I can't. My in-laws think I do. My parents know I don't. He, doesn't care.
Then the phone rings and it's his Dad.
"Where's he? I've been trying him for a while. Did he go to office?"
"Went. Office. In the morning. I'll pass on the message immediately. How are you doing, Acha?"
I survive. Each time. Cleverly avoiding the nouns and the pronouns. From every egoistic autodriver to the proud idler who calls the silly TV show, all mallu men are called 'cheta.' In the right intonations, women make their mallu men do wonders with that word. And then there was me.
"Dude! I can't call you 'Cheta!' That's what I call my brother!"
"Hehahahahahhahaheeehehehe why can't you? eh? ego? fall at my feet and call me 'cheta.' What does your brother's wife call him?
"cheta"
"hehehehhehehehe, see!"
"Try"
"No"
"OK. Try combining it with my name. Aaah! See, that sounds like music to my ears."
"thwwrrrrrrrrrp"!
"OK stick to cheta"
"No!"
"Heheheehhe well, my family's gonna think you're disrespectful towards me. That's all"
"They don't know yet."
"Then make sure they don't know ever"
What did he contribute to my confusion? More.
So I tried. We tried. Juggled with a lot of puppy names for each other, so we could replace the 'cheta.' If we had married 10 years ago, he'd have been 'chuchu' and I'd have been 'tutu.' Age brings a lot of common sense into romance, so now we are stuck with our own multi-syllables.
So I decided on 'etta.' It's somewhere between cheta and nothing. It almost dissolves into a conversation that nobody would sense the lack of or presence of it. It is used only in conversations with my in-laws when I'm referring to him, but not directly to him. When I need to call out to him at my in-laws place, I will seek the help of bribed kids or friendly cousins. Otherwise I've decided to drop something loud enough.
When it's just us, in good ol' Chennai, I simply scream and he screams back. Life is much simpler when you communicate less.
