One of my readers recently accused me. She said, I had dumped all childcare on Rekha, made her take multiple career breaks, ruined her mental and physical health, and now I had come to give gyaan.
Naturally, I replied with the only truth available to me.
“How I wish I had that much control over her.”
Because clearly, the reader has never met Rekha.
For example, I have been trying to make Rekha keep the AC at 24 degrees for 20 years.
This is not marriage anymore. We might as well call it a long climate conference.
UN Climate Change Conferences (in 2026 it’s in Antalya, Turkey) have been going on for the last 30 years, and climate negotiations between Rekha and me have been going on for slightly less – 20 years!
In our bedroom, Rekha wants the AC at 18°C. I want it at 24°C and above, and my only reason is that I want to wake up alive the next day.
There are two kinds of people in this world – people who can sleep peacefully at 18°C and those like me who can hear their ancestors calling them from the other side.
Rekha belongs to the first category. I belong to the second.
Every night, the same scene happens.
She enters the bedroom, picks up the AC remote like a Supreme Court judge about to deliver a historic verdict, presses two buttons, and sentences me to 18°C.
We are Rajans, and we don’t give up so soon, so every night I try my best.
I say, “Rekha, at least today, can we keep it at 24?”
Then she gives me that look. Every husband knows that look.
It is the look that says, “I have managed career, house, your relatives, your kids’ school projects, your cholesterol, your misplaced wallet, and your general incompetence. Please don’t test me over AC temperature.”
So I keep quiet because I am brave, but not foolish.
And it is not just when she is asleep. Even during the day, Rekha behaves as if she is an Army Colonel who has been transferred to Siachen and is getting acclimatized to the low temperatures.
In case you didn’t know, my dad retired from the Indian Army as Honorary Captain, and he was posted for three months at Siachen Glacier. Even at the glacier, the duration of the posting is only 3 months…however, in my house, it has been going on for 20 years and more.
I sometimes enter our bedroom in the afternoon and feel like I just landed in Kashmir during winter.
I would say, “Rekha, this is too cold.”
She had a standard reply, “No, it is perfect.”
We Rajans can fight well when we are pushed to the wall, so without blinking an eye, I would reply, “Perfect for whom? Penguins?”
She would say, “That’s too much drama…don’t you think?”
This is one more problem in marriage. When you are newly married, your wife finds your drama cute. Back then, she would say, “Awww….my Shah Rukh Khan!”
After 20 years, your drama becomes a problem.
So slowly, I gave up…and decided to sleep in my kids’ room. It helps that my daughter is in her college in Aurangabad and her bed is free.
Now my son is my neighbour. Sometimes, we both chat up before we fall asleep. But it doesn’t have the charm of lying down next to your wife.
This started as a temporary adjustment, but now it has become a migration pattern.
Every night, Rekha goes to her Arctic zone. My son and I go to the warmer southern wintering grounds (our kids’ room).
Sometimes I feel sad about it because I love this woman. And after all these years, I still want to sleep next to her.
I may not want to wake up and see her next to me…who wants to see a middle-aged woman who sleeps with her mouth open?
But when she is awake, I want those small, quiet moments that couples have when the door is closed, and the rest of the world is far away, the lights are out, and you can say whatever you want.
Ever felt that comfort with your partner? That’s what I miss.
Most mornings, I wake up around 4 am. I make my tea and make a cup for Rekha and her mom as well. Yes, that’s right…my mother-in-law stays with us, and I have to handle two Rekhas at the same time.
After an hour of working…when I get bored, I slowly peek into our bedroom.
On most days, it feels like a meat freezer. I can almost hear background music from a crime documentary. So I close the door gently, open my laptop, and start working.
But on some rare days, the room feels slightly better. Maybe because Rekha herself had switched off the AC and slept. On such occasions, I quietly go and lie down next to her.
That is the maximum bedtime I get with the woman I love. Not at night. Not in a romantic way. But at 5 am in the morning, like a thief entering his own house.
And even then, I have to be careful. Because if she wakes up and feels warm, she will pick up the remote and bring the temperature to 18 again.
The AC remote is our third child. And like our other children, it listens only to Rekha.
So when someone says I “make” Rekha do things, I feel like inviting them home for one night. Please come. Try making Rekha change the AC from 18 to 24, because I want to sleep with her.
But I don’t blame them, for they don’t know that I am just a middle-aged man standing outside his own bedroom at 5 am, wondering whether today is the day he gets to sleep next to his wife without becoming frozen food. Love may have warmth. But sometimes that’s not enough because the bedroom is too cold.