A few days back, I came across a beautiful thought, but I am not sure if Rekha understands it. That’s why I thought I would run it past you all and see if it makes sense.
I think in a relationship, one has to grow like a tree.
Now, before you think I have become wise with age, let me clarify that I am still the same man who will want to be the temple priest if at all they built a temple for Anne Hathaway (or Drew Barrymore).
Anyway, getting back to my philosophy…did you know that a tree grows in two directions? The stem grows towards sunlight, and the roots grow downwards, into the soil.
While reading about the NEET paper leak, I was reminded of my days as someone who wanted to become a doctor, like my dad. Not that my dad was a doctor…he had also wanted to become one.
It was during one such “journey through the past” that I was reminded of a tree’s growth in two directions. Science calls it phototropism and gravitropism.
When I connected it to how a relationship should be, I was very excited. Because whenever I get hold of one philosophical line, I start behaving like Sadhguru in shorts.
So I went to Rekha and said, “Do you know, in a relationship, one must grow like a tree?”
She looked at me. Not with admiration but more like how a nurse looks at a patient who has removed his own IV drip.
I continued, “See, a tree grows towards sunlight and also away from sunlight. That is how relationships become healthy.”
Rekha said, “First grow towards the bathroom and take a bath.”
That is the problem with wives. You go to them with philosophy. They send you back to the basics with personal hygiene.
But I still feel my tree theory is correct. In a relationship, both people need sunlight.
Sunlight means happiness, laughter, romance, travel, good food, anniversary photos, and those rare moments when your wife looks at you and doesn’t immediately give you instructions.
But relationships also need roots. Roots are patience, silence, forgiveness, compromise, and pretending not to hear things clearly, even when your ears are working perfectly.
In the early years of marriage, I wanted to be sunlight. I wanted to be romantic, charming, funny, and mysterious.
After 20-plus years of marriage, I have accepted that I am mostly soil.
Rekha is the one who grows towards the sunlight. She wants us to go out, meet people, dress well, host parties, remember birthdays, eat salad, and look like a family that has its life together.
I provide grounding. By sitting in one place and not creating new problems.
Couples – even those in a long-term marriage – underestimate this. In a marriage, a husband who does not create new problems is already doing above-average work.
For example, when Rekha says, “Rajan, we need to talk,” earlier, I would panic.
Now I sit down calmly. Because a tree does not run. It stands there and takes everything. That is also growth.
Earlier, if Rekha asked, “Do you think I have put on weight?” I would make the mistake of answering. Now I behave like a banyan tree. Silent, but available.
A young husband thinks the truth is important. An experienced husband knows oxygen is more important. Because one wrong answer and all photosynthesis in the house will stop.
The sunlight part of marriage is easy. But the root part? Nobody talks about that.
The root part is when your wife says, “Just come with me to the shop. We won’t buy anything.” And you still go knowing very well that there are going to be expenses.
That one sentence – “We won’t buy anything” – has killed more Saturdays than cancer has killed people.
The root part is when she tries four outfits and asks which one looks better. You know the answer. The answer is the second one. It is always the second one. But you cannot say it directly.
You must water the relationship slowly.
So you end up saying. “This one is nice… but maybe try the other one once?”
The root part is when Rekha says, “I am not angry.” But you know a cyclone has formed somewhere in the Bay of Bengal and stay silent.
The root part is when you hold her handbag in the middle of the mall. People walk past. You avoid eye contact. A security guard looks at you with pity. But you stand because you are her Ironman, Captain America, and Thor…all combined into one.
Over the years, I have realized that Rekha and I grow in completely different directions.
She grows towards cleanliness. I grow towards comfort. She wants the house cleaned before Ponni comes. I want Ponni to see our reality and appreciate our honesty.
She wants me to wear decent clothes when we go out. I want my old Firestorm Internet T-shirt to be recognized as smart casual.
She wants the AC at 18 degrees. I want blood circulation.
She wants to discuss feelings. I want to check if CSK is batting (even though I know they are going to lose!).
Still, somehow, we survive. Because a relationship is not about two people becoming the same tree.
Sometimes Rekha is sunlight. Sometimes she is the shade. But most times she is pruning. In fact, if personal growth means cutting away unnecessary parts, Rekha has been trying to grow me for 25 years.
She has pruned my clothes, my habits, my friends, my food choices, my jokes, my opinions, and occasionally my self-respect. I used to think she was criticizing me. Now I understand she was doing gardening.
You must have heard that love, relationships, companionship, etc is all chemistry. They were all wrong. At 50, I know that love is actually botany.
Because in chemistry, two substances react and create heat. That is short-term. Like an Instagram reel.
In botany, one plant quietly survives in the corner as long as it regularly gets some sunlight and water. That is marriage.
Now that we are all in, let’s bring in the kids, too. They are like branches. Beautiful, expensive branches.
They grow out of you, take your nutrients, block your sunlight, and one day move away, saying, “Appa, don’t embarrass me.”
But still, you are proud. Because that is what trees do. They just stand there…feeling happy.
Recently, I tried explaining this tree theory to Rekha again.
I said, “See, in a good relationship, one person must grow towards light, and the other must grow downwards like roots.”
She said, “Correct.” I was happy. Finally, she had understood my philosophy.
Then she added, “I am growing towards light. You grow downwards and bring the groceries from the car.”
Life lesson: When your wife is angry, don’t try to be sunlight. Be the root and stay underground. Absorb everything, and wait for the weather to change.