20th century,
Ladies in Occidental countries were no longer, mere house-wives,
They were working women, by and large,
Oriental women lagged behind by nearly a century;
now the gap is closing due to literacy among women.
The homely house wife, was an asset in the family;
But she had no independent identity of her own.
The change in society is irreversible,
It may overshoot the goal,
Soon we may have house-husbands in the homes,
But, let us now bask in the memory of good old days.
She
When she got married 41 years ago,
Her mother guided her:
'The path to a man's heart is through his belly,
Give him good food three times a day,
He will be grateful to God for you, daily, as many times.'
What more a wife can ask for!
In the hindsight, now I wish,
If she has added,
'But remember, a man does not live by bread alone,
He needs frequent hugging,expects to extrapolate it as well.'
Me
My bookish knowledge, depended heavily on two concepts of life,
I learnt in my teens, in my school book,
Two basic laws of happy matrimony:
Firstly
Maid servants or household-help matters more to a house-wife, than the husband,
A husband, absent from the house for a couple of days is less painful,
Than the maid servant's absence, even for a day.
The wives are nearly self-sufficient these days,
Not over-dependent on outside help,
Kind courtesy, new kitchen gadgets,
Yet I have always stayed away,
From interfering or even suggesting,
In this exclusive arena of household activities,
Where she is the undisputed queen.
Secondly
More often than not, there is ambiguous communication between the spouses,
Both are imperfect human beings, not adept in listening,
But enjoy speaking, hoping for an attentive audience.
We all, hear and forget at the earliest,
All that we are not interested in.
When men are from Mars and women from Venus,
How can they ever, can tune perfectly with each other?
The communication is often neither conveyed, nor received correctly.
Making Mountains of the Mole Hills
Homely ladies in 20th century were well versed in the art of,
'How to choose potatoes, tomatoes, bottle-gourds in the vegetable market',
Unlike the husbands, who always performed poorly.
My purchases have always invited sarcastic comments.
There is an uneasy equilibrium in our relationship,
She remembers Abraham Lincoln,
when ever she sees me walking,
I used to feel elated,
But not now,
I was explained:
'You walk with a slouch, like him,
You too make noises while having soup, on the dinner table like him.'
Yet,
There is love, which is never expressed,
There is no hatred, but plenty of criticism; a daily dose.
Some call it nagging,
It is illogical, amusing,
But once accustomed, it is indispensable.
If you love your wife, enjoy her nagging within.
The bonus point,
It is a social service to cool down the better-half:
She will serve me delicious breakfast,
along with a nagging compliment,
'Why you make the table mats dirty?'
I dare not reply back,
'Isn't that the role of table mats?'
A hearty dinner,
Often ends up with,
'Why so much noise with cutlery,
It is so weird'.
To sulk on the remarks, is not manly,
I put up a diplomatic front,
Thank for the homely dinner.
And look for an inviting smile, in vain.
The last dose of the day,
'You should not have married,
You are not a marriage material.'
I am taken aback,
I have always thought,
My wife is thankful to God for me.
But she could count all my fault-line, on her fingertips:
You snore when You are too tired, in the day,
You are untidy, unable to keep up, your room and cup-board,
Your personal hygiene is not up to the mark,
And finally,
You over do, your thoughts,
When you think of siblings, parents.'
And she is fast asleep,
Before I can question these comments.
I ask for God's blessings to enjoy a similar day, all my life;
For I believe,
Love is like a battery,
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