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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This is the second part of a series. The first part is here.

Harry Potter has this really cool toy that I’d love to have. I think it’s called the invisibility cloak. You can put it on and simply disappear. I desperately needed one of those because my Vegetable Hydrabadi Biryani was looking more like a bomb than like food. I needed an escape plan.

I evaluated the situation and concluded that my options at this point were:
Option 1:
Throw the mess out of the window, and say “I ate it all because it tasted so good” and hope the wife buys it.
Option 2:
Run across the hall, out of the door into the street, and go into hiding for a few months.

At this point, option 2 seems more attractive. Just as I’m trying to see if the front door is bolted, the wife finishes talking on the phone, and is coming back into the kitchen.

Me: “No no….Why don’t you call all your other friends?”
Wife: “What’s that smell?”
Me: “That’s my new deodorant. Do you like it?”
Wife: “Something is burning!”
Me: “That’s you being jealous because I can cook better than you.”
Wife: “It’s coming from the kitchen”
Me: “Is that a new dress you’re wearing? It looks FABULOUS on you!”
Wife: “What have you done?”
The wife definitely knows something is wrong. It’s hopeless. I’m dead.

“I …err…. I think I’ll go check my e-mail … or something”. I try to make my escape, but before I even get out of the kitchen, all hell breaks loose…

Wife: “OH MY GOD!!!!”
Me: “I beg your pardon?”
Wife: “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”
Me: “You mean to the biryani? Not much….you see…The garam masala… …I… I didn’t know…”
Wife: “DID YOU PUT ALL OF IT INTO THIS?”
Me: “There’s still a little bit left at the bottom of the pack, if you want some more…”
Wife: “ARE YOU CRAZY? What’s the MATTER with you?”

What followed were a series of explicitives that are best left unsaid. There were a few in there whose meaning I was not clear on, but decided that this was not the best time to ask for clarifications. After much monologue, the conclusion was that I was a stupid idiot that could not understand even simple instructions. That seemed reasonable to me, and I agreed with the wife’s conclusion. That seemed to calm her down a little bit.

Wife: “What are we going to eat now?”
Me: “We could still order pizza.”
Wife: “I WANT TO EAT HOME FOOD!”
Me: “Yeah, don’t worry, they’ll deliver it home.”
Wife: “NOT LIKE THAT!”
Me: “Hmmm…..”

The wife now decides that we will go to her mom’s house, where we can reliably get home-cooked food. My protests are duly ignored, and we end up in the car, on our way to their house. It’s a short 20-minute drive, and during that time the wife gives me the silent treatment.

We land up at their house. Her dad opens the door.
“Oh, hello?” he says
“We’re here for dinner because a certain someone managed to screw up our dinner”, the wife says pointedly.
“Oh! You should have called. But that’s OK. We’ve just ordered 2 large pizzas! That should be enough for all of us. Come on in!”

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The wife decides that we don’t eat at home enough, and so we’re going to cook for ourselves today.

Me: “Do you really want to cook? Can’t we just order pizza?”
Wife: “No! I’m going to cook, and you’re going to help me.”
Me: “Are you sure?”
Wife: “Of course. What could possibly go wrong?”

And so, according to the commander-in-chief’s orders, we get started. The wife decides that we are going to make “Vegetable Hydrabadi Biryani“. That’s because that is the first recipe in the “Cooking for Dummies” book.

Wife: “OK, it says here that we need to ‘cut into fine pieces onions, tomatoes and some capsicum‘. You can start with the cutting, while I start boiling water.”

“I’m just slave labor. This should be illegal.” I mumble under my breath.
“What did you just say?” the wife asks suspiciously.
“Nothing, I said the boiled water smells delicious!” I say with some sarcasm. The wife gives me a fleeting ‘THE LOOK’.

I get to the cutting. My first victim is going to be a tomato. This is my first close encounter with a whole tomato. I have a knife, and the poor tomato is going to feel the pointy end of it. I’m fantasizing – All the tomatoes come to life and run screaming all over the place when Aditya The Monster comes with the knife. The thought of tomatoes running wildly through the kitchen makes me smile.

“What’s so funny?” the wife asks.
All the tomatoes stop running and fall back on the table.
“Nothing” I say, and my thoughts move in a different direction.

“How does one cut a tomato? Does it have seeds that you need to take out? Do you first need to take the skin off the tomato? You have to do that for potatoes, no?…”

I’m holding the tomato in my hand and poking it with the tip of the knife to see if it really has a peal-able skin. The wife notices, and trying to help, says:

“You cut it into half, and then into smaller pieces”
“Yeah, I knew that!” I say haughtily. I’m embarrassed, but don’t want to admit it. I proceed silently to cut the tomatoes.

“The book says ‘Add all the vegetables into the boiling water with some garam masala’” says my wife. She takes all the vegetables I’ve cut and puts them into the vessel. Just then, her phone rings. She picks it up, and on her way out yells: “There’s a new pack of garam masala over there. Add it into the vessel.”

I cut open the new pack of garam masala. How much is “some garam masala“, exactly? I know that garam masala tastes good, so we need plenty of it. And besides, if they sell it in packs, that probably means I need to add the whole pack. That’s what we do with maggie.

Impressed with my own logical deduction skills, I pour the whole pack into the boiling water. The wife is still chatting on the phone.

What followed seemed like special effects from a big-budget hollywood movie. The whole solution turned grey at first, and then slowly into black. The vegetables on the surface started sinking, showing themselves on the surface briefly before being consumed by the black liquid. It looked like they were getting sucked into a black hole at the center. It was now looking like an active volcano, the kind you see on national geographic. Black, boiling lava, ready to explode into a geyser that will blow my preciously cut tomatoes to the ceiling.

“How’s it coming?” the wife yells from the drawing room, still on the phone.
“It’s coming along nicely”, I say, trying to hide the panic in my voice.
“Don’t screw it up!” She yells, laughs, and proceeds to boast to her friend on the phone how she’s making me work.
“Do you think I’m so stupid that I can’t even make simple biryani?” I yell back.

But the damage had already been done. My beautiful hydrabadi biryani was looking like an evil potion brewed by the witches. I had to do some damage control.

To be continued…
[Update: Second part is here]

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My wife and I are discussing which movie to go to on a Saturday morning.

Me: “Pirates of the Caribbean looks like a really good movie. Lets go watch it.”
Wife: “I don’t want to watch the gooey aliens”
Me: “No no…this one is about Pirates. You might like it!”
Wife: “I think we should go to Aap ka Suroor“
Me: “That Himesh Reshamiya movie? Isn’t he the guy that wears the hat all the time? That’s probably because he’s got a big bald head underneath.”

I’m laughing to myself, but my wife doesn’t find it funny.

Wife: “Come on, let’s go to that one. It’ll be a good movie.”
Me: “Lets not. It’ll suck the life out of my soul.”
Wife: “Don’t be such a spoil sport. Remember the last movie I took you to?”
Me: “Yeah. Aap mujhe aache lagne lage. It was a near-death experience. I remember distinctly: I got so bored that my brain forgot to ask my heart to keep beating. It was like going through a dark tunnel, and there was a light at the end of it. I crawled towards the light…”

Wife throws a pillow at me, but misses.

Wife: “And what about the movies you take me to? Spiderman eh? It seems he gets bitten by a spider, and gets all the powers. Huh! And what would have happened if a mosquito had bitten him?”
Me: “Hey, it was not just any spider, it was a genetically modified spider. Besides, mosquito bites seem to have given you some super-nagging powers.”

Wife is now starting to give me THE LOOK.

Wife: “All movies you take me to are bad. We should only go to my movies.”
Me: “If a implies b, that does not mean negation a implies negation b“
Wife: “Don’t get all mathematical on me”
Me: “That’s logical“
Wife: “I don’t believe in logic”
Me: “WHAT? You can’t not believe in logic. Logic is always true!”
Wife: “I will do what I want. This is a free country!”
Me: “Aaaaaarrrrrgggghhh…”
Wife: “You have very poor debating skills. If you can’t make proper arguments, just admit defeat”

I’m banging my head against the wall.

Wife: “Not that wall, please. Remember, we just got it painted.”

And so, I find myself standing outside the ticket counter, waiting in line for Aap ka Suroor. Just as we reach the counter, the salesman says “I’m sorry ma’am. App ka Suroor is all sold out! Would you like to watch Pirates 3?”

There is justice in this world after all!

• 9 Comments

This is the second part of a series. The first part is here.

I’m sitting inside my girl friends’ house, and her parents are evaluating if I’m the right kind of guy for their daughter. I’m frozen with fear, but making my best effort to look normal.

Her Dad scans me from top to bottom. He looks disapprovingly at my T-shirt. I’m praying that there is an earthquake or a terrorist attack so that I can run away screaming, but my good luck is really bad, so no help there.

“So, what are your hobbies?”, her Dad asks me.

Dammit, I forgot to prepare for that question. I had prepared answers for “What kind of work do you do?”, “What is your investment strategy?” and “Do you drink or smoke?”, but this question caught me unprepared. It was so much better in college exams, where you had to answer only 5 of the 8 questions asked. I suddenly start missing these exams, the first time ever.

“I play chess”, I blurt out.

I’ve never played chess in my life. Not once. Chess always seemed like a depressing game where 2 people stare at a black and white board for hours at end. I wonder what the spectators do. Anyway, I only know that there are some queens involved, and that you have to mate the check to win the game or something like that. I only said chess because it sounds smart.

Her Dad is visibly impressed: “Oh that’s excellent! I’m a BIG chess fan. I play chess at the club every Saturday afternoon. I have been very impressed by the Sicilian Defense Vishy has been using recently. Though, do you think he should try some new opening strategies?”

Bummer! I couldn’t tell you how many pieces were there on a chess board even if my life depended on it, and here, her Dad wanted my opinion on chess opening moves. If Agent Smith (from The Matrix), was standing here, he’d say: “I’m sorry, but this, is a dead end.”

I was about to panic, when it suddenly occurred to me. A wise man had once said “If you can’t convince them, confuse them”. I could bluff my way through! This saying had helped me through vivas in college, and it would rescue me again now. The only question was, would her Dad buy it?

“Yes, I think he should try the reverse Roman defense opening. And since attack is the best form of defense, the attacker pieces should be sacrificed for the queen and cordon off the opponent. Reading your opponent is very important, because after all, chess is a phycological game.”

Silence.

He seemed to be weighing my words. His brow deepened to a frown. Had I been caught? Oh man, oh man! Help! But wait…he suddenly eases up and breaks into a smile.

“Yes…That’s what I have been thinking. Pshychological game, exactly!”

SUCCESS! Hahahahahaha! He finally agreed with something I said! He started opening up to me, and we managed to chat a bit about other topics. I had wormed my way into his good books! The storm was finally over and the bright sun had come out.

He seemed to be liking me now. I know that because he urged me to have an extra sweet and even complimented my T-shirt! We spent the next few minutes making small talk and I managed to avoid any major goof up.

Finally it was time for me to leave. Her Dad came to see me off at the door. As I said goodbye and walked out of the gate, he yelled to me: “Come back again some time, we can catch a game of chess!”

I turned around and hurriedly walked towards the car.

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After my Girlfriend and I decided to get married, it was time for the inevitable – Time for me to meet her parents.

To say I was terrified was an understatement. As the day came closer, I started imagining all kinds of doomsday scenarios that seemed very probable at that time:

“What if your Dad asks me ‘Where do you see yourself 5 years from now?’ “
“What if your Mom asks me if garam masala should be put in Sambar?”
“What if they ask me to code a recursive factorial in Java, and I mess it up?”

“Don’t worry. My parents are really nice people, they just want to meet you“, my GF tried to reassure me. But I didn’t believe her. That’s what the heroines in the movies always say, and before you know it, the soon-to-be-pop-in-law is chasing you with a gun. Case in point: Hritik Roshan in Kaho na pyaar hai.

I was not prepared for this at all, but D-day arrived anyway. T-2 hours: I’m a nervous wreck. Suddenly it hits me: “What should I wear?”

That’s the first time ever I’ve asked that question. In the past, I had never understood why my GF would wonder what to wear. “Anything you want. How does it matter?”, I always wanted to say. But in this instant, I realized the importance of this question. I began to see why women usually think of it as a life-and-death issue.

I finally get ready, and leave my house a little early, ’cause I don’t want to be late. I reach a full 30 minutes before the scheduled time, but I don’t want to be early either. So I keep driving around the house. After about 3 rounds, my phone rings. It’s my soon-to-be-fiancée.

“Why are you circling the house? My Dad thinks some weirdo is planning to rob us tonight. He was about to call the watchman.”
“Oh, I’m sorry….I arrived early, but didn’t want to be too early, so….”
“That’s OK. Now go park the car somewhere down the road and walk here. I don’t want my Dad to think you’re the weirdo.”
“That’s a good plan. I’ll do that.”

I park the car half-a-kilometer down the road and walk back. I open the gate and walk in. I’m shaking like I have the flu virus. My stomach is churning, I can feel the rush of adrenalin in my head. But I try to calm myself down. I recall reading that under stressful situations, you should take a deep breath and listen to your sub-consciousness. I take a deep breath and try to listen to my inner self:

“Run, you fool! Turn around and flee for your life!”

My sub-consciousness is panicking. But I stand my ground. Everything will be fine, I assure myself, and walk up to the door. I ring the bell.

“What should I first say when they open the door? Should I say ‘hello’ or ‘namaste’? Should I bend and touch their feet? That would depend on who opened the door. Maybe I should…”

Suddenly, the door opens. It’s her Dad. He’s looking at me.

“Say Hello”, my head says. But my vocal chords completely ignore the command. I’m just standing there looking like a fool. Her Dad is probably wondering if I’m still breathing.

My brain re-issues the command: say “Hello” –force

“Welcome” I squeak out.

WHAT?!? Why am I saying “welcome”?? It’s not even my house!

“Eh?” her Dad says. He’s now looking at me like a Cat looks at a Mouse. I’m getting the sinking feeling.

Thankfully, my GF pops in to break the tension. “Oh Hi! You’re right on time. Come in, come in” she says, leading us in.

I’ve not even inside the house, and my soon-to-be-pop-in-law thinks I’m retarded! This can’t be good.

To be continued…
[Update: Second part is here]

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My wife and I are getting ready to go out on a Sunday morning. I’m getting a little irritated because she’s taking forever.

Looking into the mirror, she asks:

Wife: How does this dress look on me?
Me : Great! Awesome!
Wife: Really?
Me (trying to be a smart ass): No, I’m lying.
Wife (giving me THE LOOK) : WHAT?
Me (panicking): No no no…I was kidding about the lying. I was trying to make a joke…
Wife: You’re making jokes about the way I look?
Me : No, no. You got me wrong there. Nothing about the way you look, per se, but the …aa…. the way the dress looks on you…
Wife is giving me a stare
Me : …No no, the dress looks good on you, but the dress in itself is a little …a..aa…
Wife is frowning AND giving me a stare
Me : ….No no, the dress itself is fine, but the way it fits you is a little …hmm……
Wife: Are you saying that I look fat in this dress?
Me : No no no, absolutely not. You got me totally wrong there. What I was trying to imply was that the dress itself is not good enough to compliment your perfect beauty. Yeah, that’s what I meant.
Wife: My Mom gave me this dress as a gift.
Me : Like I was saying, the dress looks great, and is a perfect compliment to your beauty. I was earlier referring to the color of the dress under the daylight. I’m sure it looks great in the indoor lights. The color is a little …hmmm…..warm.
Wife: You don’t think the color looks good?
Me : No no no, the color looks good, it looks great in fact, it …

Wife’s phone rings. It is her friend from college. Thankfully, she gets distracted and starts chatting on the phone. I’m feeling relieved.

25 minutes later, she keeps the phone.

Looking into the mirror, my wife asks:
Wife: “How does this dress look on me?”

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