Anniversarial Confessions of a Bitter Half

The term “better half” is believed to have originated in ancient Roman poetry and, over time, has survived almost unquestioned. Every now and then, however, I find myself gently challenging this adage, wondering whether the so-called leader and breadwinner of the household might also deserve a little ceremonial recognition.

And so, as my better half, Shailashri, and I celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of our wedding, I decided it was the perfect occasion to conduct a small—and entirely harmless—litmus test.

It has been twenty-five years since we got married, and yet it feels as though it happened only yesterday. I can still vividly remember her father waiting for us at Haveri Railway Station, arriving on a bicycle. His simplicity moved me so deeply that, in that very moment, I decided to marry his daughter. When I entered her house for the first time, a small garden and numerous flower pots bursting with colourful blooms welcomed me. That became my second reason for choosing her.

I have always believed that people who love flowers and plants are mindful souls—nurturers of values and quiet ethics. Their house was small, yet immaculately clean. I believed then—and still do—that people who live in smaller spaces tend to live closer to one another and understand the true meaning of family values.

And then I saw her.  For me, it was love at first sight.

Then I shocked her by telling her that I was already married—and that she would be my second wife. It was too much for a girl brought up in a rural setting and within a deeply conservative environment. Before she could pass out from my audacious statement, I quickly clarified that I was married to my profession. My work was my first love.

I had just relocated from the state of Kerala and was in the process of building a medical practice in a small town. Her support was not merely desirable—it was essential.

I wouldn’t say we are a perfect couple. But we did understand each other’s limitations and learned to compromise. In fact, I believe she compromised far more than I did and patiently put up with me, as I was intensely ambitious about my career and carried several obsessions along the way.

For instance, on the very next day after our wedding, I went to the medical college, operated on three cases, and returned home with my favourite sand-roasted peanuts—leaving her anxious and guessing in a new house, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and people she barely knew.

She was an equal partner in all my early professional struggles. She accompanied me to numerous rural medical camps. While I carried my examination instruments in a briefcase, she carried another—filled with free medicine samples to be distributed to poor patients. She did this tirelessly until the ninth month of her pregnancy with our son, Amogh.

As we could not find an audiologist for our centre—most preferred to work in bigger cities—she decided to pursue a BA-SLP course in Bengaluru, that too after having two children. For almost a year, she travelled nearly every day to Bengaluru, enduring a ten-hour bus journey to and fro. All this was in addition to managing our home and attending her classes at college.

Even relocating to Bengaluru did not ease her burden. She still had to commute by city bus for nearly four hours each day until my sister, who lived close to the college, finally came to her rescue.

Initially, I aspired to work in a metro city and join a corporate hospital. Accordingly, we relocated to Bengaluru, where I worked at BGS Global Hospital for a couple of years. However, she was not drawn to the glitter of metropolitan life. She preferred my hometown, Chitradurga—a small town, neither quite a city nor a village—where we could stay close to our near and dear ones and serve the underprivileged.

In retrospect, that decision turned out to be both wise and prosperous for us.

When we built our hospital, we were cheated by two contractors, and I was forced to take over the entire construction myself. While I became the site engineer, she became the site supervisor. She would spend the entire day at the construction site, guarding the work and ensuring proper curing by watering.

There were moments when she could easily have lost her life—through a fall from height or accidental electrocution. Even today, many of our neighbours credit her vigilance and dedication for the solid, high-quality construction of our hospital building.

I travelled frequently—to different places and countries—as faculty for conferences, to operate in free surgical camps, and to assist fellow surgeons with complex procedures. Although she never liked my frequent travels, she never once stopped me. In my absence, she took complete care of my parents and our children. I vividly remember going to Zimbabwe for six weeks as a Rotary Medical Volunteer when she was pregnant with our daughter, Amulya.

She was always fiercely possessive about our children. She attended every parent–teacher meeting, as I was usually occupied at the medical college or at my clinic. I often argued with her, accusing her of not allowing me to guide or discipline them. She would shoot back sharply, “Do you even know which standard they are studying in?”

When we started our hospital, I was deeply convinced that I must bring the best and most advanced technology to serve the people of this poor and perpetually drought-hit district. To do so, I had to borrow substantial sums from banks, as such technology was expensive. She managed all our finances and cleared the loans rapidly, ensuring that we were never perpetually trapped in debt. While I became an eternal borrower, she became the eternal clearer.

As a PGIMER, Chandigarh alumnus, I am a bit of a stickler for time. I am usually ready well in advance for all our appointments and programmes. Many times, I wondered why she was never ready on time. Recently, I did a time audit of her routine. It was a stark realization for me that, in addition to getting me ready, she also had to prepare the children, tidy and secure the house, switch off the cooking gas and lights, and finally get herself ready.

I am also quite obsessive about the cleanliness of our home. It is my constant complaint that she does not keep the house in order. Ironically, however, I am always at the receiving end. She shoots back, “The day you stop accumulating material objects, I will be able to tidy the house.”

The truth is that I am deeply sentimental about such things. I buy books and souvenirs wherever I travel and receive an impressive number of letters. I am also passionate about photography, computers, and electronic gadgets.  Most of the items that mysteriously pile up are mine, and together we have managed to occupy almost every bit of storage space in our five-bedroom house—a remarkable achievement that would surely qualify as a case study in organized clutter.

In the whole 25 years,  she never demanded me for any material things, such as jewels or sarees etc., Only thing she demanded was my time.  I am a culprit in not giving her enough time, as I was deeply immersed in my professional duties.  Never remember taking her out on vacation.  I could only take her to places, where I was invited as guest faculty for conferences, thus fulfilling both Indian proverbial swami karyam and swakaryam!

In all these twenty-five years, she never demanded material things from me—no jewellery, no sarees, nothing of that sort. The only thing she ever asked for was my time. I must admit that I am guilty of not giving her enough of it, as I was deeply immersed in my professional commitments.  .

I cannot recall ever taking her on a vacation purely for leisure. Most of the places we travelled to were destinations where I had been invited as guest faculty for conferences—thus conveniently fulfilling the Indian proverb of swami karyam and swakaryam at the same time.  The only family vacation we ever had was a trek to Everest Base Camp. Even though she had never trekked before and found it physically demanding, she struggled on alongside all of us without complaint.

We developed our hospital into a major educational hub. We have trained more than 120 Indian doctors and 40 international doctors, in addition to organising over 60 national and international workshops. Beyond managing events behind the scenes, she was also a gracious and benevolent host to all the delegates, earning their admiration and respect.

How, then, can I be an anathema to this ancient adage?

Over the years, I have slowly realized that marriage is less about perfection and more about patience; less about winning arguments and more about choosing which ones truly matter. If I am the “bitter half,” it is only because I have been sweetly tolerated for twenty-five years. And if this home feels full—of things, of memories, and of noise—it is also full of life, shared struggles, quiet sacrifices, and a partnership that has grown sturdier with time.

Perhaps that is what an anniversary truly celebrates: not flawlessness, but endurance; not symmetry, but balance. And somewhere between my obsessions and her calm corrections, we found our version of a “better half.”

---

Dr. Prahlada N.B
MBBS (JJMMC), MS (PGIMER, Chandigarh). 
MBA in Healthcare & Hospital Management (BITS, Pilani), 
Postgraduate Certificate in Technology Leadership and Innovation (MIT, USA)
Executive Programme in Strategic Management (IIM, Lucknow)
Senior Management Programme in Healthcare Management (IIM, Kozhikode)
Advanced Certificate in AI for Digital Health and Imaging Program (IISc, Bengaluru). 

Senior Professor and former Head, 
Department of ENT-Head & Neck Surgery, Skull Base Surgery, Cochlear Implant Surgery. 
Basaveshwara Medical College & Hospital, Chitradurga, Karnataka, India. 

My Vision: I don’t want to be a genius.  I want to be a person with a bundle of experience. 

My Mission: Help others achieve their life’s objectives in my presence or absence!

My Values:  Creating value for others. 

Leave a reply