The entrepreneur's husband

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Now that my wife is on her way to becoming a business tycoon, she says she can only spend quality time with the family, and it's up to me to pull up my socks and contribute my bit for its greater common good.

"Right," I said, "and what will that entail?" "No more grumbling about the food," she said, "or the housekeeping. We working women can't be in two places at one time."

"Er," I pointed out, "it's usually you who's complaining while I supervise the housework."

"There you go again," she said, "you have to stop being negative and think of the long-term gains of my employment. Now what was it you are supposed to do today?"

I looked up my roster of duties.

"I'm to book your ticket to Jaipur for day-after tomorrow, pick up snacks for your clients' tea party from the Habitat, keep the children out of sight when they're at home, make sure the tea-coffee is served piping hot, attend to your calls and fix appointments with only those who appear to be serious callers, not let on that you work from home, make deliveries at Green Park and Vasant Vihar, collect fresh visiting cards from the printer, deposit cash in your bank before it closes for the day, order packing material from the paper supplier in Chawri Bazaar and deduct the entire amount we paid him the previous time because the supplies were of poor quality."

"I do hope," said my wife, "I won't keep you from your work, not that you do much anyway. In fact, if it wasn't for me, I don't know how you'd spend your time."

"There is one little thing," I said, "our daughter has to dress in a red and white saree for a dance competition in school, while you'll be away to Jaipur. Could you help arrange that before you leave?"

"Don't you see I've no time for frivolous activities," snapped my wife, "just attend to it and see that I am not disturbed."

"But do you have a red and white saree?" I persisted in knowing. "Check in my cupboard," she said with a wave of her hand, "or look in the suitcases in the loft, or in the storage in the box beds." "What if you don't have a saree like that?" I wanted to know.

"Beg from the neighbours darling," said my wife, "or go buy one. But don't bother me, you know how time is precious for us entrepreneurs."

My wife's friend Bindu didn't have a saree that matched the description, nor did Mona, though Sarla, dependable as always, did.

Even so, I had to go to the market to shop for flowers for my daughter to wear in her hair, and stage make-up, and sundry other things that were all part of her elaborate ensemble.

I also had to send her to Sarla's house to help her tie the saree, while we took it in turns daubing paint on her face, till it was time to rush to school.

My wife called from Jaipur. "Did you take a picture of her after she was dressed up?" she wanted to know.

"There was no time," I explained, "least of all for taking pictures. We barely made it to the school in time."

"After all the sacrifices I make," sighed my wife, "I would expect some little return from my family, but I suppose not everyone can be selfless. And while we're on the subject," she continued, "there's one thing I'd like to point out. I've been noticing of late that your housekeeping is getting a little tardy, and as for the meals, can you tell the cook to perk up the menus, they're as boring as you guys at home."