Monday, November 15, 2010

The missus reports

It is not often that I take to putting my thoughts to paper, or blogs, to be precise, what with the speed with which life whooshes by for a suburban housewife but today I find myself strangely with a lot of time on my hands. And the golden opportunity of an open lap-top with the blog signed into. After I publish this, he dare not delete it.

The reason for having a lot of time on my hands is that the younger son is off to Udaipur with his grandparents. Suddenly, the house seems very silent. He is a noisy lad, my Gautham is, and a source of constant anxiety but he's also demonstrative of his affection and consideration, which makes one rather miss him. Vyaas, the elder one, is a quiet and mature boy, giving me little cause for worry. He studies on his own, watches TV only moderately (unlike Gautham who can watch TV for hours without a break) and generally obeys me unless there is strong cause to do otherwise. Needless to say, there never is.

The problem child here, of course, is the husband, who survives mostly because of a lacuna in the Indian legal system. It is a crime, apparently, for a wife to strike her husband upon the bean with a brick, regardless of provocation. Otherwise I would have done this ages ago and despite the said husband's skull being apparently fashioned out of solid wood, I would have, with this crude but effective technique, brought about some improvement. As things stand, I am reduced to using cold stares, knitted brows and pursed lips as an expression of ire, which is the matrimonial equivalent of using Madan Lal as your strike bowler with the new ball (I'm afraid I follow - or used to follow - cricket. I'm not very current these days but what cricket lacks in gripping entertainment it more than makes up by affording the struggling writer scope for simile).

 He isn't very difficult to get along with, except when he decides to give reign to his alleged sense of humour which I find quite weird at times. For instance, this diwali I had expected a trinket of some sort - gold, preferably- as an expression of his love and affection. He got  me a deodorant. I am not joking. A pink can with the legend "Pour Femme" emblazoned on it. I'm not a materialistic girl but MRP Rs.99/- is not really my thing. It showed in my expression, I'm sure of that, but that did not deter my champ. He was waiting for me to ask him what the hell this was.

I obliged. "What is this, would you mind telling me?" I asked him in the most sour voice I could manage.

He had prepared for this precise moment apparently.

"Dear, a deo, a female deo!" he sang, to the tune of "Doe, a deer, a female deer".

I counted to ten. The blood was still boiling. I counted another fifty. No change. I thought of jabbing him in the thigh with the potato peeler and had Big Boss 4 not started at that exact moment, with vociferations by the sweet Dolly Bindra at some hapless co-inhabitant of the dosshouse, violence would have erupted. As it was, he escaped with nary a scratch. He has promised to buy me bangle but we shall believe when we see.

Till then, adieu from

Sheela

15 comments:

Karadi said...

Did Mrs.Shenoy read this post?

Kartik said...

I suspect you wrote this, not Mrs Shenoy ... and I base my suspicion on the Wodehousian style of writing :-)

Deepak Gopalakrishnan said...

Isn't impersonation illegal, Mr. Shenoy? :D

bhel said...

Looks like Mrs.N must be off the Internet for a few days, which is why you dared to write this. :-)

narendra shenoy said...

Sigh. 4 out of 4 believe that I wrote this. Me! - Naren

Anonymous said...

"Dear, a deo, a female deo!" is the single most brilliant line I have read in the past 10 days!!!

k said...

I can totally associate with the elation that might have overflowed after saying a line like, "Dear, a deo, a female deo!" Amazing post. :)

PriyaV said...

Counted to 10...still laughing. Counted to 50.....no change, except for a stich on my side.

parthicle said...

your post after a real long break was a welcome drink to my dry throat...

Adi said...

ha ha ha :)

Sriram said...

Goodness, man... Dear, a deo, a female deo! That alone is truly worth the 99 bucks and the pink thingy.
But, hmm.. women.

Sharatchandra Bhargav said...

Along with the "Dear a Deo, a Female Deo", the missus was also expecting a "drop of GOLDEN something", which is where you erred, in only taking the first line of the song into consideration.

I suspect you planned this whole purchase just for the opportunity to sing that brilliant line, but unfortunately left it hanging mid- sentence.

Welcome back Naren. The rest of my day will go well now :)

Anjana Nandi said...

This is hilarious.

I have been reading this blog for so long but Sheela (!) really got me posting a comment.

Sid said...

thou lives very precariously these days Mr.N!

narendra shenoy said...

@anonymous - Thanks :)

@k - Thanks :)

@PriyaV - Thanks :)

@parthicle - Drink! That reminds me! I have a couple of beer cans stashed in the fridge. Thanks!

@Adi :)

@Sriram - Women. I have much to say on that subject. Soon, hopefully.

@Sharat - Haha! ROFL at the "drop of golden something"

@Anjana - Thanks :)

@Sid - :D True, true!