A tambola evening to remember

Col Avnish Sharma (retd)

My wife is particularly fond of the ‘intellectual’ game called tambola. I presume, the affinity started during the routine weekly tambola at our Army club, which we patronised rather religiously. It was an effective way to unwind after a hectic fauji routine, and we looked forward to it  —‘memsaab’ to tickle her grey cells, and ‘saab’ to get an opportunity to indulge at the bar without getting the trademark dirty looks. 

The affinity turned to addiction after the better half won a snowball (a bonanza win of accumulated money over a time — a rare achievement). In 1985, the princely sum of Rs 400 was a fourth of my take-home monthly salary. That day and today, tambola evenings are permanently reserved, notwithstanding the fact that the investment in the game has been roughly a hundred times more than the earnings. A fit case of disproportionate liabilities, one would say. Well, that much for the background.

The kids have grown up and insist to carry on with their own weekend errands and plans. That leaves us twosome and a driver who looks forward to an odd drink, unwatched, at the club, while the boss plays tambola. The party, however, turned sour when I was signalled to stop and test at the alcometer on our drive back from the club. I was politely informed by the Sub-Inspector that the alcohol content was abnormally high in my blood and that I was putting everybody's life in jeopardy. I tried putting up a brave front of normalcy, blaming the vintage of the alcometer. But the cop assured me that the machine was a month old and a state of the art one. I was handed over a slip and the local police, in its characteristic courtesy, dropped us home in government transport!

A driving school instructor was hired post haste to impart a crash course in driving to my Himachali wife, who did not even ride a bicycle before marrying a tank man! Normally laidback, she was rather serious this time around. The driving test was passed with flying colours. Addiction can make you perform wonders, I realised that day.

Friday evenings continue to bring cheer to my better half and thoughtful apprehensions to me. The routine is undisrupted — the intellectual exercise remains patronised, with my novice wife behind the wheels and her stressed husband in the passenger seat, but a lot more sombre and sane, wondering what is safer — an intoxicated but experienced veteran, or a dedicated and committed wife! I think the latter. I am sure all you gentlemen agree!