humour

A match made in kitchen

It is said that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Since I am not a foodie, I don’t understand this statement. Man always likes ‘Maa-ke-hath-ka-khaana’ more, more so, after marriage. Though, of course, he is not in a position to admit it openly, for obvious reasons.

Ricardo is waiting for his wife to serve him hot, tasty rice like she always does. He just loves her for that. In fact, he married her impressed by this quality of hers. That and the fact that she was very obedient. And he could brag to his friends that his wife was so hot.

 

Four days gone and Ricardo is feeling restless. Have I rushed into marriage,  he thinks to himself. All the qualities which endeared her to him, now seem to be a bane.

She can only cook rice, however hot it might be. Zilch variety there. Yes, she is obedient,  but her obedience is only if he asks her to cook rice, not for anything else.  Yes, she is hot, but only when she is cooking rice. As soon as the rice is done, and he has had his meal, she is back to being cold and going off to sleep.

So by the time his dinner is finished, Ricardo has made his decision. He decides to divorce his wife of a full 4 days.

This story is not a figment of my imagination but a real one which took place in Indonesia recently. After it had grabbed some space in newspapers and the omnipresent social media, it was revealed that the man in Indonesia had married his rice cooker in an elaborate ceremony because of its qualities of cooking great meals for him whenever he felt like having rice, without making much noise except perhaps some whistles. But within 4 days he divorced it because it never cooked anything else. And he did all this only to grab some social media fame.

 

What ridiculous gimmicks are being resorted to nowadays, to grab likes and visibility on social media. What has life come to? And people are actually spending valuable time on writing about such ridiculous happenings in their blogs. Like me for instance… Yatindra Tawde

humour

Marriages or…mirages

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.

humour, Uncategorized

Eggomania

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.

humour, Uncategorized

And then they were divorced…

They were proud citizens of a city in Madhya Bharat. At quite a young age they were married off with a chanting of mantras in a huge ceremony, and with a prayer on the lips.

The next two months passed in bliss… for them. Their honeymoon period was hardly over, when those who had married them off, were back to interfere in their lives, this time to divorce them.

They were never asked when they were married off and now they were being divorced without their consent.

After marriage they lived quite peacefully in their own little pond which they shared with the others, going about their croaking and breeding duties with a gutso.

The other denizens were envious of the star couple in their midst and kept a few feet away. Maybe they feared them, as the couple had friends in those sky touching dwellings…or so they thought. Afterall, the match was brought about by these very friends in a huge ceremony accompanied by a lot of cacophony. Cymbals, dhols and assorted musical instruments played their parts well.

Two months back…

Half of June was over and the clouds had not yet made an deappearance. The hot and humid April and May had completely depleted the water stocks and the people were worried.

While there are a lot of global factors which affect the arrival of the life giving rains, the people feel or hope that they can somehow persuade them to shower their manna.

So they went to the town Swamiji who suggested to marry off frogs to please the rain God. And so our couple was married off with much geity.

And was he pleased!

Two months later the same people were more worried, this time due to incessant rains and unforgiving, unprecedented floods. In two months they were brought to their knees. So off they scurried, back to the Swamiji.

It seems Swamiji was waiting for this very opportunity. The two frogs, whom he had married off two months back, had made his life difficult, what with their synchronised croaking followed by a chorus of their ilk.

He issued his orders; for the rains to stop there was no other option but to divorce the frogs who had been married off just two months back.

So another elaborate ceremony was conducted, mantras chanted and the frogs were mercilessly separated.

My learning from this episode – there are mantras for conducting divorces too!

Yatindra Tawde