The months leading to Monu's wedding Series: "Waif bina laif"

Dear friends, I am being harassed. And Chacha is being harassed too. Not separately. We are being harassed at separate times but by the same people and about the same issue. See Chachi left for Delhi recently when the Chandni Chowk and Rajouri Garden traders announced sale on their wedding collection. Monu took a few days off from work and with what my source Sonu tells me, the mother-daughters trio has been all over the city scourging for the very best in wedding bling that is available in the "moderately-expensive" budget.

That leaves Chacha and me in the house. Although a little lost without our mother hen (i.e. Chachi) we are quite capable of handling all the affairs of the house all by ourselves. Why I am asserting this here will come later. First, let me expound on the "lost without our mother hen" bit. See Chachi has, in the 26 years of their marriage, never left the house for more than 24 hours without Chacha. There have been many people who have not been in the house at any given point of time but Chachi is not one of them. She is NEVER not at home. So we don't know what to make of this absolutely unprecedented situation where Chachi is not at home and Chacha is at home and I am at home and that too for a whole 5 days! So we keep roaming around here and there, and are generally quite out of sorts if you know what I mean. For example, the other day I walked into the house to find Chacha sleeping on the sofa in the drawing room and mumbling "chai Geeta chai" in his sleep. When at home, Chachi makes tea for the both of them at 4 and I believe this is the biological clock in him asking for his post siesta-that-stretches-into-2-hours-of-sound-sleep tea. Other times, he wrings his hands (partly also because he is not drinking these days) and says "इक्क बीवी है, कित्थे चली गयी?" Such is his state of agitation at such times, poor boy that I refrain from commenting on the first bit of his ridiculous statement.

But other than these odd bits of incidents, we are running the house pretty smoothly. But buaji and badi mummy (Rads' mom) pooh and pah at our (genuine) claim. They refuse to believe that we can handle basic cooking duties and cleaning up routine in the absence of our above-mentioned mother hen.

Now you may smile affectionately at this description and think "how sweet". Well, stuff it. Because it gets really complicated. At the base of this complication is the fact that Chacha and I run on a biological clock that is clinically late. So every morning, we are running about here and there, racing against time and trying to make it to respective appointments on time and in the usual course of things, Chachi is there to miraculously ensure that we do. But these days while she is away, our already-late schedules are made more ineffective by the phone calls. The harassing phone calls that always follow the same pattern:

1. Exchange greetings

2. Answer questions about the previous day's dinner and say how absolutely marvellous it was and yes we finished the rotis and yes the vegetable was sufficient for the both of us and no there was no need for daal, while anxiously looking at the time. Repeat the same sentiments from Chacha too, while still anxiously looking at the time.

3. Refuse invitation for breakfast and remind the ladies that Chacha eats only fruits for breakfast and I eat only eggs for breakfast, which I make on my own. Refuse invitation for a change in routine and say it is the one routine we like so we will stick with it. End this phase by saying "very sure, definitely not changing mind".

4. Check phone screen about the call-waiting beep and realize with rising panic that it the other woman calling. So if one is talking to buaji, the waiting call will be badi-mummy's and vice-versa.

5. Refuse invitation for lunch and dinner. Refuse again. Refuse for self. Refuse for Chacha. Give reasons:

a. We can cook - rejected by the caller

b. We have a perfectly-functioning kitchen in our house and we can cook- rejected by the caller

c. We have vegetables in the fridge that will rot if not cooked- rejected with the demand that the vegetables be sent over to the caller's house so that she can cook it for us, which is worse than a. and b. because there is no vegetable blooming or rotting in the fridge so then you have to buy the vegetable and deliver it to the caller's house.

d. I want to cook food today- rejected with exclamations of "what utter rubbish", "since when do you want to do anything" and other derogatory remarks. Still, this is better than c.

6. So you finally give in and say yes, please cook for us, which takes us to the next level.

7. Negotiate rotis. She will say 4 each and a few extra in case Chacha or I am extremely hungry, I say 2 each. She says ok 6. I say 4. She says 6. I say 4. She says 6. I say OK.

8. Negotiate the meal after the one she is making. She will then say she will prepare dinner too. But here you have a stronger hold only if you have lost this battle with the other caller and given her responsibility of preparing dinner. Because otherwise, if you plead cooking on your own, it will take you back to step 5 and 6 and 7.

9. Negotiate place of eating. She will say come over and eat with us. You will say no thank you, I would prefer if you sent it in a dabba through somebody. She will grumble and insist but not argue too much here because that is what Chachi wants- for somebody to always be home.

10. Provide information on what the other person (For bua- Badi mummy; for badi-mummy: bua) has prepared and sent and what the other person will prepare and will send.

11. Hang up and then immediately answer the other's call. Repeat steps 1-10.

12. Scream to the Gods to return our chachi to us before dashing off to work.

Oh and if you want to offer the suggestion to disconnect the phone, let me tell you here it wont work. They have our mobile numbers and if we switch off those too, they will come home and have the above conversation in person.

Besides being chronically late, the other Kakkar character that Chacha and I and many of our kinsmen and kinswomen and kinschildren have been generously gifted with is an incredibly short bout of stamina for people who eat so much. So by the time we return from work every evening (or in Chacha's case afternoons), we are done. We are exhausted, drained, we are ready to give up on this world and life and we are not ready to talk another word beyond this unnecessary cribbing. This, incidentally also happens to be the time that buaji and badi mummy begin their calling-routine to check if lunch was OK, if tiffin was OK and to re-confirm the dinner bit. Buaji especially likes to call every few moments and give an update on what she is making. This starts a day in advance when she goes to the market to buy the wretched vegetables and goes on until she has packed the food in a tiffin and is just leaving now to stand outside her house and wait for the office boys to pick up the tiffin.

Laif, as chacha is prone to saying these days in his ridiculous Punjbai pronunciation of perfectly sane English words, without Waif is difficult.