“Aakhir tumhara naam kya hai?” said the heroine with innocence in her eyes and profound thankfulness in her voice.
“Wohi jo har ek aurat ke jubaan pe rehta hai!!!! M.A.R.D” said the hero, while the background score which was building up all through the fight sequence reached a crescendo and almost on cue he tore open the top buttons of his shirt to reveal that manly (read hairy) chest on which was his birthmark, etched by the hand of God.
The birthmark read
“MARD” albeit in Devanagri for the subaltern hordes of the country.
I woke up with a start. It was a dream but an adrenaline pumping one. Yess…I was so ready ..so ready for this Monday!!! My hand instinctively reached to the other half of my double bed. Empty. I should have known. She was very particular about her morning jogs. Without letting my enthusiasm dampen I got out of bed and got about getting ready for office. She came in 20 mins later all huffing and puffing after the jog and not to mention a bit sweaty too. I cleared my mind off the fantasies and let the decent thought of
“She looked more beautiful after her morning jog” settle in. She bobbed around in the living room, flinging the day’s newspaper on the center table with a loud
“Good Morning” (the ipod was still blaring in her ears no doubt) and giving my beer belly a playful nudge with a look off
“You should jog too with me in the morning too”!! I smiled it away like always and all was well in this world....until…
We were having parathas for breakfast and I was enjoying them with butter when she said,
“Try the pickle, my mom jus sent it yesterday with Sheela didi”. I was not going to turn it down because the pickle was the only thing after their daughter of course that I liked of the Sharma household (my in-laws). I took the jar and gave the lid a twist. But it wouldn’t budge. I should have given up then and there but for my male ego. I tried harder. She looked from her place at the dining table and said
“Whats taking you so long? Are the Sharma’s too hard for you? Haha”. I bit my lip and tried harder but even then the lid wouldn’t turn. I looked at the watch to show impatience. She got the drift and mocked,
“Ohh honey, don’t you think you have a meeting for which you are running late already!!!”. Making a sad face I picked up the bait,
“ Its Monday today rite? Damn I forgot. Yes, yes I do have a meeting to attend. Will have that pickle later. Bye” I almost ran outside the door.
“Drive carefully”, she said behind me almost suppressing a giggle. This Monday was going to be disastrous.
As I made my way through the traffic to my office I was thinking of that pickle bottle. It was a letdown of the worst kind. The “MARD” dream and this pickle incident were an irony which was just too much for me to handle. Today the lane cutting motorists and the stray cattle on the highway didn’t bother me, I was much pre-occupied in trying to figure a way to redeem my MANHOOD.
The first half of the day in office breezed past and soon it was lunch time. I had forgotten about the pickle jar incident until Mansi opened her lunch box. We were a group of 8 colleagues (now friends) who used to have lunch together and would invariably have fun discussing office gossip and the works. As Mansi took out her lunch I saw there a jar much like the one at home but a lot smaller. Nonetheless it was a pickle jar. Mansi tried to open it but gave up after a few seconds.
“Damn, is it a rule that pickle jars are to be hard open or what?” I was sitting right next to her. Under normal circumstances I would have helped but not today. No, my ego could do without another pickle jar for the day. I looked away pretending to observe something. In the mean time from the corner of my eye I saw Raj picking up the jar and effortlessly open it.
“Here you go!!!!” said Raj.
“Ohh HE-MAN, you did that without even summoning the powers of GREY SKULL. Haha.”, laughed Mansi. Everybody joined in the joke except me.
I had a much bigger problem at hand. I don’t remember what everybody talked about at lunch. I was lost in my own thoughts. For a fleeting moment I thought of inviting the group over for dinner today at home that way we would have enough hands to open the damn pickle jar. But I was quick to bury that thought. It was me myself who had to redeem my MANHOOD.
I hate gyms, don’t ask me why as you will get a Himesh-esque reply,
“Its complicated”. But I needed iron to get me out of my present predicament. Just like the cry of
“Gimme RED” from that old EVERREADY commercial I too needed something. I wrapped up my work early and sneaked out of the office building into the gym. I didn’t want anybody to notice me leaving especially my lunch group lest I became toast of next day’s lunch.
It was a relief to see the gym empty. I usually get a complex on entering the gym, what with those hulks pumping kilos and endless kilos of iron, grunting, sweating and admiring themselves in the mirror after every 5 mins. I warmed up a bit and almost clandestinely did 5 rounds of 5 kgs dumbbells. As I emerged refreshed from the shower I felt energy surging through me though my arms pained a bit. But in Rocky style I commanded myself,
“Pain is good….pain is good” and I was ready to redeem my MANHOOD.
I had left home in the morning like an exile but I entered in the evening like an Emperor. Such was my wishful splendor that I ignored my wife’s
“How was your day?” question and proceed to the pickle jar placed on the second compartment of the shelf. I know my wife was looking in awe as I picked up the jar and held the lid tightly with as expressionless face as possible.
“What are u doing honey?” she asked with concern.
“Don’t worry darling, I have this under control” I said much like Bruce Willis I think.
Then with the might instilled in me by the 5 rounds of the 5kgs dumbbells I had pumped just an hour ago I gave the lid a mighty twist….
The lid flew off without any resistance and struck the wall clock gifted by my in laws when they had first visited our new flat. The glass of the clock face shattered and I looked miserably at her. She was turning red with anger and the emperor in me was fast becoming an exile again.
“What exactly do you think you were doing there? That pickle bottle was already open ohh Hercules!!! Infact you did all the work in the morning itself. I just needed to give it a nudge to open it after you left. I felt sorry that you didn’t get any pickle to taste but now I think you were not worth it in the first place. That clock was gifted by my parents, do you even remember.” , she went on and on I don’t know for how long cos when I looked at the clock closely the flying lid had not only shattered the glass covering but also taken the minute-hand hostage. It just lay there trying to break free from the lid’s clutches, but in vain. My arms were now positively throbbing with pain.
We had a silent dinner and she retired to bed the moment the dinner was done and the dining table was tidied up. It had been 3 hours since I was apologizing but she had not budged. With flopped shoulders and pained armed (now I hated gyms even more) I slid into my half of the bed. I tried to make small talk but was greeted with her silence and her obstinate back. The day had been miserable, I thought and with the efforts taken at the gym I soon drifted into sleep.
I don’t know how long I was sleeping but I was been woken up by my wife’s voice. She had forgiven me, for she was talking to me now. I strained to open my eyes but I was too sleepy. I mumbled too her,
“What is the matter??.” She continued in a soft tone,
“Its been a long time you have been a man you see. 2 days is long gap.hehe” she pinched my back.
“Wake up BE A MAN!!!” she mewed.
BE A MAN was the only thing that registered in my brain and in my sleep I mumbled, “Ok, fine only if you say so. Pass me the pickle jar quickly, will you? I need to catch some sleep too”.
I dreamt the MARD dream that night too :)
