The starry effect on wives

What makes married men feel insecure? Is it the knowledge that the women they have married, had babies and attended satsangs with, can actually have secrets of their own? Even as they share their lives for the world, can men handle the fact that their wives can and do have their own fantasises?   

Recently, at a five-star venue, I was in the midst of a group of business leaders and their wives and daughters invited for a chat with a reigning Bollywood heart-throb — a bachelor who has dated some of the most gorgeous women in showbiz. 

The women were dressed in their finest designer togs. Some even in gowns worthy of the Cannes red carpet. I happened to walk behind one such couple — a rotund middle-aged man and his svelte wife —  as they joined the rest of the elite group. 

While the woman click-clacked her way down, the husband, unaware that he was being watched, stopped and checked his reflection in the mirrored walls. He frantically pulled at his trouser that refused to move up his generous waist, tried to pat down his well-fed tummy and looked nervously at his image one last time before trying to catch up with his wife who was in an obvious hurry to meet the star. 

At the banquet hall, it was once again the ladies who took centerstage, as their spouses stuck to their wines and cooled their heels. When it was time for the selfies, the women dropped all pretence of decorum or sanskar, and made a dash for their star. Soon he was mobbed by mothers and their daughters and their sisters.

The men — who otherwise call the shots in all social gatherings — had no choice but to fall behind, lurk in the shadows, and watch as the star threatened to dethrone them for those few minutes.

Once the star was whisked away, I found myself next to that couple again. The gent was evidently displeased. The lady was beaming. There was a twinkle in her eyes, a secret smile on her lips, and a spring in her step as they made their way to the restaurant. 

“What was all that about?” he asked, injury dripping from his voice. 

“He is a star. I am a fan. Don’t read anything more into it!” she snapped with a toss of her head. A few minutes later I joined a hysterical gaggle of women in the washroom, exchanging notes on how what the star smelled of and how close they really managed to get to him. I am sure the men would have an entirely different version of the evening’s affairs. Pun intended.

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