Doing is believing

Gursharan Singh

ALMOST every year my wife goes to the US to be with our elder daughter for a few weeks. Last time, her absence from home was very well managed by my younger daughter who served us parathas and other delicacies. This time, the situation was different. She herself had gone abroad to pursue her doctorate programme. So, it was for me and my college-going son to fend for ourselves.   

His wheat allergy was a major issue. He could not have lunch in the hostel mess except when rice was served. My wife had all sort of part-time domestic help for doing the dishes, dusting, cleaning the house, washing clothes, but she never allowed anyone to take charge of the kitchen. And so, we never engaged a full-time help. She believed in immaculate cleanliness. I am witness to those preliminary sessions of instructions whenever a new kaamwali is engaged. A few would not turn up after listening to her instructions and few others would leave after a week or so, remarking “yeh bibi bahut safai mangti hai” . My wife would always take it as a challenge to manage the house herself till a new maid was roped in. 

Long discussions were held as to how we would keep going when she would be away to the US; this time for six weeks. All were in favour of tying up with a cook to prepare our three meals. But the one we zeroed in on, agreed only for dinner. We were also a bit unsure if he would be able to do justice with the costly gluten-free products.  All said and done, we decided to depend on ourselves. I proceeded on earned leave. The very fact that all the best chefs have been men, boosted my morale. Moreover, I was  confident of making rice pulao, chicken curry, vegetable soup, etc. We bought a roti-maker and tried it to our satisfaction. 

The first week passed off comfortably, with all the dishes that my wife had stocked in the fridge, and two weekend weddings. The second week was also not troublesome. Twice, we ordered chicken curry, and also relished dosa outside, apart from being hosted by my in-laws. My son acted like a true gentleman. He would eat anything that I prepared, pretending to love its taste. I would only realise what it lacked, when in the evening, he would give the day’s diary to his mother. 

Now is the third week of our ordeal. We are fed up with the chicken curry and dosas and idlis. The weather is unusually hot and working in the kitchen is becoming uncomfortable. I  switch on the ACs in the drawing room and lobby to make standing in the kitchen bearable. The invitations from my in-laws for dinner have also become limited. 

My son and I are unanimous in the opinion to suggest that she prepone her departure. But while doing all this, I really wonder how she could manage it: her duty as a university professor and preparing all those mouth-watering dishes. 

Oh, the husbands of the world; listen and listen carefully. Seeing is not believing. I was seeing my wife working in the kitchen since three decades, but never valued her labour,  as I am now doing. In fact, doing is believing. Let us appreciate the efforts of our better half, more so, if she is managing both her job and home. I salute the working woman.