A recent newspaper article about a custody battle over a pet brought back memories of another time and place.
There was this newly-wed pair with stars in the eyes — largely because he was a dashing young captain in the army and the brass stars on his shoulders twinkled each time he moved. As they set up house and accumulated material possessions, they put their wedding vows of “for richer or poorer” on the back shelf and settled for new-age materialism, keeping tabs on who had brought what into the home.
In time, they developed a little game of ‘Yours and Mine’. “The music system is mine,” he said, and added magnanimously, “but you can have the pressure cooker. You can have the grinding stone and the pickling jars as well”.
Obtusely — one cannot use the word “innocent” as she had known him long enough to have borne the brunt of his special brand of humour — she asked, “For what do I want those?”
“For when we separate!” he replied, quick as a flash, keeping a protective hand on the said music system, just in case she reacted badly to his needling.
To his relief, however, she got into the spirit of the game and soon everything in the house was divided. “Camera — mine, fridge — yours,” he would say grandly. “Am I not big-hearted? The fridge is so much larger! In fact, I’ll scale it upwards — you keep everything from the kitchen, down to the dishes, the scrubbers and the cleaning liquids!”
As ornaments and knick-knacks began to fill up empty spaces, pictures were hung, a screen was worked on lovingly and put up to divide a large room into two, chinks began to appear in the good-natured apportionment of assets and a clear ‘My family — your family’ feeling emerged.
If something was well-liked, the demand could be, “That was given to you as a birthday gift, but it was my sister who gave it to you. I think it should be on my list”. Or the other way around, if it was not appreciated very much: “Only your brother could give you such an unsuitable gift — take it with you when you go!”
It may have been a game, but it was quite a help at the time they set up two establishments when he was posted to an army station where families were not allowed all year round. He took the music system he had laid dibs on earlier; he also took the car and the camera. She carried away the rest of the home — most importantly, the entire kitchen and its contents.
And both were happy when they met.
If it was on her turf, he had a satisfied stomach. If it was on his, they had outings and musical evenings and a photographic record of both.
Then serious trouble began: They acquired a pet.
So attached did both get to her that the very mention of “Who gets the dog?” by their friends (who were well aware of their system of division of the spoils) would lead to tears and sulking and muttering, “It’s not funny! How can you joke about such a thing?”
Obviously, canine affection, happy barks and melting eyes — and everything else that made their pet unique and special — were not subject to the same rules they had applied earlier. Thus, in the course of that pet’s lifetime, their game was shelved and by the time she left for greener pastures, her lifespan complete, it had played itself out.
‘Yours and Mine’ were forgotten. It had taken decades, but they were now talking about “our possessions”. However, they are no longer interested in who takes what. Rather, they speculate about who gets it all when they join their pet.
Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.
