Kishore Singh: My home's now an office

PEOPLE LIKE US

Because my wife runs her business from home, and because of its predominantly female bias, and because she is fond of (somewhat morbidly, I think) quoting that "buyers and death can come at any time", it is a given that the dining table is now a permanent display space for her wares, that I can consider myself lucky if I can manage to eat at odd hours straight from the kitchen counter, that my bedroom is no longer a refuge, that everything from cupboards to sofas has been co-opted, and that we must adjust our lives to the moods and timings of her clients.

And because the clients think a home is just that, some place they can access 24x7, we are hard pressed into being hospitable at all times. Mary, the cook's skills at making filter coffee are now widely known (our coffee bill is something astronomical), and people who come to sniff around for a bargain think nothing of sitting around for a gossip long after their sell-by date is over.

I have been surprised out of my own bedroom by an aggressive lady demanding I put down the Dick Francis I'm reading and disappear, she must have some privacy. Others insist that the dog be leashed because they're scared of canines. They eat whatever is offered to them "" cakes and cookies, crackers and cream, kebabs and assorted snacks. They like their tea green/black/with a spot of milk, with/without sugar, and can someone turn off that godawful music! They preen and laugh and indulge themselves, and then instead of packing up and going home, they call other friends over.

You'd think in all of this, my wife would at least be sympathetic to our plight. But she only grumbles that there isn't enough space, do I really need a whole shelf in the wardrobe for my meagre outfits, and can't I go on tour like other husbands so she isn't pressurised by my presence at all times. When my son comes vacationing from his college in Pune, she sighs theatrically about having to empty some cupboard she has consigned to herself, and then tells him to live out of a suitcase anyway. She can't wait for our daughter to take admission in college too in any place so long as it isn't Delhi.

And this despite our having to put up with demands far exceeding even friendly hospitality. Such as a client coming home after nine at night and agreeing to a drink, "but I only drink Blue Label." When I demur that it is not what I keep in my bar, he says he'll settle for Johnnie Walker Black, wiping out my stock while he haggles over prices with my wife.

Or the time a neighbour brings home some friends, people we have never met before or since, and they all settle down for a hearty boozing session that stretches across four hours till, finally, past midnight, Mary serves them dinner, which they promptly throw up. Even worse, the next day, having had a fight among themselves, they decide to return everything they had bought the evening before. That morning, I suspect my wife too had something resembling a hangover!

Women of all hues titter in the living room, and no matter how late I come home from work, they will likely be there. And they're there before I leave for office, already planning how best to spend their (or their husband's) money before it's made. They switch channels on television in between, speak for hours on their mobiles, run their homes long-distance, permanently "borrow" my books, then leave (finally!), laughing, "We'll be back so soon, don't bother closing the door."