Ouchmytoe.com

I am upset with Rekha. Terribly upset.

In our house, there are different sets of rules for both of us. There is one good set of rules for her, and one bad set for me. And they keep changing without prior notice.

Here, I let you decide who is wrong…Rekha or I.

On Nov 18, I was leaving for Pegasus Institute, Bangalore on a two-day Outbound Learning Program and was concerned about Rekha. How would she stay alone in my absence?

To say the least, our sprawling 32-bedroom house is more than enough for the two of us… and she would really be lost without me.

So I ask her to look around and get some friend of hers to stay with her in my absence. The smart (and selfish) girl that Rekha is, she convinces her colleague Meena to stay in our house in my absence.

I know Meena. She is a nice and helpful girl. Always goes out of her way to help a needy soul.

When I return from Bangalore on Sunday, I am happy to see Rekha in one piece. She had survived two days without me. And that was a big achievement, considering the amount of anger she needs to let go in a day just to breathe easy.

Rekha tells me how she felt real bad when she thought of me, and how Meena`s presence helped. It made ample sense to me.

Now, I am a guy who plans his future well in advance. I know Rekha would be going for a two-day training in December. So I tell her, “Rekha, you would also be off on such a tour in December.”

She says: ” Yes dearie.” She is yet to get over the excitement of hugging me after 48 hours.

“Could we ask Meena to come and stay in the house, when you are gone for the two-day program?” I enquire.

“What?” she asks. I had to repeat my question again. But this time around my wife gets angry and pulls her away from me. She is yet to speak to me after that incident.

I wonder where I went wrong. I was only applying the rule that was right for her…. call a friend in when the spouse was not at home. And going by Rekha`s dictate “treat all of my friends as your own” Meena was supposed to be my friend too!

There used to be a time in my life when I was obsessed with cleanliness. Now, I leave it to Rekha.

Most bachelors have clean habits. They brush their teeth once a week, take bath on Sundays, and wear washed clothes for parties and what not. But once they marry, cleanliness goes for a toss.

If you are a lady and are reading this, chances are you would not agree. But read on and I am sure you would be convinced. If you are married, I request you to turn a new leaf and stop pestering your husband about his cleanliness.

As I was saying, after marriage Rekha has started finding fault with everything. It starts as early as 3 a.m. I am sleepy and could not careless for cleanliness but she wakes me up and says my saliva is spoiling the pillow cover. She forces me to place a folded towel on the pillow and I get back to sleep. She wakes me up at 6 a.m. – and that`s pretty early for me – and says: “Look, you have spoiled the towel also!”

Bathrooms are a horror. Here are some of the sentences I get to hear…

“Come on…I told you not to take the newspaper inside the bathroom?”
(For the God in me, I can`t understand why she hates me taking the newspaper when I go to the loo. She hates it so much that she does not read the paper. Or is it her excuse?)

“Hey, you left the toilet seat up again!”
(So what, put it down again! Of course, I don`t say it in as many words.)

“The walls are all soap. Can`t you pour some water, or be careful while taking bath?”
(The walls are all soap? Good…we don`t need to buy soap for another two years. And anyways what am I supposed to do? Lie down on the floor and take bath?)

“Did you notice the soap box? It is full of water!”
(Yeah right, I was just trying save water for the rainy day. Or was I trying to make some liquid soap?)

And just when I am done with the ‘bathroom bashing` I am in the dressing room trying on my new CharagDin shirt (I am lying, I buy only cheap ones) when she barges in and says: “Just look at your wardrobe.”

I turn around and look at my wardrobe. I like the tone she uses…as if I were the Maharaja of Patiala and I were caught wearing stupid brands like Allen Solly, Luis Philippe, Color Plus etc.

“Yeah, I saw…what is wrong?” I ask.

“Now, look at mine. Everything is washed, ironed and kept properly,” she says.

“Yeah,” I reluctantly agree. More because, I am late for office and I also need to squeeze in that smoke that she does not know about.

Now we move on to the breakfast table, where I get scolded for being magnanimous enough to drop a cereal for the ants that have formed a cantonment in my house. I also get berated for not keeping my helmet clean, for not washing the dishes I use, for leaving the water bottle un-capped. Anything I do in my house needs to be done in another way – the supposedly cleaner way.

Now, I am all dressed up and ready to leave. I am happy that I can be myself for another 9 hours – that`s the time I spend in my office. When I close the door behind me, I hear her shout: “Look at the mess your shoes have done to the floor?”

I grind my teeth, promising myself that I will also make her life hell, and walk into the sunset….

I have always wanted to become a World-renown poet. But lack of vocabulary (poets should know words that the common folk don`t understand) and lack of command over grammar (poets need to understand it fully before they can go ahead and break the rules) ensured that I would end up having a blog.

Here is an attempt at turning into a poet. Let me know if a book titled ‘Complete Works of Jamshed V Rajan` will ever be published?

Title: Poise Personified

I sit beside a plant,
Watching a half-dead ant.
I sit with my conscience clear,
Or is it the gulped beer?

I want to write,
About the World so bright.
So clear, so serene, so white.
F#$@! Who switched off the light?

I want to write about the World,
Something straight, not swirled.
Something that will change the World,
Something that won`t return when hurled.

But is blogging writing?
Or is it plain back-biting?
Though, igniting, indicting & inviting,
My blog is pure re-writing!

(I know the poem has got nothing to do with the title..‘Poise Personified.` But didn’t it sound neat?)

I was innocent. For I thought she loved me. I was obviously (and naturally) thinking like a man.

Rekha used to call me at least four to five times during office hours. If I include calls made to remind me to pay the phone bill, drop the Credit card cheque, or book train tickets…it would amount to about ten calls a day.

For long, I thought the amount of calls that a wife makes during office hours is directly proportional to the love she has for you. Guess, it is just the opposite.

The first call would be around 10 a.m. “So, did you reach safely?” she would ask.

“Yes. Nothing happened to my Yamaha.”

“Good,” she would say and keep the phone down.

The other calls would be timed for 11.00 a.m. (she knows that`s the time I go for coffee), 1.00 p.m. (that`s the time I go for lunch) and 3.30 p.m. (afternoon coffee).

Though not a daughter of a Army General, Rekha sure was punctual with her calls. So much so, once I got the second call of the day, I would yell at my colleague, “Hey, looks like its coffee time. Wanna come?” Guys generally like to have coffee with me. That is, if I offer to pay. Otherwise, they prefer lady colleagues. Their motto is simple; if you are not saving money…at least have some fun.

As I have already told you, I am a man quite chaste. And the innocent me never suspected any ill will in Rekha`s calls.

A few days back she calls me when I was having lunch.

“So, what you doing?” Rekha asks.

“Me? Nothing…I am just having my lunch. Why do you ask?,” I question her knowing fully well that she would not answer.

“I can hear a lady near you. Whom are you having your lunch with?”

“Hooo…that`s Pratima. A colleague.”

“Married?”

“Nah, but she would get married soon,” I turn an astrologer.

“So she is pretty?”

I wanted to ask her…Arre if only pretty girls get married…how did YOU get married. But such questions are best wrapped up in an aluminum foil and kept safely inside your right ventricle.

“Yeah, kind of,” I tell her.

“From tom, you shall not have lunch with her. So it took you only two months to start flirting again?”

“What flirting? I am only eating!” I exclaim. I am furious, but then gentlemen like me do not show their anger out in the open. So, I speak into my mobile lovingly: “My dear Rekha, I am only having my lunch.”

“That`s all fine. I am glad I called you. My two months of keeping a watch finally paid off”

I ask her softly. “What watch? Just two months into our marriage and you have hired detectives to tail me?”

I am sweating with anger and indignation…but I am not suffering from mad cow`s disease and hence would not reveal my anger.

“No baba I have not hired any detectives. Why do you think I was calling you so often?”

I don`t recollect how the conversation ended. But it hurt. Now she doesn`t call me that often. But knowing her, I am sure…I have a few detectives behind me. I don`t see them, but I know they are seeing me. They could be my lady colleagues too…

Diwali was a blast. Pun very seriously intended.

It was raining yet my brother-in-law and I went to buy crackers. The initial child-like enthusiasm died once we saw the crowd. It was the day before Diwali and everybody was queuing up in front of the veddi kaddai (that`s how we call a shop that sells crackers).

“Guess everybody wants to be part of the Big Bang on Diwali,” I commented.

“Gang bang, is more like it,” retorted my brother-in-law.

I chuckled; just enough to attract my brother-in-law`s attention. He prefers a good laugh…for his jokes.

Now, we were at the cracker shop. There were different types and both did not know what to buy, leave alone how much. The sales man was frothing at his mouth, shouting the rates at the top of his voice.

“Sir, I just got married and this would be my first Diwali. Which type of crackers would you recommend?” I asked the salesman.

“You should try the Mallika Sherawat rocket,” he said with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“And what would that be?,” I asked.

“It is a rocket with a pay load. You light it…it goes pretty high and bursts. And her undergarments gently float down.”

I was not very keen on the Mallika rocket. My parents would have bombed me. So I asked him again: “Sir, anything else that you suggest?”

At this question he handed me a list of Special Crackers he had –

Kanchi Shankaracharya Jayendra Saraswati cracker – So pure that it can only be used only inside temples…and only by temple managers.
Lalu Prasad Yadav cracker – If you buy this you get the Rabri Devi cracker free.
Sourav Ganguly cracker – Doesn`t go off at all.
Uma Bharati cracker – It is a pack of ten small crackers. When lighted…one of them bursts first and sets off the others.
Manmohan Singh cracker – Goes off silently.
Amitabh Bachan cracker – It is a bomb that does not need a light…one just needs to pour some Pepsi over it.
Aishwarya Rai cracker – If you blast one in India, you will be able to hear it only in US & UK.
Vivek Oberoi – When lighted, goes in search of Aishwarya Rai cracker.

We just bought the normal, made-for-middle-class crackers and came back home.

I know it sounds like a Hindi movie actress picked up by a rouge for a rape scene. But this article is about my In-Laws

Do you know why they are called In-laws? Coz they think they are THE Law!

I got to tell you this…those of you who are married are probably aware. If your in-laws are coming home to stay with you for a day or two, fake a business trip and stay in a hotel. Or better still, fake an accident and get admitted in ICU.

I was at the Central Railway station at 6.00 a.m. on a Sunday for a train that would arrive at 7 a.m. from Kannur (Rekha`s native). My wife had kept the alarm at 4.30 a.m. and woken me up, and peacefully gone back to sleep. I had tried to protest, but her stare mellowed me down.

The previous night, Rekha had said: “Make sure my parents don`t have to wait. They don`t know our address, they don`t remember phone numbers and they don`t know Tamil.”

That had given me a ray of hope. I could lose them in the crowd, and come back home. Rekha might scold me for a day or two, but then forget. And by the time her parents find our house in Chennai, we would have had two kids…and anyways at that point of time we would need her parents to baby-sit our kids. But I was scared. So I went straight to the station, and waited for the train that was already one hour late.

I saw the twosome get down at the station. Quite a sight they were. I wanted to hide behind a porter and see their reaction on not seeing me. They were pretty calm. Guess they had faith in their daughter`s ability to get me out of bed.

They had three suitcases and a cardboard box kept in place by a red nylon rope. I asked my father-in-law, “So, we take a porter huh?”

“Arre, why do we need a porter? We can carry this,” he said even as he picked up two small suitcases and started walking. I looked around and even her mother had started walking swinging her arms like a windmill.

I was left to pick up the two heavy pieces of luggage. Mind you, the cardboard box weighed 25+ Kgs and I am still nursing a bruise on my shoulder. Later I would know that the box had 100+ bananas. Gosh, these in-laws!

On reaching my house, I kept down the cardboard box and rang the bell.

An excited Rekha opened the door. “So how was the journey,” she asked her father.

“Everything was good, except for these heavy suitcases,” the old man blurted out. You should have seen the look Rekha gave me. My knees gave way.

Having just smiled for three hours, my face muscles were tired. I rushed to the washroom and relaxed a bit. But that was short-lived. Once inside our bedroom, Rekha reprimanded me for not hiring a porter so that her father could swing his arms and walk freely in Chennai air.

She refuses to believe that her father is trying to make my life miserable. Little does she know that my parents are planning a trip to Chennai after Diwali.

Tea is perhaps the easiest thing to make. Easier still, if you are as talented as I am.

I embarked on this adventure after reading this article on how to lead a happy married life. I would not say it was a happy ending…but yes, in the end, I had made tea.

I got up, washed and brushed before tiptoeing to the kitchen. Rekha was still asleep…and I wanted to give her this little surprise.

Once in the kitchen, I looked around. I searched for the vessel in which to make tea but could not decide. Determined, that I am, I woke up my mother in Madurai and asked her what kind of vessel I should use.

Now, I had the container…but which water would I use. Our house gets three types of water -for drinking, for washing and the third for just playing around (we have water sports in my house).

It was 6.30 a.m. and I woke up the neighbors and checked. Seemed like the lady next door did not have proper sleep the previous night, she looked hassled. But she helped me zero in on the drinking water.

Now, I had the vessel and the water. How would I switch on the gas? I tried Bharat Gas, but guess they open only at 9 a.m. I was forced to disturb one of my colleagues. She briefed me on the intricacies of using LPG, and I had the water boiling.

Now, I needed the tealeaves. Pity, I don`t stay in Assam, or I could have walked out of my house, plucked a few leaves and made tea. I searched the whole house but could not find it. Though I did not want to, I was forced to wake up my other neighbor. She seemed pretty understanding. When I asked her for tealeaves, she said: “I know you will come for sugar later. How about taking it now itself.”

I was glad, she offered the sugar because, I knew I would have needed it and we did not have any more neighbors.

Now, I had the tea ready but could not find the tealeaves filter. Tried very hard, but was forced to wake up Rekha. She sure was surprised (and upset) when she saw the kitchen.

I wonder if she knows to what extent, I can go to keep her happy.