The Angry Husband And The Chill Wife

Never had anyone seen a couple, married for close to five decades, who had nothing in common. No shared interests, no shared hobbies, no common goals. While the wife needed no reason to giggle or burst into laughter, the husband was never, never ever, seen smiling, forget laughing.

Everyone knew them as Mr. and Mrs. Rajput. No one knew the husband's first name or the wife's for that matter. They were seen together, were inseparable, but uniquely different from each other. That they respected each other was apparent but were they in love? Can't tell, no one could.

Mr. Rajput's typical day was always the same.

Every day, he woke up at exactly 4.30 AM, went for a walk first thing, did stretch exercises in the neighbourhood park 5 to 5.30 AM, waved a 'Hello' to all the folks he knew (sans a smile) came back home at exactly 6 AM to a hot cup of tea without sugar made by the house help, not by Mrs. Rajput. Between 6 and 6.30 AM he would read the newspaper, front to back, all the while expressing anger at the corrupt politicians and the state of affairs post-Independence. He would then shower, have breakfast, and leave for work at 8 AM sharp. He would be back home at 5.30 PM and keep his black briefcase next to the small carved wooden table bought 20 years ago from an exhibition by Mrs. Rajput. All over again, he would express annoyance at all things in general, ranging from traffic, to how people have no civic sense, to the young generation having no regard for elders. After freshening up, he would watch Doordarshan, and news on TV, and again get angry at the quality and content of the news. Basically, anything and everything would annoy Mr. Rajput. He would wind up his day with a simple dinner, have a paan, and would be in bed by 10 PM. Nothing changed ever. Punctuality was his hallmark.

However, there was one thing that annoyed Mr. Rajput like nothing else, like really annoyed him. If there was a power outage (or power cut or load shedding if you know it like that) Mr. Rajput was what closely resembled an angry bird. Only his appearance was angrier. Having worked in the State Electricity Department he had his reasons to be annoyed. So, while the entire neighbourhood had no power, only Mr. Rajput was seen doing something about it. After the initial outburst of anger coupled with some choice expletives, he would leave on his scooter and go to the nearby power sub-station to lodge a complaint. He would express his displeasure by letting them know: "If you can't improve things, learn how to. I will teach you. In the era of the British, things were always good. Stop being so complacent. It's your duty to ensure power is restored at the earliest. Such frequent breakdowns are absolutely unacceptable." He would then come back, and all the uncles and aunties of the neighbourhood would surround him with expectation writ on their faces, wanting to know by when the power would be restored. Mr. Rajput felt kind of important in those moments.

Mrs. Rajput's day was anything but typical.

She would wake up around 8 or 8.30 AM. From her bed, with eyes barely open, she would murmur "chai, chai", till the house help heard her and got her bed tea. What she would do next was never quite predictable. At times she would strike up a conversation with her neighbour, from the kitchen window - "what will you be cooking for lunch, has your maid come, it's so hot today, what's the price of tomatoes today?" Or, she would walk in her small garden, just admire the flowers, or water the tall Tulsi plant. Or, read the movie listings in the newspaper – which theatre was showing what movie, and wonder if she could catch the noon or matinee show. The matinee show was soon dismissed, as Mr Rajput would be back at 5.30. It was not like she would go for a movie every day, though she would just enjoy going through the listings. Some mornings would also be spent cleaning the house. On days her refrigerator was stocked with fish, she was the most excited lady on the planet. Several recipes would flash in her mind, recipes she'd asked her friends, family, or neighbours. But she'd cook only the top three recipes, always. Because that's what she could recall without searching for the blue diary in which she had noted down all the recipes, and she never remembered where she had kept the diary.

Mrs. Rajput had no fixed time for anything. She could end up reading a novel for several hours. The milk she'd kept on the boil for making kheer would become an unrecognizable burnt layer on the vessel. The fumes would alarm the neighbours, but not Mrs. Rajput, who would then start screaming for Mr. Rajput's attention. And then she would realise that Mr. Rajput is not at home and spring up to switch off the gas burner. She was now in damage-control mode. Opening all the windows so that the burnt smell and smoke could escape quickly. Ensuring the gas stove is clean so that no traces of spilt milk are found. Dipping the now completely black vessel in soapy water so that the maid wouldn't collapse, because she would have to restore the vessel to its former glory. That done, she would cosy up in bed, to resume reading her novel from where she left it. Nonchalant!

If the neighbours are to be believed, this happened at least once every month.

She could fall off to sleep in the afternoon for hours, not wanting to; she could be awake the whole day, yet not have done anything. She was happy, always happy. A tune on her lips, a thought on her mind, and always a gentle smile.

When Mr. Rajput would retire for the day, was when Mrs. Rajput used to feel a sense of freedom. She would ensure Mr. Rajput had gone to sleep and would then tiptoe to the living room and would binge watch TV for a few hours, often till midnight and beyond. She would watch TV with the sound almost off lest it woke up Mr. Rajput. No lights were switched on in the living room either for the same reason. She would put her feet up on the centre table, covered by a self-embroidered tablecloth. She would sip on ice cold water, which was a glass full of ice cubes, the water forming slowly as the ice melted.

Oh! Did I say they had nothing in common? Well! They did have something in common. Diabetes!

They both dealt with that differently too. While Mr. Rajput was very particular about exercising, watching his weight, eating the right foods, eating on time, having his medicines on time, Mrs. Rajput was a study in contrast. She had never exercised in her entire life, she ate random things, at random times, and almost always forgot to have her medicines. Yet, this bothered her not one bit. She was always happy with this state of affairs.

She loved oily and fried food and when the same food reached Mr. Rajput's lunch box or dinner plate there was nothing short of war in their household that evening. All of Mr Rajput's complaints were met with a smile. Her responses angered him (well nothing unusual about that) no end. "Arey, big deal. You could have left the oil to drain and then eaten." "Just tilt your plate, all the oil will roll off. Simple."

Both being diabetics, regular blood tests were a routine. A trusted person would come once every month to take their blood samples. A few days later, the report would be collected by Mr. Rajput on his way back from work. That day he would reach home by 6 PM, an aberration some would say. There was never a change in Mr. Rajput's lifestyle and so his reports were nothing unusual. Now, it was different when it came to Mrs. Rajput. When Mr. Rajput fixed the date for the next blood sample collection, Mrs. Rajput would go on a strict diet. No sugar, no oil, nothing that would get her an angry look from Mr. Rajput, if the report had any alarming findings. As soon as the blood sample was collected, Mrs. Rajput would say: "I'll just be back" and disappear for about an hour. What she did after disappearing was discovered much later. She used to slip away to eat sweets and other fried stuff to her heart's content from a sweet shop nearby.

They were so different from each other. They would disagree on small things … and all the complaints were always from Mr. Rajput. Mrs. Rajput never complained about anything, ever. Sample these from Mr. Rajput's list; "Why have the paan leaves not been wrapped in a moist cloth", "Why was there so much oil in my lunch today", "Why did you not ask Ramu to fill water in the cooler", "Why are you late", "Why are you always late", "Why is the lid of the box half-open", "Where is the bottle cover", "Why are there no bottles filled with water", "You've again made potatoes", "Why is the fan/light/geyser on" … the list is endless. Yet, nothing could ever bring a frown on Mrs. Rajput's face. She would smile through it all. On a good day she would tell him to 'chill'.

From what everyone remembers, they were very different from each other. No one had ever seen any signs or demonstration of conventional love.

19th September 1998

Just another day at the Rajput household. It being a Sunday, Mr. Rajput was a little more relaxed than he was between Monday to Saturday. Mrs. Rajput was a happy lady as she was preparing her favourite fish curry with steamed rice for lunch. She was almost done when from the corner of her eyes she saw Mr. Rajput dizzy and about to fall. By the time she rushed to him, Mr. Rajput was lying on the floor frothing from his mouth. Stunned, shaken, shocked, panicked she frantically called her neighbour. Sensing the alarm in her voice, the neighbour's son rushed to their house. What transpired in the next hour, and the sequence of events is not exactly known. Mrs. Rajput had lost her voice by then and was unable to say anything. She was covered in sweat. The neighbour's son rushed them both to the nearest hospital. Mr. Rajput was declared 'brought dead'. They now rushed to save Mrs. Rajput. Soon, the Doctor declared, "I'm sorry. She is no more".

Two soulmates lay side by side in the hospital corridor. Mrs. Rajput for once decided not to be late and joined him to be with him on the journey ahead.