‘Nok-jhok’ that won’t stop

I WISH I could bear with the antics of the Lady of the House (LOH). The situation, however, is just the opposite even after decades of co-existence under one roof. She has been tolerating me haplessly (more so after my retirement), whereas I had already surrendered much earlier in helplessness. What causes rancour between the two of us is a million dollar question. Neither she knows nor I. But the struggle goes on, even on non-issues like whether rice is to be eaten with a teaspoon like Punjabis do, or with a tablespoon like the British. 

By now, our children have also compromised with the situation. Their offspring too would learn to do so in time. It may teach them the art of objectively analysing a situation to arrive at suitable conclusions. This would be our genetic contribution to their upbringing.

The other day LOH went to attend a satsang early in the morning, as if the numerous discourses dished out on TV channels are not enough. The horde of god-men and gurus who are pressed with the onerous task of guiding us (and also filling their coffers) did not perhaps satisfy her. She had been gone since 6 am and was not back even past 1 pm. We had no means of contacting her. She does not carry a phone, nor had she left behind the address of the venue. We remained on tenterhooks till she casually sauntered in at 2 pm, with prasad in her hand. LOH has a blind faith in gurus and ashrams, but is least bothered about her own ‘patiparmeshwar’ fretting at home. Meera Bai has left behind a myopic breed, indeed.

While she is allergic to mobile phones, a landline telephone is, however, her weakness. She loves it like chakori loves the moon. One day, I left her talking to someone on the phone and went shopping. When I returned after about an hour, she was still on it. On another occasion, I confronted her in a veiled threatening tone, admonishing her that she would repent when I am no more. She retorted nonchalantly, “How can that be! Are we not destined to suffer together for seven janamas?” I countered, “Maybe this is the seventh one.” For once, I had the last word.

The television in our room is perpetually on — from 5 am to 11 pm. There is no respite for me. Even when LOH is in the kitchen or is taking a shower, someone or the other is always on the screen trying to educate an empty room on how to prepare some kind of bharta or Hyderabadi mutton biryani (even though we are strict vegetarians); or some doctor, vaid or hakim is giving tips on how to get rid of constipation. Still, on another channel, a guru may be sermonising on how to attain heaven, while making the life of those like me a veritable hell. 

When LOH is annoyed with the so-called ‘ghar-ka maalik’, she demonstrates her displeasure in such a subtle manner that it can neither be termed as violent nor odious. But torturous it certainly is. She over-fries, nay burns, chillies for tadka to such an extent that the pungent fumes engulf the entire house, leaving me with smarting eyes, runny nose and choking throat. And, that is the signal for me to flee to the neighbourhood beer bar. The bartender understands that it is hubby’s yet another day out.