I am not sure how it is for you, but as Rekha and I are growing older, going to a restaurant seems to be the only outing we are comfortable with.
Think about it. You sit in the car while driving to the restaurant. Then you sit at the table while the food comes to you. Then you sit in the car while driving back. And once you are back home, you switch on the AC and lie down because you are tired.
That is our idea of adventure now. In fact, if the restaurant has parking, clean toilets, and curd rice, we consider it a complete vacation.
At 25, adventure was riding a Yamaha in the rain without a helmet even as Rekha sat behind hugging me, and singing the song “Jane Kyon Log Pyaar Karte Hain…” from Dil Chahta Hai.
At 50, adventure is eating outside and hoping the curd rice is not too cold.
But both Rekha and I want our kids to see us as spontaneous parents. We want them to live in the moment, enjoy life, take chances, try new things, and not become boring adults like us who discuss “what to order” before ordering ghee roast (my favourite) and rava dosa (Rekha’s favourite) every time.
The only problem is that being spontaneous is not easy. Here is how we plan to be spontaneous and fail miserably.
On Wednesday evening, while having dinner and re-watching either Friends, Everybody Loves Raymond, The Big Bang Theory, Two and a Half Men, or Brooklyn Nine-Nine for the 100th time, Rekha will suddenly ask, “It’s the same old routine…right?”
Every week one of us will ask this. But nothing changes.
“Yes…we get up, eat, work, sleep…that’s what we have been doing,” I say dejectedly, even though I know that nothing is going to change.
This is why I think wives are like God – you can silently pray to both hoping things would get better, but in both cases you are going to be disappointed.
When was the last time we went out? Been two weeks?” she will ask.
“A week maybe?” I will answer.
I know Rekha already knows exactly when we last went to a restaurant, what we all wore that day, what we ordered, how much the bill was, and whether I tipped enough to look generous but not foolish.
I know she is just warming me up for accepting yet another of her suggestions.
“You want to go this weekend? It has been a while since we took the kids out,” she will continue.
“Yes, sure, Rekha. Saturday or Sunday? Lunch or dinner? And which place?”
As a law-abiding husband, it is my job to continue a discussion till my wife wants to continue it. I have no right to finish something I have not started.
“We will go to a different restaurant this time,” she says, turning towards me and I nod in agreement.
Then Matthew Perry (Chandler of Friends) says something funny on TV, both of us laugh, and we continue eating.
After a few more jokes, one of us will suddenly say, “Shouldn’t we be more spontaneous? It’s only Wednesday, and we are already planning for the weekend.”
Then both of us will look at each other and laugh. Because every week we decide to be more spontaneous, and then plan spontaneity three days in advance.
The next day, after seeing an Instagram reel, Rekha says, “Rajan, did you know relationships end because they become predictable?”
“Really? Which book did you read?” I ask excitedly. Because it is good to know that at least one of us is back to reading books.
I get a little disappointed when I realize that these words of wisdom did not come from German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, but from a 24-year-old influencer with 10K followers and a ring light.
But who am I to question the popularity of reels?
Back in our days, Ramayan and Mahabharat were epics. Nowadays, my daughter sends me an Instagram reel and says, “Appa, watch this…it’s epic!”
So I play along.
“That means this weekend we can’t go to Geetham restaurant. That is too predictable.” I ask for confirmation.
“Yes, let’s find another one this time,” Rekha says.
And then we move on with our lives.
By Friday evening, Rekha has decided that we will go out on Saturday for lunch, so that we can rest on Sunday.
Please note the seriousness of this planning. We are not going or a trek, leave alone running a half marathon. We are just stepping out for eating lunch. But at 50, even lunch has to be planned in a way that does not disturb Sunday’s recovery schedule.
On Saturday morning…around 8 am, while I am playing badminton, I get a WhatsApp message from Rekha.
“You sure you want to go out? I can order some chicken and fish on Zepto…and make it exciting.”
Usually when I am playing badminton, I am very competitive. Maybe I am this competitive on the court because at home, I can’t be.
Either ways, when I see Rekha’s this message I am competitive no more.
I wonder if this is a trap question.
Is she asking because she wants to stay at home? Is she testing whether I really want to take the family out? Is she hoping I say yes? Is she hoping I say no? Is this 100 mark question not at all about lunch, but about my overall commitment to the family?
A married man does not read a WhatsApp message….he conducts forensic analysis.
Dear wives, it may seem as your husband is slow in typing…but it is just his cursor blinking in the text box because in his mind he is playing all permutations and combinations before replying.
That said, we Rajans are also expert manipulators. So, I play the kids card. This is a powerful card…..there is no Brahmastra in the world that can beat the kids card.
Rekha used to play it often when she took care of Rhea almost single-handedly.
“Rekha, we had bought 12 packets of KitKat. Where are they now?” I would ask.
Every time, the answer was the same: “Your child ate it.”
Once Rhea grew up and understood the meaning of betrayal, she told me the truth that it was her mom all along.
Anyway, this time it was my turn to play the kids card. Instead of agreeing to Rekha’s suggestion of chicken curry and fish fry at home, I ask her: “What are the kids saying?”
I knew they would want to go out. If you have been married long enough, and if you have kids, you will know that in marriage there is no better place to fight from than from behind your children.
Eventually, around 12:30 p.m. on Saturday, all of us got into the car. Even before the AC had started throwing cold air, Rekha asked, “So where are we going?”
This is another special feature of family outings. After three days of planning, nobody knows where we are going.
I turned towards the back seat where the kids are sitting and ask, “So what do you guys feel like?”
Rhea said she wanted Chinese while Ritwik wanted McDonald’s.
For approval, I looked towards Rekha. After all, she is the deciding authority of the house.
In our family, democracy exists. Our children vote, while I observe. Rekha announces the final results, and then eventually forms the government as well.
She said, “I don’t feel like Chinese today, Rhea. And Ritwik, we can always order McDonald’s, right?”
Ritwik nodded his head. Rhea sulked because this was probably the 100th time she had been robbed of a chance to have sushi because Godmother was not in the mood for Chinese.
“How about Jonah’s Bistro?” Rhea made one last-ditch attempt.
At this point, I jumped in.
“But Rhea, that’s a 45-minute drive, and it’s already 12:30. You know we like to have lunch at 1 p.m. sharp.”
Kids these days don’t have the fighting spirit that we used to have back then. They give up so easily. Both our kids shrugged their shoulders and said, “Whatever!”
Now the onus was on the parents to take the momentous decision. Rekha and I looked at each other.
There was only one good place within a 30-minute drive that didn’t serve Chinese or burgers: Geetham Vegetarian Restaurant.
So Rekha turned to the kids and said, “Guys, how about Tamil Nadu meals at Geetham?”
There was no sound from the backseat. But who cares about kids who haven’t started earning yet. So we drove towards Geetham.
And that is how spontaneous we are. Every week, we promise the children we will try something new. Every weekend, we enter the car as free spirits. And every time, by 12:45 p.m., destiny, digestion, distance, and Rekha’s final approval take us back to Geetham.
Some families live in the moment. We Rajans live within a 30-minute radius of our house.