Richa
Jha
The
Hubby Speak:
I have had few proud moments in life. One such occasion was
walking into Westecs with a woman in each arm. For once I wished
I had more arms. Go ahead, feel the prick of envy, but remember
that every bull has his day, and that day was mine. Right from
the salutes laced with extra punch, the welcome at the glass
doors, and the trail of salespersons behind me, I knew it had
worked. Risking the ire of many, including The Wifey's, with
the following politically blasphemous words, I can confidently
say that it pays to be spotted with more than one woman at the
same time, one, (or better still, both) of whom is not your
wife. It works even today, in these post femme-emancipated days,
and you cannot gag me from calling a spade a spade.
How two
women, ask, ask, and also ask how I managed to keep The Wifey
at bay? Sadly, I couldn't, thus, on my left arm was the pouting
She with a disgruntled look on her face (you can guess why).
Her being to my left was not an accidental placing. If you promise
not to leak this out, I'll let you in on this one. The left
arm is not a particularly favoured arm with me for various reasons,
the constant twitching of forearm muscles being one. Over the
years, I have learnt to ignore, and thereby altogether forget
about the existence of this arm, and by extension, anything
that comes with it- shopping bags, car keys, library books,
our son, The Wifey.
To my right,
and here's my muse for this piece, was the loveliest lady I
have had a chance of escorting in to any shop. Her impish eyes
sparkled, her heeled feet minced, her gingerly gait gently balanced
against my right arm, she was, oooh!, the quintessence of feminine
grace. And also, to put it not very mildly, she was the complete
antithesis to The Wifey. These two sisters, yes, finally I do
have to disclose her identity, have grown up together. As first
cousins, and barely a couple of months of age difference between
them, I couldn't see how the two could be so different from
one another.
To give
you an idea of why I am singing paeans in her honour, when she
landed at the Zia International, few onlookers thought that
she is a visiting model from India. Few days later when her
passport went for some official work, the officers were convinced
the passport sized photograph was Kareena Kapoor's! Such charm,
such poise, such elegance; one look at my Wifey, and you'll
know why I said antithesis.
This sis
of hers had been promising to visit us ever since we got married,
but finally came here only after all these years, when I am
no longer as young and dynamic as I used to be. But at least
she was here, and I was ecstatic about it. Trouble was, with
the unending chats between these women, I was hardly getting
any chance to spend my kind of time with her. Moreover, you
know how it is when two sisters- any two women for that matter-
get together, the only activity they can think of is shopping.
I said I
wanted to accompany them. The Wifey was furious, "since
when have you started wanting to go shopping? With me?"
"With
her…", I murmured to myself, and thanked my stars that
she didn't catch the words.
"We have a long list of shops to go to. What about you?
Will you do all?", she was as brusque as she could politely
be in her sister's presence.
I nodded like a fool.
"Bailey Road, Chandni Chowk, Hawker's, Aarong, may be Westecs,
get it?" The Wifey at her curtest best.
All said,
no matter how much I wanted to tag along with them, the places
she mentioned were sure means of performing Harakari with myself.
All, but the last one. I wouldn't mind Westecs. At least there's
always plenty of activity happening around the two tiny trial
rooms on the ladies' wear floor!
I promised
to join them there, which explains the petulant pout of The
Wifey's I mentioned earlier.
I wish I
had some titillating tales to narrate (which is the only reason
you have read up till this point), but nothing much happened
up there. The Wifey made sure that I stay away from the trial
room each time her sis went in with her clothes. I tried to
select a few for my saali, but The Wifey incinerated me with
her looks.
"Why,
the last time I picked this up for myself, you said it is too
revealing. How has it suddenly become acceptable to you?"
She will never get it, will she?
So there
you are friends, there's nothing more to it than that. The only
thing to have happened is that ever since my sis-in-law has
left, and several days have passed between that tear-jerking
moment of the final goodbye at the Zia International and today
as I sit typing it down for you, The Wifey has been giving me
a cold shoulder. She expects me to take her to that same shop
and buy that same noodle strap top for her. Tell me friends,
how can I do that? She is not her sis. Women don't get it, do
they?
