It’s 15th of August, and the wife is packing her bags. She’s going to The America for 4 weeks. And I’m celebrating Independence Day right here in Bangalore. Anyway, she’s “encouraging” me to help her pack all her stuff. Unfortunately for her, there’s a Rakhi Sawant “Top 10 songs” special on Channel V, which I absolutely have to watch.

Wife, screaming from inside: “Come here and help me fold all these Salwar Kameezes“
Me, grunting: “But there is a special program on TV!”
Wife: “What are you watching, anyway?”
Me: “Hmmm? Oh, It’s a discovery channel special. About wild cats. And how they stalk their prey.”
Wife: “Is that more important than me?”

That, as I’ve come to learn very quickly, is a checkmate. That question has no answer. It’s a rhetorical that basically translates to “Come here this instant or I will kill you.”

I drudgingly go into the room where there are more clothes than I’ve ever seen in my life. They’re all over the place, like flood waters after a deadly storm.
Me: “Are all these clothes yours?”
Wife: “Of course. Whose else can they be?”
Me: “You’re planning to take all these? In those 2 bags? They’ll never fit.”
Wife: “Of course they’ll fit.”
Me: “That’s against the laws of physics. See, the law of conservation of mass says…”

Wife is giving me THE LOOK.

Wife: “Look, are you going to help me or not?”

Another of those rhetorical questions. This one translates to: “Fold all these clothes into 6 categories. Partywear, Office wear, Office Casuals, Office semi-formals, Office formals and Friday Casuals.” And that’s just the office wear.

Me: “You’re planning to take 5 pairs of shoes?”
Wife: “Look, just put them in, OK?”
Me: “But you’re going only for a few weeks. Why would you possibly need 5 pairs of shoes?”
Wife: “Stop arguing, OK. Just do as you’re told.”
Me: “You do realize you’re only allowed 2 bags, 23 Kgs each?”
Wife: “STOP COMPLAINING ABOUT THE BAGS”
Me: “You’re never going to be able to carry all this. Hell, you won’t even be able to push the Trolley with these bags on it.”
Wife: “That’s it! GET OUT!

VICTORY! Hahahaha…I had managed to nag the wife enough to secure release. Oh, it’s a good feeling. Now I know what she feels everyday. I anxiously get back to the program. The countdown has already reached song #6.

Suddenly, there’s a blood cuddling scream. It’s coming from inside the room. The Wife has let out such a high-pitched shreek, that the clothes must have all folded themselves in fear. I run inside the room.

Me: “What happened? What happened?”
Wife: “The…Oh my God. The… red… I….”
Me: “Red what? You saw a cockroach?”
Wife: “No…no…OK. This is an emergency. The red thing…Oh no! How could I forget. Oh no!”
Me: “Take a deep breath. Relax. What did you forget? Is your passport locked in the office? Is your VISA expired? What’s the matter?”
Wife: “The Red Bag. I forgot to buy a red bag! Now I don’t have a bag to go with this dress.”
Me: “WHAT?”
Wife: “We have to go and buy one now. Let’s go”
Me: “Now? It’s 10 in the night!”
Wife: “I don’t think you appreciate the seriousness of the problem.”

Much convincing and cajoling later, the wife finally agrees that it is possible that she could buy one when she lands in the US. After 15 minutes, she’s managed to calm down enough that she’s breathing normally.

The rest of the packing session doesn’t go so well. The bags are overweight, she can’t find the Knoor soup packs, and there’s no room left for all her watches.

Eventually, she does get all done. I want to tell her that her Chanel No. 5 is not going to be allowed in her handbag, but decide against it. Let the security people tell her. After all, they’re paid for dealing with hazardous objects. And perfumes.

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