KATHMANDU, Sept 9: My wife did not speak to me for 16 hours the other day because I declined her offer to hop on her scooter and go to New Road to eat some hot samosas. My wife tells me that this shop in New Road has the best samosas in the country. I tell her that she must first travel to all the 75 districts in the country and try out the samosas there and only then award the New Road shop The Best Samosa Award. And we should travel across the country while we can because once we get done with all the province stuff, we will no longer have the districts that we know of today. 

My wife is different. She will be watching some Hindi TV serials and then at 9:30 in the evening, she tells me that she feels like eating some KFC Chicken. I don’t like KFC and it’s not because of that old man with a beard staring at me in his specs. I would rather go to Bajeko ko Sekuwa and make a Nepali a few rupees richer. But of course, Baje is already rich so I will just move to the local pasal that sells a mean chicken chilly.

After my refusal to assist her in buying the samosas, all hell broke loose. She stormed out of the room, banged the door so hard that I actually felt the whole house move. In the evening, I had to make myself some noodles for dinner and had to sleep in another room because she was sleeping diagonally on the bed and refused to budge even when I made pig noises at her for at least ten minutes. Then, I wished I had some yoga skills where I could bend myself and fit into the bed. I moved to another room and watched YouTube videos about how to cook like a three star Michelin chef till four in the morning. 

The next day, my wife was still angry. It seems like men get pissed off and then are back to normal in less than two minutes while women will carry a grudge for the rest of their lives. Maybe I am wrong but my wife’s anger meter does not go down for at least 48 hours. She will give me the silent treatment as if I don’t exist. It’s up to me to make things right even when I am not wrong.

I talk to her. She keeps on watching TV. Ranbir Kapooir is doing his doggy dance with Deepika Padukone. I try hard to follow Ranbir’s step and fail miserably but my wife doesn’t care. Then, I try to pinch her, she tries to give me a flank kick. I tell her that she should be praying for my good health instead of trying to assault me. She tells me this is not the 19th century, and if I wanted a wife who was only submissive and touching my feet every day then I should have married someone else. 

There is no point in carrying on a discussion with your wife because she is always right. If she wants to eat the local tapari momos then you better get the momos in ten minutes or face her wrath. I am different. I plan ahead.

I like Korean food. I make plans and even reserve a table but then at the last minute my wife will find ways to not go. She has a headache or she is tired or she needs to study for her Masters’ finals, which is like four months away. But she will never tell me that she does not like Korean food. 

My wife likes to watch Indian channels while I stick to Nat Geo, History and sports channels. And on Saturdays, when it’s time to watch the football games, my wife will suddenly hide the remote. Then I have to carry out negotiation with her and finally come to a four-point agreement or sometimes six before I get the remote back. By then, the game that I wanted to watch is almost over.

My wife wants me to go for Yoga classes at 5:30 in the morning. But I would rather take up cycling than learn how to make stomach waves like Ramdev Baba. I think Ramdev is a businessman and not a guru. My wife thinks Ramdev’s medicine can cure even terminal illnesses. We might have different tastes but, as husband and wife, we must find a way to compromise. And that compromise is almost always the husband caving in. 

While I was working on this very article, my wife’s anger meter must have gone done a little. She brings me a plate of mixed fruit and glucose paani. I smile at her. She gives me this mean look to let me know that I still need to bring some samosas from New Road. I hate driving to the city because of the traffic during the day. I ask the motorcycle repair guy in my neighborhood to go buy the samosas. I give him the money plus a little (read a lot) extra for his help. He brings the samosas. The guy is happy he made a quick three hundred rupees to buy samosas worth two hundred. My wife is happy that even if it’s a day late, she can now fulfill her craving. And I’m back to minding my own business.

kalumaila@gmail.com
 

 
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