With age, Rekha’s anxiety has only become sharper.
Earlier, she would worry about normal things – whether the gas knob was off, whether the main door was locked, whether the kids had eaten, whether I had eaten, whether I had eaten too much, whether I had eaten something I should not have eaten.
Now, she has moved to advanced-level anxiety.
She worries about things before they even happen.
I used to think it was a “motherly” trait. That invisible radar women seem to have, which keeps the whole family alive while men are walking around the house like buffaloes grazing grass during heavy rain.
Nothing affects us. The ceiling fan could fall next to a man, and he would look up and say, “Loose screw, I think,” and move on.
But a woman will hear one small sound from the kitchen at 2.13 a.m. and instantly know whether it was a vessel falling, a lizard, a thief, or her husband trying to open the fridge quietly.
In our house, Rekha is that early warning system. In a way, I like that.
But I draw the line when she starts getting nervous because her mobile phone charge has fallen below 60%.
Yes. You read that correctly. Sixty percent. Not six. Not sixteen. SIXTY.
And that too when she is at home. In a house with plug points in every room, three chargers, one power bank, and a power backup.
But for Rekha, once the battery reaches 59%, the phone is not a device anymore. It is a ticking time bomb.
She will look at the screen and shout, “Rhea… put my mobile on charge.”
If Rhea does not respond in 1.3 seconds, the case gets transferred to me.
“Rajan… my mobile is low on charge. Can you please put it on charge?”
“Rekha, it is 59%.” I force a smile on my face because that’s the best way one can mask the irritation in one’s voice.
“Exactly…59%.”
“Rekha…this phone can manage the energy needs of Somalia for a day,” I show off my general knowledge.
I wouldn’t suggest you practice this at home unsupervised. This kind of bravado can land you in trouble.
“You won’t understand,” Rekha would say, which signals the end of the argument.
Over the years, I have realized that this is not a recent conclusion by your wife that “you won’t understand”. The trial happened over a long period of time, many years ago. Your wife had gathered evidence and passed the judgment as well.
At regular intervals, she will keep reminding you – that’s all.
So I decided to accept defeat and put her mobile on charge. But the problem is, in our house, chargers have a more active social life than me.
They travel. One charger will be in Rhea’s room. One will be near Ritwik’s study table. One will be behind the sofa.
Once in a while, because of all the pressure, we won’t be able to find a charger. And that is when she brings the whole house down.
As you may be aware, we Rajans are built differently. We are made of the same material submarines are made of…you can drown us in a sea of guilt, and like a well-built Russian submarine, we can withstand all the pressure.
“Where is my charger?” She would yell, getting up from the spot closest to the AC (where she always sits).
In our house, even though all of them are C-type chargers…they have ownership.
I once made the mistake of saying, “Use any charger, Rekha?”
She looked at me as if I had suggested we exchange children with the neighbours because all kids are basically the same.
“Any charger? Rajan, please use my fast-charging charger.”
I didn’t say a word. Don’t they say that a major part of bravery is knowing when to back off?
And God forbid Rekha asks us to put her phone on charge, and we forget.
When that happens, she doesn’t just bring the house down….it is the whole neighbourhood that suffers.
“Rajan, I told you to put my mobile on charge!”
“I forgot.”
“You forgot?”
That “you forgot” is not a question. It is the beginning of several sentences, the crux of which is that I have failed as a husband, father, and citizen of this country.
The good thing is, as my kids have gotten older, they have taken it upon themselves to uphold my dignity. When they see their dad getting scolded, Rhea usually disappears into her room, while my son Ritwik suddenly remembers homework.
One day, when Rekha and I were lying down in bed, and the situation seemed right, I suggested she see a psychologist for her anxiety.
Maybe the time I chose was wrong. For she was running her hand through my hair.
“I don’t have any anxiety issues, Rajan. I am just prepared – what if there was an emergency?”
Since she was still running her hand through my hair, the situation didn’t escalate. I asked, “What emergency, Rekha? We are always home when you want us to charge your mobile immediately.”
“What if we have to step out suddenly?” She continued.
“Why will we have to step out suddenly?” I got curious.
“What if there is an earthquake? Huh?” She looked straight in my eyes.
“Ah. So all this while you have been preparing for an Earthquake?” I found it hard to suppress a smile.
As I have said before, we Rajans are good with general knowledge. I know that in the last 125 years, Chennai’s most powerful earthquake was of magnitude 4.2, and there were no casualties.
But dare I correct my wife? I should have stopped there. But sometimes the devil inside me works overtime.
I said, “If you are so worried about an earthquake, maybe we should keep an emergency bag ready.”
She looked at me. But I continued, because I am stupid like that.
“You know… one bag with a torch, batteries, a first-aid kit, a power bank, some cash, important documents, maybe some snacks to last us a few days.”
Rekha did not say anything.
She bent down, put her hand under the bed, and pulled out a black bag.
“This is our emergency bag,” she said.
I froze. There are moments in a husband’s life when he realizes he has underestimated his wife. This was one of those moments.
I looked at it. Then I looked at Rekha. Then I looked at the bag again. The devil in me was working overtime again.
I said, “Rekha, I hope you have kept one extra phone charger. You never know!”
She looked at me with the kind of pride women reserve for husbands who accidentally say something useful once in six months.
Then she hugged me and said, “See…that’s why I love you. You always have my back.”
For a few seconds, I felt like I had cracked marriage. And then she whispered into my ear: “Wait…I will be back soon!”
She got out of bed, found a spare charger, packed it carefully inside the emergency earthquake bag, zipped it up, patted the bag like it was our third child, and came back to bed.
Before we slept off – half an hour later – I checked both our phones…her’s was at 100% and mine at 21%….but I knew I would be sleeping peacefully. Thanks to the 15 minutes of romance and the subsequent Oxytocin.
Moral of the story: Every family needs one person who panics at 59%, so that the rest of us buffaloes can continue grazing peacefully in the rain.