I had been cornered into an intellectual showdown with a ceiling fan, and it was fighting dirty. I mean, the ceiling fan was all dirty, and the The Wife had “persuaded” me to clean the ceiling fan in preparation for having the in-laws over for dinner the next day.

The only problem was that I really really didn’t want to do this dumb chore, but my previous arguments against why a ceiling fan should not be cleaned had been conclusively disproved. Unfortunately there was nothing that I could do about it, and the prospect of standing on a chair with a upside-down broom was looming large on my mind.

At that very instant, a brilliant plan came to me. Isn’t it fantastic how, when faced with the prospect of doing household chores, my brain comes up with these highly brilliant and innovative plans? What the apple hitting his head was to Newton, being asked to do chores by The Wife is to me – Inspiration!

Anyway, onto the plan. The awesome thing about fans is that they go round-and-round, so the cleaning device doesn’t really have to go round too. All I had to do was to hold up the broom to the fan, and the fan would go around, cleaning itself. Furthermore, I didn’t have to hold the broom either. I could just duct-tape it to the chair, turn on the fan, and 10 minutes later… taadaaa… A beautiful clean ceiling fan!

There was a small hiccup though – The broom, when ductaped to the chair was not long enough to reach the fan, so I had to introduce my star-wars light-saber in the middle. But soon after, the contraption was ready. And boy, did it look beautiful – It looked like a weapon fit for a Jedi. As I was proudly admiring my cleaning robot, The Wife walked by.

The Wife: “What the hell are you doing?”

Me: “Check it out. It’s the Ceiling Fan Self Cleaning Jedi Robot – CFSCJR. You pronounce it ceef-sco-jar”

The Wife: “Why is that thing hanging off the fan?”

Me: “No, no. It’s going to clean the fan.”

The Wife: “This THING is a bad idea”

Me: “It has a name. Please address it as The Ceef-sco-jar”

The Wife: “And how exactly is that thing…?”

Me: “…The Ceef-sco-jar…”

The Wife: “…going to clean the fan?”

Me: “Oh, it’s quite simple. I’ve attached the Ceef-sco-jar to the chair with duct tape, and now we’ll turn on the fan. As the fan rotates, it will clean it automatically. Brilliant no?”

The Wife: “This is a bad idea”

Me: “Maybe I should get a patent on it. I could be a millionaire!”

The Wife at this point gives up, and goes off. Ha! When she returns, she’s going to see a spic-and-span fan, and she’s going to be so sorry she doubted my invention. And then I’m going to say to her: “See, SEE! I TOLD YOU SO!” and it’s going to be epic!

Time to start The Ceef-sco-jar! I turn on the fan’s switch, and it slowly starts turning. The broom makes first contact with the blade, and as the face of the fan brushes past the broom, there’s a clean patch on it. Just like in the Tide TV Ad! Oh Yeah! Success! Hahahohohahaa… I’m doing my evil genius laugh!

The fan gathers up speed, and the Ceef-sco-jar is doing its job rather well! Just as I’m swelling up with pride, the stupid ceiling fan gets the broom stuck with it. Oops… The fan is picking up speed, and the hairy brush of the broom has gotten stuck in the fan’s blades. The whole Ceef-sco-jar starts vibrating violently. The fan picks up even more speed, and now it has picked up the chair as well. It’s wildly swinging the chair like only a maniac ceiling fan could. This ceiling fan is deranged! The chair is now rotating wildly in the living room, until it breaks free and…

*Crash*

…a moment of silence…

*Bigger Crash*

The Wife rushes into the living room. She looks up to the ceiling fan, which has come dislodged from the ceiling, and is hanging by a thin wire. Still stuck to it is the broom. The lightsabre is lodged into the sofa, and one of the chair’s legs is lodged into the TV, who’s LCD panel has cracked.

The Wife gives me The Look™

Me: “Good news! We’re going to get a new TV!”

What happened in the next few minutes has been censored in the interest of my own safety. Plus, I had to look up some of the words that were used subsequently, since it was the first time I’d heard of them. There was also some multi-lingual name calling that I had to look up in two separate dictionaries.

Anywho, that’s the story of how I got a brand new flat-screen TV.

Also, we don’t clean ceiling fans anymore.

The Wife: “Do you want to clean the ceiling fans?”
Me: “Not one bit”

And I returned my nose back into the adventures of Asterix, just as he was about to thrash up Julius Ceaser’s bodyguards. The comic book was suddenly snatched from my hands.

The Wife: “Let me rephrase… I need you to clean the ceiling fan.”
Me: “But… What for?”
The Wife: “My parents are coming over for dinner. We need the house to be spic and span”
Me: “Don’t worry, they’re never going to look up. It doesn’t matter how dirty the ceiling fan is”
The Wife: “Please… That’s not true”
Me: “Nobody looks at the ceiling. Unless you make them choke on the food. Hehehehe”
The Wife: <She gives me The Look™>
Me: “Err… OK, quick, without looking up. What color is the ceiling?”
The Wife: “Hmm…. White?”

Truthfully, I’ve never noticed the color of the walls, let alone of the ceiling. But wait… She’s staring straight at me as well. She doesn’t know the color of the ceiling either. I’m scared to look up, because I don’t want to be the idiot that doesn’t know what color our house is. But neither does she. Oh dear, this has turned into a staring contest. We’re looking straight at each other. She’s not even blinking! Oh my God! She’s going to look up at the ceiling as soon as I blink. I can’t let her have that. I continue to stare harder.

She’s now giving me the “I’ll-kill-you-if-you’re-wrong look”.
I counter with a “There’s-still-a-small-possibility-I-might-be-right look”.
She turns it into a “You’re-going-to-pay-for-this-dearly look”
I meekly offer a “Maybe-we-can-come-to-some-sort-of-agreement-? look”

The contest comes to a premature end with my intellectual surrender, and we both look up at the ceiling. Damn it. It’s white.

The Wife: “Right. Get up on that chair and clean the fan”

Sun Tzu, the author of the great treatise on marital arguments called “The Art of War”, offers some helpful advice in this scenario: “When cornered by the Tiger, act like a Penguin.” I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I think it means you slime away like a penguin when asked to do any work. Therefore, it’s time to go into backup plan.

Me: “Why don’t we just turn on the fan? That way, no one can see the dirt.”
The Wife: “What?”
Me: “See… When the fan is rotating, you can’t really see the dirt on it – It’s all blurred!”
The Wife: “That’s not the solution”
Me: “But its ONE solution. One that works too”
The Wife: “But the dirt will still be there…”
Me: “…and no one will be able to see it. Problem solved, right?”
The Wife: “Yes, but the dirt will still be there.”
Me: “Don’t worry, it’ll be our little secret. Literally our Dirty Little Secret. Wink-Wink. Hahaha…”

Oh dear. There’s that look again. That tingling feeling of impending doom crosses me. But this is not the time to give into tingliness. Sun Tzu and I are going to fight this out, fight it out to the end. The damn ceiling fan is not going to outwit me. I mean, what does it say about me if I let a stupid fan – all it does all day is go round-and-round – defeat me. Surrender is not an option.

I am going to win this one.

[Update - Part 2 is here]

I don’t need to give you examples of how this works, I’m sure everyone of you has experienced it firsthand. But I’m going to complain about it anyway.

I remember the first time I was supposed to buy The Wife™ a gift. I can’t remember the occasion (it doesn’t matter anyway), but I was counselled to buy something that “shows how sensitive I am while simultaneously flattering her“.

I mean, what does that even mean?

Anyway, since it was my first time, I decided to give it a shot, and bought a nice looking dress. After I gave it to her, she made this “Oh, you dear, cute little fool” face, advising me that while she thought it was a cute gesture on my part to make an attempt to buy a gift, she couldn’t use it, since she “doesn’t wear pink, except when it is accompanied by purple, but only in a skirt”.

And then, she said something that has bothered me no end. It is that one phrase that simultaneously adds 7 layers of mystery to the whole process of gift buying, clouding the thought process more than my college professors’ explanation of Eisenstein’s theories.

“But it is the thought that counts!”

I’ve pondered for days over what that sentence could mean in the context of buying gifts, but it is hopeless. I’m sure even if the enlightened Buddha himself were to appear today and contemplate that sentence, he would be stumped.

But I decided to have a go anyway, since the alternative was a second humiliation. So, the next time an occasion that demanded a gift be bought rolled by, I decided to go “with the thought that counts”, and thought about buying a present.

Without actually buying it.

I mean, that’s the right way to do it, right? Right? RIGHT?

Worst. Decision. Ever.

The Wife™ was convinced that this was another one of my stunts to get out from doing some real work and buying a present, and she barraged me with accusations of being lazy, even managed to accuse my thought-only gift of being “thoughtless”.

At this point, most people will give up and fall into the routine of buying gold or platinum jewelery as the safest bet, but not a brave soul like me. I decided that I should give this one last go.

And so, the next time, when the gift-giving occasion came around, I was ready.

Me: “I have the best gift ever this time.”
Wife: “Really?”
Me: “Yup, it is the most thoughtful gift ever!”
Wife: “This better not be another of your scams”
Me: “Nopes, it is for real this time!”
Wife: “Well, lets see it!”
Me: “Aaha! See, my gift this time is so thoughtful, that not only did I think about it, but unlike last time, I have something to show for it, although you can’t physically see it!”
Wife: “…”
Me: “Here’s my gift: I thought about it, and I’ve decided to give you a Nickname!”
Wife: “Excuse me?”
Me: “That’s right! I’ve thought of a great nickname for you. Most Thought Full Gift Ever – Full of thought.”
Wife: “Nickname?”
Me: “Yup, and your nickname is … are you ready for it? … ‘BUBBLES!’ ”
Wife: “Bubbles? What does that mean?”
Me: “You know, bubbles… Like a real estate bubble, stock market bubble etc… Don’t you love it?”
Wife: “…”

Oh Yeah! You know your gift is the most wonderful ever, when it leaves the receiver totally stumped! I’d finally succeeded! Take that, evil empire of gift making corporations! Who’s laughing now?

Vases are lame…

But this store is nuts! They have 4 floors of random stuff that you can buy for your house. Most houses are 3, maybe 4 bedrooms at max, and I can’t imagine why you would want a 4-story 10,000 sq-feet shop dedicated to filling up your 1,500 sq-feet house. It doesn’t make any sense. There are rows after rows of vases, and I could have sworn that half of them looked like they were shipped straight from 5th century BC Indus valley – All broken and with worn off paint. But apparently all that is very fashionable these days.

Anyway, so we’re browsing the vast collection of crap in the store, and the wife is having trouble deciding what an appropriate gift should be.

Me: “How about this vase?”
Wife: “Too tacky.”
Me: “How about this steel-rod-thingy?”
Wife: “Too loud!”
Me: “How about this painting then?”
Wife: “Too wannabe”
… and so on …

After about half and hour of this, it was clear that the wife was not making any progress, in any direction. She was getting visibly agitated, and in a moment of weakness, she made a fatal mistake:

Wife: “What do you think we should get them?”

Aahaaa!!! She needs my opinion! Now is my chance to shine and prove my worth as an able gift-getter. All I needed was to come up with an idea that was thoughtful, useful, unique and would be fondly remembered.

Me: “I think we should get them a dustbin.”

History is witness to the many occasions where great, inspired ideas have been scoffed at and have been lost in the mists of time, simply because the elite intellectuals could not bring themselves to admit that an outsider had broken their code and had come up with an original idea that triumphed everything they knew. Here was an ordinary mortal, who, in a moment of divine inspiration, had come up with a deep insight, but the rest of the world was, unfortunately, not ready for his brilliance.

There was a stunned silence. The wife was giving me The Look^©. A few shoppers around us also overheard and gave me some dirty looks.

Me: “What? Its a great idea!”
Wife: “You want to get a newly married couple a dustbin?”
Me: “Yes! It’s a brilliant idea. Think about it. They have a new house, so they can always use more dustbins. No one else would have given them such a useful gift, so they’ll remember it. Plus, it shows that we really thoughtful in selecting a gift for them”
Wife: “You’re crazy. What does a gift like a dustbin say?”
Me: “It says: ‘Look, Life is full of crap. Marriage, even more so. You’ll need a place to dump all your crushed dreams and forgotten ambitions. So, the next time you’re throwing away crap, use this dust bin and think of us and how we’ve helped bring order to your otherwise chaotic life!’. I think its very original!”

…Dustbins are cool!

Even after making such a powerful and convincing argument for my original gift idea, the wife was not convinced. But since she couldn’t think of anything else to buy, and since we were almost out of time, she HAD to give in and we finally bought the dustbin.

I carried the dustbin over to the checkout counter, but the wife was walking 5 steps behind me. I wonder why. Anyway, I paid for it, and took it over to the gift-wrapping counter. “Gift wrap this, please. Use a fancy gift-paper”, I said, and collected my gift-wrapped dustbin from a sales girl who had a puzzled look on her face. She clearly didn’t see this as the defining moment in mankind’s gift-giving history that it was.

As we drove down to the restaurant where we were supposed to meet the newly-weds, I was very confident they would like it. After all, it was such a thoughtful, useful, unique and memorable gift. Who wouldn’t like it?

Legend has it that Jon Nash invented Game Theory to figure out the best strategy that can be used to pick up girls in a bar. This eventually led to the Nobel Prize in Economics (and he also got the girl, By the way), but I figure that game theory can be used for much more practical applications: Getting out of household chores. Take that, Jon Nash.

So I’d managed to convince The Wife to try out the auction method to allocate household chores. After much cajoling, she’d finally agreed, and we were going to have a “trial run” with 4 household chores. We were ready to start the auction, and I was ready with my strategy!

<WARNING: MATH CONTENT!>
The auction was designed as a combinatorial, no-reserve auction. In game theory terms, this was a 2-person zero-sum game, and my strategy was to bid up one item to 3T/4 (where T is total money available), so that I could buy the rest of the items, since x < 3T/4, and I could win the rest.
</WARNING>

So the auction starts in earnest. The wife notices that I’ve started to bid a bit heavily on the ‘I Will Not Make The Bed’ chore. She starts to get a little suspicious, and she bids on that item too. Rs. 200. I bid Rs. 300. She really wants to teach me a lesson, I think, because she ups the bidding on the item, and bids Rs. 350. The image of me getting up all sleepy headed in the morning and struggling to make the bed day after day comes to my mind. I start to feel a bit nervous. I bid Rs. 400.

The wife gives me a stare. Ah, she’s trying to psych me. But I’m not going to fall for her mind games. I want to stare right back, but I don’t really have the guts to do it, so I stare at the ceiling fan instead.

She bids Rs. 450 on it. This is my chance!

I suddenly switch strategy and start to bid on the other items. Since she has so much of her fake money tied up on the “I Will Not Make The Bed” item, I outbid her on every of the other items. She doesn’t seem to be too worried about this, (probably because she does all these chores anyway, and the prospect of making me make the bed every morning is pleasing her no end).

Wife: “So I guess that’s it. All the chores have been sold, and looks like you have to make the bed! You can start right away!”

Hah! The auction may be over, but the game is not. Like the undead cursed thing from the movie The Mummy said, “The End is only The Beginning“.

Me: “Actually, I would like to apply for a loan from the HCB.”
Wife: “HCB?”
Me: “Yes, the HouseHold Central Bank. I’m going to use all the items that I won as collateral, and borrow Rs. 500 from the bank.”
Wife: “Wait… How did the HCB get the money to lend to you?”
Me: “Oh, all the proceeds of the auction go to the HCB…”
Wife: “Wait a minute… How can you…”

Before she can protest, I interrupt her.

Me: “So, I’m going to use this Rs. 500 and buy the “I Will Not Make The Bed” chore as well.”
Wife: “Hey, wait a minute. I won that!”
Me: “But I’m buying it for a higher price than you paid, so it’s fair.”
Wife: “In that case, I am also going to apply for a loan too!”
Me: “Unfortunately, you don’t have any collateral to apply for loan, since you don’t own any chores now. But if you want to put your remaining money in a HCB fixed deposit, you can earn an annual interest rate of 9%, so you can try again next year”

The Wife is giving me The Look.

Wife: “So lets summarize. Your bank took all the money from me, I didn’t win ANY chores in the auction, and not only did you win everything, you will also not do any chores around the house. Correct?”

Me: “That is correct. See? By following the rules of the free market and the banking system, you can see that everyone benefits tremendously.”

Apparently, I was profoundly mistaken. What happened next was rather unconventional, but I was forced to accept it as “fair” under some severe threats of being homeless. The Wife proceeded to appoint herself as the Director of the Household Central Bank, and made some questionable “investment decisions” to “lend” ALL the chores to herself.

So here I am, cleaning the dining table, yet again. Not only that, I also have to make the bed from now on. Arrrrghhh! I am now preparing a petition to the Director of the Household Central Bank to waive off loans held by some poor subjects.

A conversation that starts like this is rarely going to end agreeably, and at some level, I already knew that. But my consciousness thought it could squirm out of this one too, just as it had done for the last 25 years of its existence.

Regular readers of this blog will remember my brilliant strategies to avoid cutting tomatoes that has worked with reasonable success. Being lazy and avoiding work is a high risk strategy, because you may end up doing more work that you’re trying to avoid (I’ve discovered this through my extensive experience in this area), it is the morally right thing to do. As the great Socrates once said:

He who strives to be lazy,
Will live life nice and cozy.
Doing do work, that’s just crazy,
That’s the secret of life my dear rosy!

Translation: “Lazy == Good”.

I decided to take the path shown by enlightened souls like Socrates and Deve Gowda, and was ready to stand firm by the principles I believed in.

“No more excuses. From tomorrow, cleaning the dining table after dinner is your work.” the wife said.

This is one of the great injustices of life that nobody focuses on. A dining table takes costs a fortune to buy, not to mention the several years of visiting furniture shops. After doing all that for the dining table, you’d think the wretched thing would be grateful to you, but NOOoooooo! You have to clean that damned thing. What injustice! The media should be focusing on these real issues – issues that matter – instead of just going about hyping irrelevant things like Global Warming.

Anyway, I was in a no-win situation. I simply looked the other way and said “hmmmmmm……”

“You’re also going to make the bed from tomorrow”.
“I protest!” I say feebly, without any conviction in my voice whatsoever.
“That’s fine. You can protest all you want. But just get the work done.”
“I don’t want to make the bed. I don’t like to do that.” I said, trying to make a squeaky voice to gain her sympathy. I’m going to try and push my luck to see if something comes out of this conversation that is certainly heading towards a showdown.
“Well, that’s too bad.” The wife says, not biting my sympathy maneuver.
“OK, I’ll trade that with you. You make the bed and I’ll do some of your work.” Brilliant! I had found an opening, a way to wiggle out of this!
“What work of mine can you possibly want to do?” the wife says, in a deeply cynical voice.
“I’ll clean the table after dinner today.”, I say. Getting close… one more strike and…
“But I’ve already cleaned the table!” she says, exasperated.
“And whose fault is that?” I say, triumphantly.  SCORE!!!!

For the casual observer, it may seem obvious that this argument had gone in my favour. I could have almost said “Hence Proved!”, and the force of logic and reason was with me. But logic and reason don’t count in situations like this, apparently. The wife then proceeded to PROVE to me, in her own special way, that I was going to do both chores in the house for the next month.

This battle had been lost, but the war has just begun. I started to hatch my next brilliant scheme…

None come to mind. She’s still humming, and asks me if I want any coffee. Oh my God! Something is definitely up. Did I promise her something? Why is she so happy with me? What have I done right? I’m trying to search all recent memory in my brain, but still nothing. Did I promise to watch a movie with her this weekend? Noo… I certainly wouldn’t do that! Aaaarrrghhhh! The suspense is killing me. I decide to try to “fish out” the information from her.

Me: “So……”
She looks up and looks at me, smiling.

Me: “Life’s all good?”
Wife: “Yes, yes! Very good! We’ve come a long way, eh?”

Long way? From where? Her office is only 5 minutes away.

Me: “Well, if you take into account the traffic and the buffaloes, the office does seem far away!”
Wife: “Hahaha!… You’re funny… That’s not what I meant, silly!”

She Laughed at my Joke!?!?! Something is not right! I’m starting to sweat now!

Me: (laughing nervously): “Heh heh! Yeah… So… where have we come?”

Wife: “Soon, its going to be a year! One year! It seems like yesterday when…”

What is she talking about? Just as I’m pondering over what the hell happened a year ago, the epic light of dawnling realization shines on me. Oh, crap! She means our wedding anniversary! How could I forget!

I have a tragic flaw in that when I’m thinking, my face becomes twisted in a weird way, and my neck buckles to make my face look slightly upwards, as if looking into the sky. Its a dead giveway that I’m in a conference call with my brain. The wife has learnt to pick this up, and has probably realised that I’ve forgotten our anniversary.

Wife: “You do remember, its our Anniversary this week, right?”
Me: “Of course, yes yes…. I remember! It’s our Anniversary on the….”

Is it the 5th or the 6th? Oh, gosh! My mind has blanked out. I think it was the fifth! No, but I was on leave since the 1st, which was one week before the wedding, so the wedding must have been on the 6th. But I remember the wedding hall was booked from the 5th. Oh man! Oh man! I have to say something soon…My brain instructs my vocal chords to say fifth!

Me: “on the fiiiiiiiiffffffff…..”

The wife raises one eyebrow. Oh, no! fifth is the wrong answer! Damage Control! Emergency Emergency! Abort instruction! Override!

Me: “fiiiffffff….a.aaaa.aaaaaachchooooooooo! AAaaahh! Excuse me!”
Wife is giving me The Look.

Me: “Anniversary is on the sixth!”

Wife: “Well, at least you remembered! I hope you’ve got me a thoughtful gift too!”

Whew! That was a close one. If I’d gotten the date of the anniversary wrong, that too on our very first anniversary, I’d be made to remember it for the rest of my life. Lucky escape! But wait! What’s the thing about the thoughtful gift?!? No matter… Disaster avoided for now…

Me: “Oh yeah yeah! I’ve bought a thoughtful gift! Its so thoughtful, so thoughtful that it’ll leave you thinking! Haha!”
Wife: “Well, that’s good! I’m so looking forward to the sixth!”
Me: “Oh yeah, me too! I’ll bet my thoughtful gift kicks your thoughtful gift’s ass. You’ve got serious competition lady! You’d better come up with some spectacular gift for me to match my super-duper-ultra-thoughtful gift!”

Regular readers will immediately recognize that this is my super-inflated ego speaking. I had absolutely no idea of ANY gift, leave alone a thoughtful one, but that hadn’t stopped my big ego from making unsubstantiated claims. This was going to get me intro trouble!

Now, where am I going to find a thoughtful gift!?!?!

To Be Continued…

At number 5, we have: “There’s nothing on TV today. *yaaawwwwn*”
What it really means: “I’m really really bored, so stop writing your stupid blog and take me out to dinner tonight. You married me, not the blog, damnit!”
This one was pretty obvious for me to figure out because if you didn’t get it the first time, progressively agressive statements get made until the last step, which is to get hit by a thick book in the head.

Number 4: “Hi Sweetie…. How was your day?”
What it really means: “I got us tickets to the latest movie for Friday Night. If you try to resist or make up an excuse, you won’t get breakfast for a week.”
I had to learn this the hard way, after my several attempts at avoiding the inevitable friday night movies. I’ve come to realize that breakfast is much more valuable than spending 3 hours sleeping in the theatre.

At number 3:  “How does this dress look on me?”
What it really means: God only knows.

Heck, I think even He won’t know how to answer this question. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is not really a question, but more the signal of an impending storm. Kinda like if you see a shark swimming towards you. It’s too late to do anything about it.
And at Number 2: “Do you have a minute? Can you come here please?”
What it really means: “Cut these tomatoes.”
The first few times I was called like this, I rushed expectedly, hoping it would be some new gift. But like Pavolv’s dogs who figured out what the ringing bell really meant, I have come to figure out what that invitation really means, and try to avoid it as much as possible.

And finally, we have The Top Wifese Statement And What It Really Means:
Number 1: “We’ll Talk about it later!”
What it really means: “We will stop discussing this issue now, and I will wait till you forget about it, and when the actual time comes I will convince you that we had talked about it earlier, and you had agreed to go with what I want to do.”
I totally didn’t get what this really meant for a long time. I always thought that the matter will duly come up for discussion later and promptly forgot about it. I began to get suspicious when I “discovered” that I had agreed to buy the wife 7 pairs of shoes, a sofa, a dining table and had also “volunteered” to vacuum the house twice a week.

So the other day the wife emphatically announced that we were going to watch the movie “Tare Zameen Par”. The wife had already watched it once, but I was (un)lucky enough to have missed it, and so the wife wanted to show the movie to me. I didn’t register any protest, and quietly went along. This somewhat pleased the wife, but that was a part of my plan.

The appointed day came, and we went to the theatre and found our seats. Just as the movie was starting, I asked her

Me: “So, what movie are we watching?”
Wife: “??? Tare Zameen Par. I already told you.”
Me: “What is it about? Is it a sci-fi thriller about how to create nuclear-fusion-based stars in earth laboratories?”
Wife: “No… No… It’s a sensitive story about special children.”
Me: “What’s special about the children? Do they have super-powers? Man… I wish I had some super-powers when I was a kid. I could have used them against the princy…”
Wife: “Shhhh… Keep quite and watch.”

The movie starts and jumps into the subject right away, where they show how a small kid is having trouble at school. The director has made a huge fuss about how the kid doesn’t get anything happening in school, and I don’t understand this. Aren’t most kids like that? They don’t understand just what the hell is happening in school, they just pretend to do what the teacher tells them to do, all the while really worrying about why The Undertaker didn’t open the “Casket Of The Dark Side” on the WWF show last night. At least that’s how I was when I was a kid.

Anyway, the wife is totally engrossed in the movie, and is paying full attention. I make my next move.

Me: “When is the car chase?”
Wife: “What?!?”
Me: “You know, where the bad guy drives a fast car through the streets like a F1 driver on steroids and the good guy chases after him?”
Wife: “This is not that kind of movie!”
Me: “WHAT?!!? No car chase? What kind of boring movie has no car chase?!?”
Wife: “Keep quite and watch…”

My plan seems to be taking effect. Not only is the wife getting irritated, but so is the crowd around us. Several more minutes go by where the director makes even more fuss about the kid’s supposed dyslexia. And then finally, Aamir Khan makes an entrance. Now the movie moves to the part where Aamir Khan is helping the kid.

Me: “I think Aamir Khan is an alien.”
Wife: “What?!?”
Me: “He’s an alien in the movie. He’s brainwashing the kids so that they don’t resist when the Alien Clone army invades the planet. Aamir Khan is their leader.”
Wife: “Sshh….”
Me: “That’s why the movie is called Tare Zameen Par. The Aliens from the Stars will come to the Zameen and invade the planet. You just watch… I’ll bet in the next scene Aamir Khan takes off his mask to reveal the alien inside.”

At this point and old-ish looking lady sitting in the front row turns back and gives me a stare. Just as she’s trying to say something, I interrupt her…

Me (Looking at the lady in front): “Besides, I don’t know why the kid just doesn’t kick the princy’s ass? I mean, come on.”
The Wife is mortified, and tries to elbow me to keep quite.
Me: (undettered): “Ha! If it was Rambo, he’d have killed them all with a pocket knife and taken the President hostage by now. This is a lame movie. It’s been 3 hours and no one’s gotten killed! I mean, COME ON!!!”

By now, everyone around is looking at us. The wife is horrified, and profusely apologizes to the crowd around us and gives me a cold stare that could have frozen The Terminator. Fortunately, the movie soon ends. I think the wife is having second thoughts about taking me to movies again. My plan might have just worked!!!

By the way, did you know that you can fill your stomach by eating just bananas for dinner and breakfast the next day? I made this monumental discovery after going home that day.

Settling in a new apartment is a very complicated process. There is so much to do and so much to buy. One of the things we’ve been looking to buying is a Dining Table. I
But I can already hear all you skeptics say “How hard can that be?”

That’s exactly what I said when the wife told me that we needed to buy a new Dining Table. I used to think that buying a Dining Table would be as simple as:

Step 1. Go to shop
Step 2. Tell shopkeeper “I want to buy one Dining Table. How much?”
Step 3. Take Dining Table home and eat (Eat on the table, not the table itself)

Oh, but no! It turns out buying dining tables is much much more complicated than that! Firstly, I was shocked to find out that there are different types of dining tables – Wood, Wrought Iron, Metallic and what not. Then there are more permutations with Wood top, Glass Top, Granite top and some 45,356 other different types of tops. That leads to billions of combinations that no possible human can comprehend, for some definition of “human”. Secondly, Dining Tables, I’m told, have attributes that I’d never had guessed an inanimate piece of furniture can posses – Dining Tables can be short, tall, square, polished, high-back, elegant and curvy. I could confuse Dining Tables with hindi-movie heroines with that list of attributes.

The wife has very good aesthetic sense, she knows what looks good and what doesn’t, but I only like to see the end result of it. Being a part of the selection process is quite a torture.

At the furniture store:

Wife: “Do you have one with a glass top?”
Salesman (showing us Dining Table #1): “…Yes! This table here has a glass-top…”
Wife: “Do you have one with a metallic frame?”
Salesman (showing us Dining Table #2): “Of Course… This table here has a beautiful metallic frame…”
Wife: “Do you have this in Black?”
Salesman (showing us Dining Table #3): “Certainly… This table has a black frame…”
Wife: “Do you have one with a glass top?”
Salesman takes us back to Dining Table #1.

And round and round we go. When this happens in a computer program, it’s called an infinite loop and the program crashes. When it happens in a furniture store, it’s called “looking at the variety available”. After several hours of this round-and-round, the wife has finally selected one that she likes.

Wife: “I like this one. What do you think?”
Me: “It is spectacular! A work of art! Michelangelo would be put to shame. Can we buy it and get out of here?”
Salesman: “It’s only Rs. 54,514/- after 25% discount!”
Wife: “WHAT? That’s too expensive. No Way!”

And so we leave the place and go to another store, where the entire process repeats, right from step 1. After literally several days of table-hunting, the only thing I’d gained was respect for Dining Table salesmen. Truly enlightened souls. It seemed to me that buying a Dining Table is a bit like crossing a desert with no food or water. You have to perspire all day, and chase what only turn out to be mirages, living solely on the hope that one day the true Dining Table will show up just beyond the horizon and the journey will be over. The Wife, however, thinks that finding a good Dining Table is like finding a soul-mate. There is that one special Dining Table made for each person somewhere on this earth. You just have to find it, that’s all. I find it a little disturbing that she’s taking more time to choose the right Dining Table than she took to say yes to me. But such is life.

But my luck turned good finally, when all the zillions of parameters of one particular Dining Table matched the Wife’s expectations. I breathed a sigh of relief when we finally bought it. It was over at long last!

Wife: “We finally got the Dining Table”
Me: “Finally!”
Wife: “Good. Next on the list is a Sofa!”
Me: ” …. ” <collapses on the floor>