A Man's survival story

A Man's Survival Story

“She makes the best desserts and the crispiness of her “Parantha” has no equals. The perfect round shaped edges, smudging softness inside and the chunky  bites of evenly chopped coriander surely had the powers to cast a spell.” These were spoken by a valiant husband at a party (wife had managed to be in his arms just when these words were quoted)

He realized it a bit late, in the meanwhile he had tried hard to mince a few and cloak the name. His verbal intonation was spanked hard by defence mechanism, the gentle smile on the face faded into oblivion.  Innumerable vocal strings erupted “Oh, yes she is perfect”...... “And my Parantha’s are outlined by harsh borders just like my words, isn’t it?” “Even my chopped coriander does not sprinkle colours any more in your life...they are not cut evenly na?”

The Mother and Wife saga continues; torments the poor soul day and night. He lives in an evergreen “battle field”. He survives regular attacks, missiles from here and there, any time anywhere. He pushes hard, his efforts are boundless to get them misfired, struggling in the ever so gruelling war zone...each day with his adept skills.Last night the lights were on till late, firing shots were heard but there was one sided invasion signals. The pitch were touching all kinds of frequency and then there were monosyllabic aggressions “hmm” “haan” “ok”  again the refrains  “hmm hmm hmm”, ”yes, yes, yes”, and then a long pause, lights off, silence, maybe it was  lull  before  the  storm.

Dawn, sunrise, positive vibes, a warrior who has suffered attacks obviously has a gallantry award or at least the confidence is skyrocketing. Last night it was just a mock drill. He marches with unique poise and valour (someone who has survived amidst all battle) knocks the door, a sudden gush of an unyielding attitude prevails, a cup of tea and his words “She is good, she makes the best of “Puris” the outer edge of each “Puri” is just so soft, Mom, and last night her “Egg curry”..... “Hmm” “wow”, “weren’t the eggs so round and the gravy so full of chicken story, I meant “lovely”. Silence prevailed all over again...may be another attack.

Well, the husband left for the day...rest is history, he survives fearlessly every day, attacks are gruesome somedays, he still survives...his list of friend’s shows a rising slope. He relishes “Egg curry” and “Parantha” in his office canteen more in recent times. He is the most cheerful face while eating his lunch. But every evening, he calls up home and asks “What’s the menu for dinner, who is cooking?” And then he masters a short synopsis of adjectives for each dish before he enters the home. He does this with perfection every day taking turns. (Please skip the article if you are a hardcore  Feminist)J

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