<b>Kishore Singh:</b> A holiday I could do without

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My wife was recently in Mumbai, which ideally should not invite comment, but before she left, she laid down a five-point roster of duties to which I was to adhere:

“Don’t let the servants sit idle, else they will get used to it,” she said, so I was to make them shine the silver and wax the furniture and polish the floors, and if they still had time left over, to do it all over again. 
 

I was not to entertain, or be entertained, to watch television, read in the bathroom, or in any other way remain inattentive to my surroundings. “Else you’ll be robbed of your money without your knowing it,” she admonished. 
 

On Saturday I was to supervise the shampooing of the sofas and carpets; on Sunday I was to go grocery shopping; Monday was the day for buying fresh vegetables and fruit; and on Tuesday I was to stock up on meat and fish from a food mall that is two hours’ drive from home. “And don’t forget to buy fresh flowers for the house on the day I return,” she reminded me. 
 

She was leaving behind a little paperwork, she said — could I make sure that I paid her mobile phone bill, cleared the taxiwallah’s account, sent in the cheque for the insurance premium, collected her mother’s pension, sent her consultancy invoices to her office, got her wealth manager to encash her mutual funds, and update her savings account statements. “It will,” she admonished me, “take you less time than you take to drink a cup of tea.” 
 

And I was to organise a series of parties for our daughter’s birthday, for which she was returning in the nick of time. “You’ll need one cake and something warm to drink and perhaps a little bite for her friends who’ll come at midnight to wish her,” she said. “Then her group of friends from school will come in the afternoon, so there’ll have to be lunch, plus another cake, and maybe they’ll want something to drink.” That wasn’t all. “At night, we could have the neighbours and their children, so have a third cake, and drinks, and snacks, and don’t forget the ice, and even though our daughter isn’t so young any more, you might want to bring out the balloons and buntings.”

I promised to do my best, but because the office was hardly likely to cut me slack because my wife was away, or take into consideration that to thwart a spouse is to play Russian roulette, I decided I’d just have to cut into my sleeping time. It was all right for me to wake long before dawn, but I could hardly expect the servants to join me in my extra chores, so while everyone else slept, I did some of their tasks so that they would be free to attend to the children, whom I had to ferry to college (at 8:15) or for their internship (at 9:00) — thankfully, they were agreeable to returning home on their own — before rushing to office so I could finish in time to go shopping in the lunch hour for everything required for the home and the serial parties, which then had to be appropriately stored.

 

In those four days that my wife was away, I cooked and cleaned and washed and stored and supervised and oversaw and drove and shopped and had everything just about ready, though I was keeling over from fatigue, when it was time to go to the airport to pick her up. “You’re looking rested,” said my wife when she was in the car, “but now that I’m back, I plan to put you to some work, so I’m glad you’ve enjoyed your little holiday in my absence.”