First posted on #ArtoonsInn
The enticing aroma of coffee wafted across CCD, as l lost myself in the dreamy eyes of my wife, Priya. The hint of a smile curling her face was too alluring as i reached for her soft palms to take them in mine.
Just then our order arrived and we untangled our hands in a hurry. As i reached for the egg wrap, Priya rapped me on my knuckles. She picked up the egg wrap and lovingly extended her hand towards my mouth. Closing my eyes, I elongated my neck, imagining the egg melting in my mouth when…
“What are you doing, Rohit? Pay attention! I am already late for the office. Rotate the chapaati properly on the tava. It should nicely fill up with air, otherwise it will harden by lunch time”, she admonished.
As usual, I was day dreaming, mistaking a chappati being transferred on to the skillet, with an egg wrap being deposited into my mouth. And as usual the bai making the morning chappatis had taken a ‘sick’ leave leaving us with no other option.
It was a nice and fluffy bed with soft pillows filled with feathers. A giggling, bubbling Priya started a pillow fight with me. She picked up the soft pillow and like a lithe shot putter, flung it at me…I grabbed at it and promptly deposited my shirt…yes, my shirt into the washing tub.
Was I caught day dreaming again? “Rohit! I think there are 12 clothes. Take a spoonful of washing powder, it should be enough.”
“Hoy, Maharani!”, I said in jest. In reply, she threw another shirt at me to dip in the frothing tub.
Yes, i am sure you must have gathered by now that I love helping my wife in domestic duties. Or rather, the options have run out.
It wasn’t always so.
When I was but a child, watching the weekly movie at the neighbour’s, I was enamoured by the love life of a film hero, who broke into a boisterous song or two, on spotting the cycle riding, shyly smiling heroine, always accompanied by a gaggle of giggling friends.
When they managed to get rid of those irritating friends, they ended up in a flower garden, dancing and running around umpteenth trees. I could never understand how two neighbouring flowers managed to caress each other whenever the hero,with a silly smile pasted on his face, got anywhere near the heroine.
After facing many childish obstacles, when they finally pranced hand in hand towards the sunset, the child in me was flushed with joy. That night, I used to dream of myself in the hero’s shoes.
But the lie was exposed, and how. After the initial passionate flush of married life, I finally understood that a marriage is built from the building blocks of daily chores and mutual understanding to achieve those necessary tasks to keep the marriage engine running.
There! I have spoilt the romantic notions of a few unmarried individuals.