Category Archives: Why we are Sofa Aloos

Kuch Meetha Ho Jaye!

Just as an arranged marriage needs dollops of love to thrive, a love marriage may sometimes need some ‘arrangement’ for it to even come to fruition! Here is an interesting take on the eternal question – Love Marriage or Arranged Marriage?  

(This is a contest entry)

 

(Photo courtesy www.4photos.net and Google)

A smartly dressed young man rings the doorbell. The sound brings an elegant woman with a kind face to the door. As she opens it to her visitor, both faces light up at each other’s sight.

Prema : Arrey, Akhil, what a pleasant surprise! Come on in. Are you alone?

Akhil : Yes, I am. There was something I needed to discuss with you personally. (He enters the modestly but tastefully done up drawing room and takes a seat. Prema takes a place facing him)

Prema : (quizzical yet smiling) Ok, that sounds serious! Especially coming from a bindaas banda like you. Anyway, before you say anything, tell me, do you want some thanda? How about tea? Oh, I made some banana cake, too, woh khayega?

Akhil : Yes, but later, perhaps. After we have discussed this important matter at hand, and if you agree with what I am about to propose, we will definitely need something meetha. But if you don’t agree… (he lets his voice trail off)

Prema : (raises her eyebrows) Wow! In that case, I had better shut up and let you do all the talking, shouldn’t I? (She smiles)

Akhil : (with a mock-serious face) Even though I don’t want this to appear as the famous mausi-Jai scene from Sholay, I really have no other option, unfortunately. So here goes – Prema Vishwanath Iyer, I come to you with a marriage proposal on behalf of my best friend, philosopher and guide in the entire world – Dinesh Bhaskar Singh, who, as you know, is affectionately called Dibs by everyone who knows him.

Prema : (speechless out of shock) What….errr….?

Akhil : Well, I decided I couldn’t let you both dribble this ball endlessly, like you two seem to be doing for 6 months now! I arranged for this thing to start. Hence, I must arrange for it to reach its logical conclusion, too.

Prema : (still surprised) Arrange?

Akhil : Of course. You see, I still remember quite vividly the day I initiated Dibs to Facebook. I had just returned from my residency at Tata Memorial so he and I had decided to celebrate with our favourite friend, Jack Daniel. Once we both were nicely sloshed, Dibs was up to his old tricks – he wanted to know everything about all the girls I had met in Mumbai. Always trying to push me to settle down, that man! This time, of course, I had decided that I would turn the spotlight on him instead, and all the girlfriends from his past! He hummed and hawed, but I was going to have none of that!

Prema : (smiling) So it was you who pushed him into the big bad world of Facebook?

Akhil : (triumphantly) I absolutely did! I told him that everyone was on Facebook – even grandmas! Why was he being such a fuddy-duddy? And then I told him that it was the best way to look up his school and college chums. And, yes, crushes, too!

Prema : What did he say?

Akhil : He fell for it, obviously! Oh, pump in a few drinks into a lonely man and you can make him do things!

Prema : And that’s how you found me?

Akhil : Correct! His first and mightiest college crush!

Prema : (suddenly turning red) So Dibs and me bumping into each other for the first time at Lodhi Gardens that morning wasn’t just a chance encounter? And he told me that he was a stickler for morning walks – never missed them rain, shine or cold!

Akhil : (laughs loudly) “Chance”, sure, but with a lot of pre-planning. From your profile page, we noticed that you lived in Jorbagh, and that walking and exercising were your hobbies and interests. We figured you must come to Lodhi Gardens for walks every morning! You could say, we put two-and-two together, and prayed that it would add to four!

Prema : Such stalking connivers! I would have avoided Dibs like the plague had I known what you both were up to! (she smiles, amused)

Akhil : Oh, I doubt that! He told me that in college you had as much of a crush on him as he had on you! You recognized him right away when you saw him at the park, didn’t you?

Prema : (smiles and blushes slightly) That crazy man told you that? Well, I am not going to comment at all!

Akhil : Look at it this way. It was in your fate – I just helped push it along! And look at the brighter side, if the two of you get together for good, Dibs will never have a reason to ever be on Facebook again!

Prema : Interesting reason!

Akhil : There are better reasons, let me assure you!

Prema : (feigning surprise) There are? I wonder what they could be!

Akhil : Well, for one, someone now tells him what to wear and what to avoid – thank goodness for that! Our eyes had started to pain always seeing him in un-ironed kurta pyjamas, rumpled pants, terrible hair! How did you manage to make him take care of how he looks and dresses up? Did you just set fire to all this crazy clothes?

Prema : (laughs) I have my ways. I bet he thinks dressing up like a human being is a small price to pay to keep my company!

Akhil : And it doesn’t just stop there, of course. Yesterday, when I got home after lunch with some friends, I saw him playing a cricket match with the neighbourhood kids! He was having so much fun!

Prema : That sounds wonderful!

Akhil : He cooks, he sings, he enjoys doing things again. Two years ago, I never even thought we would be where we are today. He was a broken man. You gave him wings. You gave him a reason to smile. (His voice crumbles) You gave him…his life back.

Prema : (her eyes moistening) As he did – to me. After Shankar died five years ago, what were Sakshi and I left with? It was the same when he lost Smita.

Akhil : (reaches out his hands and clasps Prema’s) We have all lost irreplaceable pieces of our lives. In those months and years of despair, we never thought life would heal. The pain seemed too overwhelming to bear. The sorrow too large to cast away. The grey all too encompassing. And yet…

Prema : And yet…Time helps clear the fog. And when it lifts slowly, you sometimes see someone who can bring colour back into your life. You learn to smile again. You learn to feel again. And you realize how wrong you were – Life is not over yet. There are still miles to go. But the journey looks exciting because you have a companion to make it with.

Akhil : (quivering) All I can do is thank you for giving Dibs back to me.

Prema : (controlling her tears) And thank you for giving me Dibs, Akhil.

Akhil : (clearing his throat, suddenly speaking very formally) And yet, as hopelessly shy and old-fashioned as you both are, neither of you will take the next step! It becomes my duty to formally arrange this rishta between our families. So, I ask again, my beautiful Prema Vishwanath Iyer. Will you accept Dinesh Bhaskar Singh as your husband, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, with unwavering trust on the people who care for you and utter disregard to what society might do or say, till death does you apart?

Prema : (smiling through tears) Yes, mere buddhu ladke. Yes!

Akhil : (leaps off his seat in joy) Yippee! I have achieved what even Jai of Sholay was not able to with Mausi! You have made me the happiest man in the world. Or maybe I should say, the second happiest man – Dibs will undoubtedly take top honours!

Prema : You are such a clown! (They both reach out and hug each other)

Akhil : (still gushing) So, what would you like me to address you as from now on? Mummy? Mum? How about Mateshwari?

Prema : (laughing) Stop it! (Pauses to think) Apne baap ko Dibs bulata hai, but how about you call me Amma, just like Sakshi does!

Akhil : (taking a bow) Amma, your wish is my command. Whatever my future sister calls you, works for me, too!

Prema : (mock raps him on his head) Poora joker hai! Now, where is that father of yours? Don’t tell me that that 60-year-old teenager is sitting and blushing in the car outside!

Akhil : Arrey bhai, arranged marriage hai, so what if it’s the son arranging his dad’s and future mom’s? You shall meet the groom in due course, pehle kuch meetha ho jaye! Didn’t you say you had some banana cake?

 

Join the debate!

So, the debate continues on what is better – Love Marriage or Arranged Marriage! I hope you are watching the enjoyable new serial unfold on Sony Entertainment Television every Monday to Thursday at 8.30 pm! For more details, check out their Facebook page at – http://www.facebook.com/LoveYaArrange!

 

“A” For Amma, “B” For Baba – Things We Can Only Learn From Indian TV Serials – Chapter 4

So, how many different kinds of parents can you spot in your favourite TV soaps? Let’s count –

Hitler Ma-G and Hitler Babu-G : The ultimate Power Couple of Indian television. They sit right at the top of the food-, social-, decision-, financial-, delusional- and all other kinds of chains you can think of. They are in their mid-50s. Always impeccably dressed  – she in formal silks, elaborately coiffured (sometimes ghoonghutted in front of the Fuhrer), and he in formal dark achkans. They have never had any truck with ‘Emotions’, except, of course, anger and disappointment with everyone around them. It is remarkable that they might have ever shared a romantic moment together, imagining that they might have ever had sex is positively inconceivable if one looked at them. And yet, they have 4 sons. Who live with them with their 4 wives and 6 grandchildren. All adults, except the brand new youngest daughter-in-law (formally referred to as chhoti bahu), live in agonizing terror of the senior couple each day of their lives. The house they share is a palatial one with a giant staircase, though everyone likes to hang around in the main hall downstairs at all times. They run a super successful “family” business, which, presumably, runs on its own steam because no one in the house has ever been seen to be headed to work. Oh, and they never watch TV (because there is no TV to be seen in their large palace)

Hitler Ma-G and a pappu Baba : Most of the above applies. Except that the father is no Babu-G, he is more of a Papa, wimpy and ineffectual in front of his Eva Braun. She wears the proverbial pants in the house, he is usually in kurta-pyjamas. He smiles a lot when his wife is not around. Sex is again a curious proposition, because an unsuspecting onlooker might be surprised that the Black Widow didn’t eat him up right after they had their first go. The terror, the palatial house and the family business profiles remain the same as above.

Hitler Babu-G and Doormat Ma : Role-reversal from above. Notice the “G” is missing from Ma since she is only pertinent enough to be seen as part of the furniture and hence, quite inconsequential. Babu-G walks with a stick even though it is apparent that he doesn’t really need one due to any physical deformity. Perhaps it is a weapon? Ma likes to cook and her favourite (and only) dialogue is – “tum haath mooh dho lo, mein abhi khana lagati hoon” (literal translation – you wash your arms and face, I shall just put the food)

Baba No. 1

Just call me Baba : This father-type extra-sentimental old man has kindly eyes that seem to be moist even on normal days. His mouth spouts only philosophies, most of them quite inane and definitely useless in the real world. He lives like a saint in an otherwise extremely affluent household. His grown up children are usually adopted (or could be his deceased younger brother’s?), and speak in whispering genteelness all the time. In times of extreme crisis, i.e. when the adopted child is about to take a stand that goes against Baba’s morality, expect to hear the dialogue – “aakhir mein hota kaun hoon tumhe kuch kehne wala” (literal translation – after all, I am who to you a teller of something). Which might make a regular viewer cringe because all that the Baba has done since the TV serial started is sermonize.

Nag Ma and Beleagured Baba : This middle-class couple usually has five unmarried daughters, each prettier and more qualified than the other, and yet, their marriage prospects still look utterly doomed. No real reason is provided, except perhaps that the girls have a certain je ne sais quoi…also known as confidence and self respect. This Baba is usually called Papa, and he is usually happy and smiling, except when he is at work where the threat is that he might lose his job any day. Maybe he is just not that good at his work, the audience is never told. The nag Ma is a nag because no one listens to her (or she could just be menopausal. Again, I suspect we shall never know).

Normal Mummy and Normal Papa : You need to watch more TV. Move on.

 

Lesson Learned : TV Parents may come in different shapes and forms, but, clearly, only one actor is able to do justice as the All-Time- and All-Weather-Baba. No wonder TV audiences across the country can’t get enough of Alok Nath, perhaps the hardest working actor of all time! So, next time you see a promo for yet another new serial featuring Alok Nath, don’t roll your eyes. Instead, applaud his efforts at making your ordinary father look like the best dad in the whole wide world.

The title of All-Time-Mom already rests with Nirupa Roy, or had you forgotten?

 

Meri Saas Ki Maar Mein Bhi Pyar Hai – Things We Can Only Learn From Indian TV Serials – Chapter 3

The continuing series of glorious life lessons that Zee, Star and Sony TV teach us everyday. This is why Soap Operas are Educational.

The Future Department Of Income Tax

Let’s face it. Our nation is in a state of crisis. All the social, cultural and economic parameters that used to once herald the arrival of the Golden Age in India now ominously suggest that we might be slipping into a Bronze one instead. Our current stock of leaders, the old as well as the fossilized (those are the only two kinds around), are hardly likely to be the booster rockets that our country needs. What we need, instead, is a human Duracell, someone who can re-ignite our inert national circuitry. We need a mortal Drainex who can unclog our moribund economy. We need a living-and-breathing Sensodyne who can de-sensitize the ultra-sensitive moralistic psyche of the country.

(Apologies for the bad puns, but should you really be getting perplexed by my innocuous product placements when our country is facing Desperate Times?)

So, in these Desperate Times, we need to look for something that is pulsating even more gloriously than Salman Khan’s cat like 150 year old film career. What is it that is still resonating with the bourgeoisie as well as the peasant? What gives our people hope on a daily basis – that everyone will soon become happy, pretty and moneyed?  The answer, clearly, is the Indian TV Serial. Here are some golden lessons learned from them that our government must deploy immediately.

The Mother (In Law) of all Remedies. Ensure the entire government machinery is headed by Saases. This is a checkmate move of which there can be no rejoinder. Saases are extremely hard, if not impossible to please. With them heading all ministries and the entire bureaucracy, we are guaranteed that everyone will be on their toes all the time trying to do a good job. Praise will be conveyed occasionally by way of a wry smile, but angst will be liberally dispensed via silent treatments, caustic remarks, or worse still – ‘The Look’.

Welcome to Swarn Mahal. Make all government offices bright and shiny – just like a TV serial set. There should be garishly ornate fittings and furnishings all around. Sartorially speaking, Gold will be the new Black. The main hall at each government office must have a giant staircase, though it is not important whether it leads to any place or not, it should just go ‘upstairs’. This kind of grandeur will serve two purposes. First, the staff working in these departments will be thrilled to report to work each day (never mind the perpetually cheerless boss). After all, who would mind coming to such an opulent office by 11 am every morning, and staying until, say, 4 pm? Secondly, for all visitors, the endless wait to see their files being pushed at a snail’s pace from bedecked desk to bedecked desk will, at least, be pleasant. A million times better than the drab, dirty, cobweb ridden offices of yore – this all round conviviality will give a perception that a lot is being accomplished even if it that is not the reality.

And while they are dabbling in grandeur, the government will also be providing heavily embroidered sarees to all women employees, and elaborately sequined achkans to the males. Travelling by Metro and buses will provide exciting adventures on a daily basis.

Roti, Kapda aur Achcha Pati. The perpetually depressed citizenry needs to stop focusing on mundane issues like rise in prices, the downward spiral of law and order, black money and crumbling infrastructure. Why worry about these when they could spend their time being disturbed about happier topics such as – how will I find a good husband/ wife despite my dark complexion, or how will I find a good husband/ wife now that I am over 30, or how will I find a good husband/wife since I am a very, very nice person and a qualified doctor to boot, and so on. All that the political leaders need to do is channel the correct kind of anxiety and, suddenly, real world problems around us will start to look trivial.

It takes a village. Where is the real vote bank these days? It’s in the villages. The TV serial world realized that years ago. So, it is best if we shifted the focus of the government and all its programs to suit Rural India only. Cities don’t matter, they are going to seed anyway. In fact, nothing could be better than to create a government program that makes all our cities look like dusty villages in just a couple of years. Switching off the power and water supply completely should do the trick. For the citizenry, it is advisable to stay ahead of the curve – book a ticket to Pushkar and buy your own cattle today.

Déjà View. As you may have noticed, serial after serial and episode after episode look exactly the same. At times, one wouldn’t know which serial one was watching if it weren’t for the giant bindi design on the evil bhabhi’s forhead. This sense of déjà vu produces a kind of numbness leading people to think they are not worthy of anything better. After all, who remembers Buniyaad, Yeh Jo hai Zindagi or Tamas in the times of Meri Saas Ki Maar Mein Bhi Pyaar Hai, Mera Dharam Mere Pati Ki Charanon Ki Maalish, or Sada Suhaagan Barah Saal Ki Umar Se etc. This drug is way better than opium! Whatever trivial matter the government decides to peddle, it must do so ad nauseam. That will keep people intoxicated and effectively snuff out any absurd pursuits of anything worthier in life.

Theory of Adaptable Relativity. In the new paradigm, the country is bound to devour time and gallop ahead at incredible speed. Real life need not be any different from TV serials, where time fast forwards by several years in a matter of days, proving beyond doubt that Einstein penned his theories about time and distance after several rounds of whiskey. This theory of, let’s call it Adaptable Relativity, works most productively when things are not going so well. With a dramatic poof, we can all pretend that we are now 5-10-15 years in the future – and the current problem has miraculously vanished. Imagine your 8 year old brat already done with university and ready to earn his own living – all that money and heartache that you will save by not having to deal with schools, colleges, video games and teenage petulance!

 

Lesson Learned – After reading the above, what can possibly hold us back from staging dharnas outside Ekta Kapoor bungalow, asking, nay begging her to take over as Prime Minister? It is time for the dynastic rule of Jeetendra’s family to begin. Long live the Republic of India, sponsored by Balaji Productions.

 

Previous learnings can be revisited here –

Lesson 1

http://reekycoleslaw.com/?p=66

Lesson 2

http://reekycoleslaw.com/?p=284

 

So You Want To Become A MasterChef

So, what does it take to be a MasterChef? Here are some Reality Chef Lessons from Superfoodie Achala Srivasta, who knows a thing or two (or twenty) about what it takes to be one!

 

What? You survived my tandoori sushi tacos??

Food reality shows have been the craze for a while now. To all those aspiring Masterchefs, it’s not just enough to be able to navigate your way around sous vide, pancetta and jicama, you need to have the smarts to navigate your way around the Masterchef kitchens as well. Now, I consider myself in the best position to advise you since I have been closely following Master Chef, Iron Chef, Top Chef (does anyone see a pattern here?) and practically every other show that’s around. Yes, I do need a life. But, on the other hand you, dear reader, now have the benefit of my knowledge.

First, whatever you do you must demonstrate that you have SPIRIT, you want to live the DREAM, you have the kind of can do, walking the talk spirit that tells the judges that you will slit your Labrador puppy’s throat for a chance to be MasterChef.

The actual cooking of the food is of no importance. The more important thing is your attitude as demonstrated at two vital points

  1. The presentation of your food
  2. Your reaction to winning or losing

The presentation of the food to the judges is critical. You will need to size up the judges in order to tailor your approach. You have several options

  1. Napoleonic Confidence – The dish you’ve just made is spectacularly awesome, a party in your mouth, their tastebuds will die and go to heaven. Works best if you are American.
  2. Modest Self -Deprecation – you will demur coyly – you don’t know, mate, but you’ve done your best, you think it’s pretty good, yeah.
  3. Brutal Self -Deprecation – Your dish is probably shit because….but well there it is… Best left to the British.
  4. Glutinous Sentimentality. Works best if you are Indian. Weep copiously and overwhelm your judges with heart-rending sobs. This has been your childhood dream (and don’t be shy about giving them minute details of your trials and tribulations while growing up), you are here to fulfill your parents’ dreams for you and if you don’t win, you’ll slit your wrists right here.
  5. Relative Invocation – the dish you’ve prepared is always a dish you grandmother/mother/aunt used to make when you were a child and if you don’t get it right, she’ll slit your wrists
  6. The Creativity Clincher – Your schizophrenic version of tacos which includes wasabi, tandoori sauce and truffles must be attributed to a huge surge of creative self expression. This is YOU – on a plate.
  7. Covering your posterior: In every competition, there comes a time when you know you’ve completely stuffed it up. You know your beef/chicken is so raw a good vet can bring it back to life with resuscitation. Your rice hasn’t even softened. You could, of course, tell them the truth but then that would pretty much be the end of it. Alternatively, you could throw yourself at the mercy of the court (I knew it was burning, but I had 8 other things to do.. it’ll never happen again etc) but that’s hit or miss.

No, the far more manly thing to do is to brazen it out… let me illustrate

i.      Yeah, my steak is bleeding but that’s the way I like it.

ii.      The customers at my restaurant prefer my risotto crunchy

iii.      Salmon has so much more of a clean, ethereal simplicity when it’s pink and translucent and raw, doesn’t it?

iv.      At home, we feel our potatoes have a much more earthy and robust flavor if lumpy

Follow these few words of wisdom, and I am confident you will be the next Top/Iron/Master Chef. I will follow your career with keen interest.

Now if despite my advice and your heroic cover up efforts, you should lose or get eliminated, resist your instinct to fling a sharp object (and you will have the means and the opportunity to acquire quite a few of these in the kitchens) at the judges. You have three options

  1. Slap your opponent on the back – hey, it was a good fight and the best man/woman won.
  2. Wipe back brave tears. You did your best but it wasn’t good enough. You’ll be back/ follow your dream to be a great chef/open a restaurant…
  3. Weep uncontrollably – you’ve let yourself down, you’ve let your family down… you’ll never forgive yourself

On that note, go forth and cook…

Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bewaqoof Thi – Things We Can Only Learn From Indian TV Serials – Chapter 2

Has anyone ever wondered why that immaculate Lady of a certain age in your favourite TV serial is always Queen Bitch to everyone around? I am, of course, referring to the archetypal saas of our TV universe. With a glare than can wilt cactus, a tongue that can make the bahu pee her pants (or petticoat in this case), and a manifestation that has its own background music (usually thunderclaps or Omen-like sounds from a keyboard), this is Ekta Kapoor’s interpretation of God’s Chosen One. The One we ogle at with shock, awe, disgust, amusement and envy all at the same time (well, at least till the final episode when nemesis and retribution finally take over).

Young Saas

If we are in agreement that TV is art (tenuous connection I know, but what else to call it?), and art emulates life, then since every single TV serial has a prima donna saas, by logic, our society must be fraught with them, too. It must mean that most homes in India have an elderly and mean Maa-ji or Mummy-ji, destroying everyone sanity with the aforementioned glares and tongue. (And using that same tangent of thought, most homes in India must also come with a brand new saintly bahu – the human sequined-doormat).

So, coming back to the main question – Why is the saas so? What is the source of her toxicity? What makes her this way? Obviously, this question has rattled our senses and kept us awake nights. Let’s investigate some hypotheses.

Her own mother-in-law made her this way. After all, evil begets evil. She was treated badly as a daughter-in-law, so now she must exact revenge from her wretched bahu. Profoundly simplistic theory this, but I don’t buy it. For two reasons. One, if the super saas (i.e. the mother-in-law of the mother-in-law) is shown alive and kicking, she’s usually that elderly lady in a white saree everyone fondly refers to as Badi Maa. Or Baa. How can this hag, whose excruciating childlike acts (you know, like doing shaitaani with grandkids, stealing chocolates, making funny faces, etc.) that tempt you to gouge your eyes out ever have been a black sheep (baa-baa, get it?)? And two, if the super saas is already a garlanded photograph in the drawing room, she couldn’t have been that evil – Ekta Kapoor wouldn’t have dispensed with her before the serial even taking off!

Plain old fashioned jealousy – of youth. Sigh. No one wants to grow old. Just as her double and triple chins start to emerge, the son decides to bring a twenty year old twit to own the ghar ki chaabiyaan. The audacity! And who wants to be a grandparent at 45? No wonder there are unresolved anger issues.

Do you realize the amount of work in a house like this? A normal 3-4-5 BHK dwelling, staffed by perpetually flaky domestics is enough to push any normal Lady of the House into certain dementia. Have you seen the size of the TV-serial home? Ballroom-sized drawing room, giant staircase(s), fifty five bedrooms over two levels, dining halls, pooja room, plus, on the outside, sweeping driveways, garden, terrace etc. – we are talking of a property that is bigger than Eden Gardens. If you were to start sweeping, mopping and dusting from one side and work your way to the other end, you’d probably be spending a couple of birthdays en route. Now imagine this colossus with scores of Ramu-kakas and Shanta-bais and it is only to be expected that the poor mother-in-law will vent her frustrations on someone (or everyone).

Off camera, that frigging daughter-in-law is no saint. An interesting theory. Perhaps the daughter-in-law only behaves saintly in front of the audience? In real life, she is a catty bitch! The more reality TV you watch, the more this theory seems rational. For example, Big Boss, where seemingly normal people go crazy the moment the cameras switch on.

Old Saas

Clothes maketh the man. In this case, the woman. What would happen if you were asked to pull together the following as part of your daily dress up – 4 shades on eyeshadow (all applied together, of course), an oversized bindi, makeup several millimeters thick, one giant beauty spot on the left chin, enough jewellery and ornaments to completely cover a giant Christmas tree, and a saree with enough shine so it can be spotted from the moon? What would happen if this was your normality? You won’t be normal, that’s what! It wouldn’t be unfair if you bit and lunged at anything that moved. (Mercury in human make up is injurious to mental health, I have read)

And the final hypothesis – She just doesn’t like her son. Yes, time to peel off all pretenses about her aankon ka taara. This seems like the most logical theory. Think about it – she controls him like a toy, despises everything he likes (starting and ending with saintly bahu who, he claims, is his universe), serves him desi-ghee-d foods that will surely age and then kill him before time, and has never trained him to do any work (when did you ever see a TV serial hero go to office?). This is not a dude, this is a dodo. And it is her creation. How dare the saintly bahu fiddle with that?

 

Lesson learned

Mothers hate their sons. To all sons out there, if you detect any of the patterns discussed above (e.g. mom’s bindi is getting larger, she is suddenly interested in eye shadow, or she is just watching too many serials intently), it is already too late for you. Resistance is futile. God help your wife. (And be wary of those butter-laden paranthe!)

 

By the way, don’t forget to revisit Chapter 1 of this series here :

http://reekycoleslaw.com/?p=66