A little space for everyone

Poonam Khaira Sidhu

There is a buzz in our home, as we prepare for our younger son to acquire a wife. The rites de passage of life do not overwhelm us, if there is time to absorb the changes and prepare for them. My husband and I thus prepare for the daughter we never had and always wanted. My little boy prepares for the responsibilities of a husband and householder. 

So, he moves out of his bachelor pad and hires an apartment for two. As he goes about the job of decorating with military precision, ably assisted by his entrepreneurial team, I gently point out that he leave some room for his better half, who may like to bring into their home her choice of things, and her own sensibilities. 

I grew up with a father who pretty much did it all. He picked the servants, the furnishings and our clothes. He decided where we went for holidays and who our friends would be, leaving my mother no say in decision-making, but with all of the grunt work. To say she felt a trifle undervalued would be an understatement. 

My husband sits at the opposite end of the spectrum. He is a firm believer in the chachiji concept — the popular joke, where the secret for chachaji’s marital bliss is attributed to a very scientific division of labour. Chachiji decides everything minor, while he decides issues of higher significance, such as what the state of Indo-Pak relations should be, whether the US will have a trade war with China, what the policy on strays should be, which movie should get the National Award, etc. In this scheme of things, there is peace at home, and my husband leaves it all to me, as he works on higher intellectual pursuits and social networking.

Am I happier than my mother, I ask myself, and I am not sure. But what I am sure is that I am my father’s daughter and like to run every bit of my house my way. And since I understand my son, who has my genes, and likes to do it all his way, I often remind him to leave some space for my daughter to fill. ‘Be more like your dad than my dad,’ I say to him, explaining how my mother always felt overwhelmed. He has a naughty glint in his eyes as he tells me, ‘That is why I wanted a wife like grandpa’s not like my father’s!’ 

And there, I usually rest my case.