Helping hand! by Mahadev Desai

Helping hand!
by Mahadev Desai

It is Saturday morning. Six a.m. I am awake but dying for a cup of tea! My wife is sound asleep. I am at the opposite edge of the bed, and I am scared to wake her up. I slowly tiptoe to the kitchen. The dog Sam spots me and barks.

I hurriedly bribe him with a Graham cracker. He sits down for his morning breakfast. He doesn’t have to brush his teeth first thing in the morning! So while he is merrily crunching and munching his biscuit, I brew three cups of masala tea.

I love cooking but I am denied permission to experiment in the kitchen. I do however sometimes sneak in and surprise her, like India did with the nuclear blasts at Pokharan! And like India, I still refuse to sign the CTBT (Comprehensive tea ban treaty!)If my wife had her way, she would ask me to produce Identity Card before entering the

kitchen! I am glad I do not need a Password to turn on the electric oven. The tea (chai) is excellent, so I pour a second cup, but just when I am about to sip the contents, in she walks, and says,” Look at the mess you made. And if you keep on drinking tea like that, you will be hospitalized for overdose of tea! “I turn on the ‘Dil se’ song on my ipod. I don’t think Rahman meant ‘thaiya thaiya’ but probably ‘chai yar’ chai yar’.

After energizing tea I prepare to take my shower. A fine start to a morning-I mutter. Mahabharata instead of Ramayana! She shoots first, “I hope you are not attending any event today because there are a few urgent chores that need to be doing.” She has a mental list of ‘To do by husband’ jobs.” The lawn needs mowing, furniture has to be dusted and polished, the car needs a wash and the bathroom door needs mending. When you finish those, I will remind you of a few more!”

She prepares her ‘puja thali’ and goes to perform her morning puja. I summon Bintu for assistance. I thought he might be doing his homework but was I wrong? When I opened the door of his room, he was playing taped ‘mast mast’ song and practicing pelvic thrusts a la Michael Jackson or Abhishek style. Homework is becoming an endangered habit with him. “Bintu, can you stop your rehearsals and help me cut the lawn and wash the car?” “Sure dad, but that will cost you ten dollars for the lawn. I will help wash the car if you promise to get me ‘Love aaj kal’ CD. He winks with a smile. I know he is living in a capitalist society, and expects financial stimulus every week, so I readily agree.

We mow the lawn and bag the grass. I am already sweating. Lawn mowing is hard work, believe me. No wonder when I asked my black neighbor, Mr. Wilson, whether he enjoyed mowing the lawn, he laughed and said,” I would rather smoke grass than cut it”.

Bintu helps me wash the car. Inside is dirtier than outside. I find bits of McDonald’s French Fries, chewing gum wrappers, banana peels, coins, peanut shells and even a dead cockroach! Bintu promptly collects his ten dollars and runs away to play with his friend.

Dusting and polishing furniture is a job I loathe. My better half supervises me lest I miss a speck of dust! She expects the furniture to shine so much that you would need a pair of sunglasses! at her after-polish inspection.

Next job-the squeaky door. I squirt good amount of WD 40. It stops the squeak but the oil rolls down the hinges and onto the carpet, and I foresee one more job ahead. I notice that the electric clock on the wall has

stopped ticking. I volunteer my services to examine its heart. “Shall I look at the clock?” I ask. “No,” she says,” Don’t touch it. You are good at dismantling things but not at assembling them afterwards. I will take it to the clock repairer next week. I don’t want you to ruin my granny’s clock.”

Next I try to fix a painting of Hanumanji on the wall. After fifteen minutes effort, I manage, but just when she comes to admire my prowess, both the nail and Hanumanji decide to take a banji dive and crash on the floor! That unforeseen accident results in a few more repair jobs and unprintable accusatory words from my wife! How I wish I was a blacksmith or a carpenter or an engineer instead of a journalist.

I try to retire for a nap when she says,” Motibhai came to see Bintu yesterday. He gave me homegrown dudhi, green chilies and tomatos.He is growing so many vegetables now, Kantaben doesn’t need to go to Dekalb market anymore. We have

such a big garden plot. But I don’t see you doing any spadework like Motibhai.” I plead my defense. “Well, don’t blame me. When I did some gardening at our Marietta home, you complained that I planted things in a haphazard fashion. How could I help it? We had such a small plot; I had to plant cabbages among the rose bushes. And there is nothing wrong if you find a carrot growing along with potatoes. It’s all peaceful coexistence. You always complained. Remember, you used to say,” Instead of vegetables and flowers, all you bring in the kitchen is mud and cow manure!” So I gave up gardening.

I win my point and take my well earned nap. By evening she calms down and says, “Vinit and Sheela are going to Rio Bravo. They have invited us. Bintu loves Mexican so we should go. Before that, we can stop at the Northlake Mall. I try to dodge this suggestion. “We hardly have that much time. The way you walk and window-shop in the Malls, we should have left home at 8.00 a.m.! And I am tired after all those chores. I certainly don’t need any more practice for the BAPS Charity Walk! Next week. I promise to take you to Sona Sari Palace, however’, I suggest a compromise. She reluctantly agrees. I look forward to the Margarita, but still dread the Mexican dinner with rather overweight Sheela. Last time we went together, she crunched two complimentary basket- loads of Mexican –chips, before even looking at the menu!