Sleeping With The Enemy

Pandemonium struck last night. My wife finally figured out what was keeping me busy through the nights. When I got back from work last evening, my house was full of guests; my dad & mum, my FIL & MIL, my wife's BIL & Sis with Mintu and Pongy, my BIL & Sis with AK and my wife's brother. I was dumbstruck to see my entire immediate family at home, sitting grimly, like something bad had occurred.

Everyone including M & P had these piercing eyes, which suggested, our goldfish must have finally died. They were due this summer. Before, I could ask what happened, my wife brought out a huge bunch of printed material and dumped it into my arms. On close inspection, I realised, the contents belonged to me. It was my blog. My initial reaction was WOW!, Have I written so much material?

My wife, after finding the blog, had invited everyone involved, except my wife's brother's wife who was still unable to move. Everyone around me were holding a violent object for aesthetic value. I wanted to run across the living room to my mother, grab the cleaver from her arms and commit Seppuku.

The silence of the gathering was broken by my father. He was holding a Woomera while my FIL was holding a Atlatl. My father's first question was, Are you frustrated? Problems with teenie-wienie? Psychological problems? etc. After reeling out all the problems he had, he finally ended his harangue with, I am ashamed of you. At this point, it appeared, everyone was ashamed of me, including pornstar Pongy.

After a never-ending discussion and explanations, everyone decided that I was to live in my dad's dog-house for a week. Quarantine.

At no point during the entire conversation did my wife show any signs of sympathy. I picked some work clothes, night suits & my computer and drove to my folk's place. I couldn't obviously eat dinner.

While I sat down in solitude, I imagined, the only way of redeeming myself was to write about my own family. The first person I could think of was my dad.

• My dad is a stickler for time. I recall, some years ago, he was hopping mad at us for being late to a funeral. He said, What if we were late for it? He is the sort of person who will leave four hours before a flight, risk-managing contingencies such as tornadoes, floods and three flat-tyres.
• He is absolutely impatient. Doctors have warned him against watching Test Cricket.
• He is a road kill. Two things he always does when he is driving; one hand always on the horn and one leg always on the accelerator. He never looks at the road ahead because he is very busy, screaming at senseless drivers.
• He is absolutely health-conscious. He believes fast-food is the Hand Of Satan. We walked out of McDonald's once because they didn't serve steamed Idlis.
• He hates pets. I suspect he let the cat out of the bag onto the goldfish.
• Apparently, when you go to The Holy City Of Varanasi, you are expected to sacrifice something dear to you. After repeated attempts to lose my mum unsuccesfully, he gave up reading. The last time, my dad has read anything of significance was 30 years ago.
• He is petrified of injuries. A few years ago when my mum cut her finger with a kitchen knife, he called an anaesthesiologist and a microvascular surgeon.
• He has a personal collection of porn movies, stacked separately with titles & reference codes. It was from this collection, I gained the much needed entry into adult cinema.
• He is a totalitarian, by which, I mean, he is very poor with math.
• Recurring Dream: Avtomat Kalashnikova with infinite bullets, shooting aimlessly at the north-western frontier.
• My dad has a lethal sternutation. My great-grandfather and my dad's grandfather, after many years of smoking cigarettes and philandering died of heart attack. The cause till date is mysterious. The legend says, at the time of his death, my father was with him.
• Many years ago, my dad once told us about his fascination for stilettoes. Apparently, he loved wearing them in private. He loved the sound they made while he sashayed endlessly in his Glockenhose. (bell-bottomed pants)
• My dad has been bald for 24 years now, yet he insists on going to a hairdresser every month religiously.He says, he enjoys leading a normal life like all the other men.
• My dad was apparently a superstar cricketer during his days. He had once invited my mother to watch him bat. Even before he could face a single ball, he was runout. That was the last time my mum ever watched him play any sport.

I intend to send this post to my in-laws. I hope they can all have a chuckle and allow me to live with my wife.

Yours problematically.