Satish Pandya*


Is she awake? Yes. Vicky’s pampered spouse, Nancy, gets up with a lazy yawn after her suave hubby coaxes her by patting her bare midriff, and placing a cup of hot coffee before her. Lest she is late for office, she rushes to the washroom, sipping and spilling the coffee in hurry.  

After a good half an hour, she bangs the door, calls Vicky, and shouts, “Where have you kept my undergarments”? He rushes to bring them, and, by the time he is back, she is already out, fully dressed. Looking at him, she says with a cute smile, “Forget about UGs today; I think I am comfortable as it is, but don’t let this happen tomorrow”.

In the same breath, she asks Vicky if her pet dog, Cymba, has been served breakfast. “Yes; sharp at 6 AM when you were fast asleep: ten white bread slices properly roasted, two boiled eggs and a bowl of curd, followed by an insulin jab, to take care of the poor chap’s diabetes”, replies Vicky smartly, assuring her that Cymba’s lunch and dinner would also be similarly looked after as per dietician’s approved menu. 

 “Good boy; that is why I love you. And, what about Cymba’s morning walk?” “That also has been taken care of. But, today, he took a little longer”. “Why”?  “When he was out for OD (open defecation), a bitch happened to come, and he just stayed put there. It was a lot of sniffing and smooching till I pulled him away”.

“You silly guy, instead of hurrying up, you should have allowed them to have some more fun. Better look out for that beauty tomorrow when Cymba goes out. Let him stay with her as long he wants. Remember, no lapse in future”.

Now is the time for her makeup sans vermilion and the ubiquitous bindi. What to say of wearing bangles, she has discarded even her mangal sutra and gifted it to Vicky. He has since been wearing it as a talisman around his neck to tell the outside world that he is not a mere servitor or a cook or the dog’s caretaker, but also the dear husband of Nancy memsahib

Being picky about perfumes, she has a collection of some extra strong perfumes for use in office to elevate the senses of her boss. Showing one such perfume to Vicky, she tells with aplomb, “Every time I go to the room of my boss, I use this very perfume”. “No wonder, you are getting promotions so fast”, soliloquizes Vicky.   

The real melodrama, however, begins at breakfast table where her tantrums make Vicky giggle noiselessly: coffee is either too strong or too light; toast is not crisp; why only butter, why not jam also? But the poor egg suffers the brunt: if it is hard-boiled, why not half-boiled; if it has been scrambled, why not omelette, or poach, or even raw?  

All the same, she thanks him for a nice breakfast, before leaving for office. Standing coyly at the doorway, Vicky wishes her a good day, and closes the door behind her. Thereafter, he puts her laundry in washing machine, changes the bedsheet, makes the bed, and arranges her makeup paraphernalia strewn carelessly all over the dressing table.  Finally, Vicky’s DAY starts. Being an excellent chef, he enjoys preparing his breakfast: a jumbo omelette and a cheese sandwich of brown bread, not of white bread lest he is equated with Cymba. In the meanwhile, he switches on the TV to amuse himself with the tomfoolery of lawmakers, and sits down to have his breakfast leisurely.

That is the time when the feisty maid arrives, talking continuously with her boy friend on her cell phone. But what really annoys Vicky is that, instead of picking up the broom, she starts playing with Cymba who, too, is very fond of her.

Fully recouped from morning exertion, Vicky goes for a leisurely shower in Nancy’s bathroom, and uses everything which she uses: gel, shampoo, conditioner, hair drier et al. With an absolutely fresh body and soul, he engages in frivolous banter with his ex-girlfriends, all the time singing paeans about his enviable househusband’s status.

Being a gourmet, Vicky enjoys a scrumptious lunch: either Chinese, or Mughlai, or shudh Indian. And post-lunch is the time for him to have a nice afternoon nap.

Now he has nothing else to do except waiting ‘the way housewives wait for their husbands’. And, much before her arrival, he positions himself at the door to receive her with a smile. Pleased to see him waiting, Nancy hugs him at the door itself. 

The most pleasant phase starts late in the evening: like lovebirds, they have a long session of drinks, salacious gossip and a delicious dinner which is invariably in the bed. After an inebriating session, they enjoy a highly satisfying post-dinner cozy company.

But past midnight, Vicky dreams of Nancy’s morning paroxysms; and morning was just a few hours later. What an agonizing irony!


*Satish Pandya is a veteran writer and has written hundreds of scripts for the Television during his active writing days. He has also published an anthology of short stories ‘Enlightened Souls’, an assortment of soul-searching stories of passion and compassion.

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are the personal opinion of the author and do not reflect the views of which does not assume any responsibility for the same.

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