I hear complaints of chest pain and breathlessness after the festival of Diwali has just gone. No. It’s not smog or pollution. At least not in Sevagram. A cursory glance at the piled up boxes of mithai on the dining table helps to make the diagnosis. The besan laddoos have almost disappeared. One layer each from the boxes of kaju katli and anjeer barfi are missing. So you know the diagnosis. This doesn’t demand masks, but merely antacids. When you stuff yourself with all those goodies, the side-effects do appear.
And then the nip in the air is evident after Diwali. There is a scramble to remove the warm blankets and razaais from the boxes below the beds. And it is such a pleasure to snuggle under those mink blankets after putting on the fan on full speed. Ah! That irks the spouse. But it isn’t cold enough to get under the blankets, so that fan at turbo speed is mandatory.
One nice thing about those blankets is that they lead you to a wonderous dreamland. I have warm fascinating dreams. One day I’m in a chateau in Switzerland. And this morning, I was just being handed over a box of delectable Belgian chocolates. A marvellous dream which vanished just like that. Poof! Because the hubby wanted to know what was for breakfast. Timing! He always does that! And then blame me for my bad mood early in the morning.
I stomp angrily to the refrigerator. “There is nothing here to cook. Except eggs which is out of question because of Chhat.” Silence from the other end. I am getting angrier at the lack of response. “There is nothing in the house. Not even onions.” “There ARE onions,” now he responds. “OK. Get me six”. I don’t need six onions, but I do know how to win an argument. He trudges to the store room and brings back a measly four small onions. I give him that triumphant look. Now he is on the defensive. “There is no atta either. I told you two days ago. You might as well fast for Chhat.” Now he is angry. “Am I accountable for everything? Is no one else responsible?”. I hear the bathroom door bang.
Relief. Anyone who destroys my delicious dream of Belgian chocolates deserves this revenge. Certainly. I scribble down the shopping list for him. “Buy another wife” —I end helpfully!