It was easy. I mean, a married young girl, with a rhes-spectable husband and warking in a rhes-spectable office. Finding a house in a rhes-spectable society was easy. And soon, I was surrounded with Mrs Bhasin, Mrs Reddy, old Mr Nagaraj et all. I had become thee 'bahu' of thee society. Now, being this kind of a bahu means something, to other people. The mornings start with taking the garbage out, which is normal, except that it is also chit-chat time. All the Mrs Everybodys are there and I start my day with a sugar-sweet "Namaste aunty, everything well?" "Arrey beta, how can everything be well? Your uncle has constipation and I have been telling him..." Tick, tock, tick, tock... I am already ticked off. "...and then the maidservant got those leaves and I made that curry..." interspersed with "Yes, aunty", "No aunty", "Right aunty", "I'll definitely try aunty".
This morning ritual ends with the husband lovingly calling for tea, that is for me to make tea and serving us both. I run off to the kitchen as part of my expression of wifely love and devout devotion,conscious of the the aunties' eyes following me with "what a nice sweet girl, even in this modern day" and your husband's eyes welcoming you with "what a darling you are".
Well, for anyone who thinks this is easy, it's not. You need to be a good player to keep the reputation going. It's like, that one day you take one puff in office and everyone goes, "Wow! You do that? Doesn't your husband say anything? Does he even know?" And up goes your fully constructed image in smoke.
So this one day was my pitfall, among many many more pitfalls to come. I kept the door of my flat ajar and while trying to get the mess that is our home in shape, which was because I was trying to find some papers I needed for office that day, I shouted, well actually, screamed, "Honey, can't you please make some breakfast? Anything?" Now, the husband is very kind and warm, just a little clueless. He, in his bewildered state, was even making his way to the fridge to manage something, when one Mrs Aunt walked in. "It is not my business, but why make poor boy cook early early in the morning. What will your saas say when she hears of this?" How on earth will my saas, thousand miles away, even KNOW? Unless... and I quickly shot a few glares to the husband, just in case.
A little while later, there was steaming puri-sabji-halwa on our dining table, courtesy aunty. She left me with a "poor girl, she doesn't have anyone to teach her values" look and a, "It is your husband, no. Handle with care."
