WHEN my wife asked me if I could hold the fort for a week as she was going out of town, I agreed without batting an eyelid. Indeed, it seemed like a godsend as I was yearning for a short break after weeks of frenetic work. And frankly, my idea of a break was not sunbathing in Dubai or meditating in the Himalayas. I simply wanted to hang loose and recharge my batteries.
And what better place than home sweet home! After all, I’d be home alone after my daughter left for school. I dreamt of lazy mornings, couched for hours in front of the TV, listening to old music, cyber surfing, relishing fresh home-made meals, afternoon naps and what have you.
“Dada, it is seven,” my daughter’s voice shook me out of my reverie on Monday, the first morning when I had to take temporary charge of the ‘home ministry’. I tumbled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen, literally acting out the opening lines of Dolly Parton’s song ‘9 to 5’.
I made breakfast, packed my kid’s lunchbox, kissed her goodbye and jumped right back into bed. Within minutes, the doorbell rang. “Sir, any dry waste?” the woman muttered. I almost dried up and told her to come later, and returned robot-like to the bedroom.
I barely assumed my preferred sleeping posture when there was a double knock on the door. It was our domestic help. She never rings the doorbell for reasons best known to her. It was time to be up and about. Post-breakfast, I was comfortably ensconced on the sofa reading the newspaper when the phone rang.
Having no patience for a saleswoman’s sweet talk on loans, I hung up and read the headlines. The TV beckoned and there I was merrily switching channels every five minutes until the screen went blank. “Sir, there’s no ‘current’,” our house help timidly complained. This meant that the mixer-grinder couldn’t run, so my fish curry would have to wait. “I can fry fish and make rasam,” she thoughtfully suggested and walked away, taking my smile as approval.
Feeling powerless, I turned to the daily crossword, giving up on checking emails and surfing the Net.
After lunch, my nap vanished into thin air as I played good Samaritan to help a neighbour stuck in the elevator. Then, a courier arrived, followed by my daughter back from school. Later, it was the UPS maintenance man and then the dhobi with a bundle of clothes.
Post-tea, I turned on the music to soothe my nerves when my daughter pleaded, “I need gel pens.” That was no music to my ears but I relented and we headed out as dusk descended upon us. When we returned, there was still no electricity.
Before turning in at night, I braced myself for another unpredictable day. And I firmly resolved that I must think twice before accepting the charge of the burdensome ‘home ministry’.
The writer is a teacher based in Bengaluru
