Column

It’s now pretty clear that my wife is really Dilip Kumar. Not Dilip Kumar, the young magician who is highly popular at South Mumbai children parties (although if she was that Dilip Kumar her first clear act would be to make me disappear). But instead, I am referring to Dilip Kumar the legendary thespian and tragedian (author’s note: today neither a thespian nor a tragedian is considered an Olympic sport).

This was proven on a week-end jaunt to Pune, where Dilip (sorry the wife) remained in a soulful frame of mind. In a way, I should be grateful she’s moved on from her earlier avatar of AmitabhBachchan, the angry young wife. That was a far more loud and violent an avatar with no breaks for song and dance.

Coming back to Pune, the wife just wailed about the departure time. Apparently 8 o' clock in the morning was too early a time for travel on a Saturday. Of course, she inquired which idiot would have set so early a time and I dared not remind her that that idiot was actually herself, lest she switch back to the Amitabh Bachchan avatar and started beating me up mercilessly.

As we approached the hired vehicle, a monologue of pain was delivered about the car’s inability to accommodate the baby seat. When she finished speaking even the watchman had tears in his eyes.

Although I was informed later that it may have been partly because she reversed the car over his foot during the speech. Next, came a lament over the pile up at Chembur, which she blamed on our late departure, which in turn was caused by my tardiness. The clientele at MacDonald’s and a couple of mad drivers along the way brought out more odes and soliloquies.

Then for a final encore she wept about the hotel. The hotel room had a bathroom which was separated from the rest of the room only by a curtain. Apparently, I had some hand in its design.

The rest of the day was spent wisely, she behind the children and me behind the curtain.
As we drive back home Dilip and I, I had only one thought on my mind — what’s next, Salman?