The Night Joseph Uncle Arrived…

A small memoir from the early days of my marriage

This happened barely two or three months after our marriage.

In those days, my wife and I had just begun our new life together in Thiruvananthapuram. We were living in a small rented house near Pettah, not far from the railway line. It was a modest house with two little bedrooms, a narrow kitchen, a small hall, and a tiny courtyard where my wife had planted two hibiscus plants and a jasmine creeper.

To us, however, that house felt like a palace.

Everything in it was new: our life, our routines, our small quarrels, and our laughter.

When two people begin life together, even the smallest house can feel larger than a palace.

One evening, we walked to Thiruvananthapuram Pettah railway station.

My Joseph uncle had written to us earlier. He was a retired schoolteacher from Thrissur. He said he would arrive by the 8 p.m. train. The next morning, he had to go to the Secretariat to settle some retirement papers, and he thought he could stay with us for one night.

“Just one night,” he had written.

We were happy to receive him.

The station that evening was quiet.

In those days, Pettah station was not crowded as it is today. A few oil lamps glowed softly on the platform. The air carried the fragrance of jasmine flowers from nearby houses and the damp smell of railway sleepers.

The moon slowly rose above the coconut trees like a silver lamp hanging in the sky.

My wife and I walked slowly along the platform.

She held my arm lightly.

Every now and then she looked up at the sky.

“Look at the moon,” she said softly.
“Isn’t it beautiful tonight?”

I looked up.

“Yes,” I said.
“It looks like someone polished a big silver plate and placed it in the sky.”

She laughed.

In the early months of marriage, even ordinary conversations feel like poetry.

“Everything feels so peaceful,” she said.
“The station… the trees… even those electric poles look nice.”

“Electric poles?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said with a smile.

“They stand there so seriously, like soldiers guarding the railway.”

Then she suddenly stopped and listened.

From far away came the faint sound of a train horn.

“Did you hear that?” she asked excitedly.
“That must be Uncle’s train.”

She held my hand.

“Your hands are warm,” I told her.

“That’s because I’m excited,” she said.

“Excited about seeing Uncle?”

She shook her head and laughed.

“No… excited about going home.”

“Why?”

“Because dinner is waiting.”

“What have you prepared?” I asked suspiciously.

She smiled proudly.

“Chicken roast.”

“Oh!”

“And cucumber salad.”

“Very good.”

“And also kingfish fry, and a few vegetable curries.”

I laughed.

“That’s a royal dinner for three people.”

“Yes,” she said happily.

“Just enough for us.”

We both imagined the quiet dinner waiting in our little kitchen.

The moon looked down at us silently.

Sometimes happiness is so simple that we hardly notice it while it is happening.

Just then my wife pointed toward the railway track.

“Look!”

Three bright lights appeared in the darkness.

The train.

The station master came out holding a green signal lamp. The rails began to hum softly.

The train slowly entered the station like a long black snake sliding along the platform.

Sleepy passengers leaned out of the windows.

We waited near the middle of the platform, expecting Joseph uncle to step down with his small suitcase.

Suddenly a loud voice shouted from inside a compartment.

“Aiyyo! There they are!”

Another voice shouted,

“Yes! Yes! That’s them!”

Before we understood what was happening, the train door opened.

Two little girls jumped down.

“Chechi!!” they screamed and ran straight toward my wife.

They hugged her tightly.

Behind them came a large cheerful woman in a bright sari — Joseph uncle’s wife.

Then came Joseph uncle himself, a tall man with a large moustache, carrying a suitcase.

After him came two noisy schoolboys with bags hanging from their shoulders.

Behind them came an old grandmother, slowly climbing down with great difficulty.

Joseph uncle suddenly grabbed my hand.

“Ah! There you are!”

Then he laughed loudly.

“Here we are!”

I stared.

Joseph uncle continued happily.

“We thought we should come together. The children have holidays, and they have never seen Thiruvananthapuram. Anyway, I was coming. So we thought they could also join, since you are staying in a house.”

He waved proudly toward the group behind him.

“The whole family!”

“Children! Say hello to your cousin!”

The boys shouted,

“Hello, chetta!”

The girls clung to my wife again.

Grandmother sighed loudly.

“Ayyo… my knees… such a long journey…”

Joseph uncle continued cheerfully,

“We will stay only three or four days. That’s all!”

He laughed again.

“I hope we are not too many for your new house!”

At that moment a terrible picture appeared in my mind.

Our tiny rented house.

Our small rooms.

Every pillow and blanket being taken.

The chicken roast disappearing in two minutes.

Children running everywhere.

The garden flowers being plucked.

Grandmother complaining about medicines.

My aunt talking endlessly about her health.

The quiet house turning into something like a small railway platform.

I slowly leaned toward my wife and whispered,

“They came to see you!”

She looked shocked.

“No,” she whispered angrily.

“They are your relatives!”

“They are not my problem!” I said.

“They are not my problem either!” she replied.

For a moment we stood there in silent panic.

Then Joseph uncle said loudly,

“Well? Aren’t you going to invite us home?”

My wife immediately put on a bright smile.

“Of course!” she said politely.

“You are all welcome.”

The moon came out again from behind a cloud and shone on the platform.

If the moon could laugh, it probably did.

Because at that moment it might have thought:

Perhaps the moon is wise to live alone in the sky without relatives.

I turned my face away so nobody could see my expression.

Then I forced a cheerful voice and said,

“Yes… yes… of course…”

“Welcome… welcome to our house.”

And deep inside my heart one thought quietly echoed:

In life, surprises rarely travel alone. They often arrive with the entire family.

Years later, when I look back at that night, I realise something important.

In youth we dream of quiet evenings, romantic dinners, and peaceful homes. Life, however, has its own sense of humour. Just when we think we are welcoming one guest, fate sends an entire procession.

Marriage, I slowly discovered, is not merely the union of two people. It is also the joyful and sometimes terrifying union of two entire families.

And that night at Pettah station, under the calm moonlight, I learned one of the earliest lessons of married life:

If someone says, “I am coming alone,” always keep extra pillows, extra food… and extra patience ready.