Of all the couples you see around, you will find that 95 percent are completely mismatched. I don't know what kind of magic is at play, but it seems a "Hoor" (a celestial beauty) invariably ends up falling into the clutches of a "Langur" (a baboon). And, as fate would have it, a "Hoor" eventually fell into *my* hands as well—thirty-six years ago today.
Before I got married, I was living the life of Riley. I slept when I wanted to sleep and woke up when I wanted to wake up. I had absolutely no entanglements or obligations to anyone. My guiding principle was simply: "When the ascetic is in the mood, he sets his own hut ablaze"—meaning, I could best describe myself as a free spirit, tethered to nothing and no one. I never got involved in anyone else's petty squabbles; I simply minded my own business. To me, everyone seemed like a decent human being—for, as you know, "If you are good, the whole world seems good."
Yet, truth be told, I was a complete "Langur." But for some inexplicable reason—I still don't know what she saw—a "Hoor" became smitten with me. Perhaps, instead of focusing on my physical appearance, she chose to assess my intellect—and, upon discovering that I was "blind to common sense," she fell for me anyway. Or perhaps she viewed me as the "one-eyed king among the blind." Or maybe she simply subscribed to the philosophy: "Marry the one you can keep firmly under your thumb for the rest of your life."
And just like that, the "Hoor" wasted no time; she quickly struck up a friendship with my sister and began visiting our home every single day. Adopting the age-old adage—"If you seek good counsel, consult the elders"—she skillfully won over my grandmother. She soon became the darling of my parents as well. While all this was unfolding right under my nose, I remained completely oblivious to the elaborate plot—the "khichdi" (concoction) that was secretly brewing behind the scenes.
Even after all this, when she sensed that her goal was still "a distant dream," she began to slowly inch closer to me—using the pretext of studying together. Such is the twist of fate: I, too, found myself getting inextricably entangled in her web. Within a matter of days, it became a classic case of "fire meeting ghee"—an explosive combination. After all, as the saying goes, "You cannot clap with just one hand." And so, I eventually resigned myself to the inevitable, adopting the attitude: "Once you've stuck your head in the mortar, why fear the pestle?" Little did we know back then which truly held the upper hand—brains or brawn. In the folly of those youthful years—that age of sheer naivety—we were like the proverbial blind man of the monsoon season, seeing nothing but green everywhere we looked. We strutted about, gloating over our good fortune, and mused that pearls had fallen into our lap unasked, whereas even a beggar's crust might have been denied had we actually asked for it.
But now, what remedy is there for our own deeds? The inevitable was bound to happen, and happen it did. We ended up married to her. To this day, we remain firmly clenched within her grasp, enduring the consequences of that union. One must, after all, pay the price for one's own sins. It was only later that we realized the truth: it is not the celestial beauty who gets ensnared by the ape; rather, it is the beauty herself who ensnares the ape.