feel like exploding now.
    Unable to bear it any longer, I pick up the plate, march into the kitchen and fling it angrily into the sink where it lands with a clang. Then I wait for the house-help to turn up.
    I am filled with a restlessness that is hard to describe. I sit with my cup of tea and contemplate on what my life used to be and what it has become. I think about Vibha and me. Circumstances were not similar for both of us, but both had ultimately bowed down to parental pressure in the great Indian marriage system and had arranged marriages, me much earlier than her. I had got married when I was nineteen, even before my graduation results were out. My parents had been over the moon to find a guy as suitable as Sandeep.
    My mind hops skips and jumps down memory lane as I remember how shy and awkward Sandeep and I had been around each other when we were ushered into a room to ‘talk’ while the rest of the family waited outside.
    ‘Hi, I am Sandeep,’ he had said.
    I had burst out laughing and said I already knew that.
    Whereupon he has said without any preamble, ‘I like you. You are sweet and nice. I am a simple guy and it doesn’t take much to keep me happy.’
    I was taken aback by his forthright attitude.
    Thinking back now, I recall with a small pang of pain that he had never talked about making me happy. It was about keeping him happy. I had beamed with pride in my nineteen-year-old naïvety and had mumbled that I would do my best. I had hoped that agreeing to this marriage would win me some redemption in my parents’ eyes and they would forgive me for what I had done when I was sixteen.
    It is funny how, even after these many years, I am still trying to do my best. He is, of course, happy. But I am definitely not.
    Fact is, he never promised to make you happy, Diksha. It was never about you. It was always about him. You were content then. You agreed, knowing what you were getting into. You have made your bed, now lie in it.
    I have tried to lie in it and be content. But it pricks now and is no longer comfortable. It is a tired, old worn-out bed. I know I have to do something to alleviate this feeling of disquiet.
    When Sandeep comes home that evening, I wait for an opportune moment. The dinner plates have been long cleared, Abhay been read to and tucked to bed. Sandeep is watching a war movie and I know it is a movie he has seen several times. I cannot comprehend what he finds so fascinating in all the violence, gore and blood. How many times can one watch that? I wait for a commercial break to tell him that I want to talk to him.
    ‘Hmmm, what about?’ he asks distractedly.
    ‘Sandeep, we never talk,’ I say.
    ‘What is there to talk about?’ he asks again, not taking his eyes off the television. I grab the remote from his hand and switch off the TV. My hands are shaking with nervousness, but I try to mask it.
    He looks at me as though I have slapped him. I have never done anything like this before.
    Soon the surprised shock on his face is replaced by annoyance.
    ‘Can’t you see I was watching that?’ he says, the pitch of his voice a notch higher than usual.
    My heart beats really fast. I have never really stood up to him before. The meek little doormat that I am, I want to take back all that I have said. I want to curl up and apologise and grovel. But now I have taken the plunge and if I do not at least try to sort out this issue, it will blow up and explode.
    ‘Sandeep, I just need fifteen minutes of your undivided attention,’ I say, mustering up courage and exhibiting a bravery that I do not feel at all. I try to not let my nervousness show and, by the look on Sandeep’s face, it