Any and every reason is enough for couples to go their separate ways. Many times, it is either of those MIL’s who trigger the domestic warfare. Other times, it is their own egos; they will have their own disparate dreams.

Sometimes, the husband would be an abusive, possessive personality trying to subdue his wife while other times, the wife would be a conniving, gold digger.

But many times, a divorce is a mature decision reached by two adults, who no longer find that elusive spark in their relationship, or whose passion has fizzled out.

Then there are those who separate for the flimsiest of the reasons.

Some couples are just not destined to stay together just like the couple which was in the papers recently.

Here’s the story…

Mangala was a foodie in her childhood. But both her working parents were of simple means. While father worked as a cleaner on long distance trucks, mother was a maid in the high-rise nearby.

Father would be at home only once every fifteen days but he doted on his child. Mangala would be very excited when her father came home, as he was sure to bring those bright, white eggs which she loved to eat. Eating them, either in their boiled, salted form or as a scrambled omelette, she was hooked on them.

Thus the years went by and she reached the marriageable age. And soon she was married off to Mangaldas, a daily wage plumber from the nearby shanty.

Soon, the first flush of arranged romance wore off and the challenges of daily grind stared at them. It helped that Mangaldas was miserly and a teetotaller with a mature head on his shoulders.

But being stingy had its disadvantages, especially for Mangala.

All varieties of vegetables were welcomed in the house but whenever she bought eggs, Mangaldas flared up. “Why do you insist on eating so many eggs every alternate day. Do you know how I toil to make ends meet; to put food on the table? And you waste everything on these eggs! That too, daily! If you want to stay in my house, these eggs will not enter.”

Poor Mangala. What was she to do? Her father had made her fall in love with eggs and then made her marry an egg hater. How her fate had turned!

So she wallowed in self pity, but not for long. One day, the egg seller Mangal, from the street corner, came home with half a dozen eggs.

“Bhabhiji, you did not come for many days for the eggs. I was wondering what happened so I thought, why not the egg seller go to the customer?”, asked Mangal slyly, as his eyes wandered over her comely figure, a smile plastered on his face.

“Oh, so sweet of you to do that. But, alas! My husband won’t allow that.” So saying, Mangala pushed back his hands which held the eggs, to refuse them.

“Oh, don’t worry. You eat them now while he is not at home”, and as he said this, he pushed the eggs into her hand, while brushing his arm against her waist.

Mangala wasn’t sure what was more enticing; the eggs in her hands or his hairy arm against her waist and she yielded unknowingly. Thereafter, they both had their fill of their eggs, which they yearned for.

This became a regular feature when they exchanged eggs every afternoon in the absence of Mangaldas.

Mangaldas was suspicious of some kitchen shenanigans as it smelled of eggs every other day but there was no outgo from his purse, surprisingly.

But one day, when he came home Mangala was missing and when she did not turn up even after a few hours, he was worried. As he searched in the neighborhood he did not notice the curious absence of a certain egg seller at the street corner.

When a worried and hungry Mangaldas returned home, he espied a neatly folded paper on the cot.

“I love eggs. But you never let me have them. I have found someone who enjoys providing me with the eggs and is not stingy like you. So alvida. We have opened our own poultry farm in the countryside. Don’t search for me and don’t follow me…”

Mangaldas collapsed on the cot, stunned.