Yesterday was a beautiful day in the national capital. The rain tapping on the window panes took us by surprise. The soft breeze kissed our faces and took away our worries with it. That day, incidentally, my 5 year old slept earlier than usual and at 7:30 PM hubby and I sat down on a couch enjoying the suhana mausam and a Netflix series.
My hubby was particularly not in a mood to binge watch and suggested we bake something, TOGETHER! We had cooked together in the initial days after marriage only and since then, it has given me nothing but shivers.
A part of me detested the idea but those pleading eyes and a puppy smile on my hubby’s lips made me go for it. So we decided to try our hands at baking. We boiled down to baking focaccia.
The youtube recipe suggested basic ingredients, olive oil, all purpose flour, yeast, warm water, salt and pepper beautifully laid on the table in separate dishes and my hubby started doing exactly that! He took out 6 bowls to measure the ingredients, a cup to measure all purpose flower, separate teaspoons for yeast, salt, pepper. I stared at him in astonishment when my mind suffocated my throat with words stuck in it, “Why so many utensils?? Who will wash them?”
My mind whispered, “Your hubby. Dishes are his responsibility these days, let him do.” I giggled, tucked the smile in my tight lips and became a mute spectator helping my husband in arranging the ingredients.
I started heating the olive oil in a pan to infuse it with garlic and herbs. My hubby was busy sieving the all purpose flour when some grains scattered on the kitchen top and some flew to the floor. This time I screamed, “The floor is getting dirty, pocha kaun lagayega???” He apologised and we continued.
The tray was finally set and it went into the oven. Hubby sat down on the sofa to relax and wait for the bread to bake. On the other hand, I was disconcerted by almost a dozen spoons and half a dozen cups and bowls lying scattered on the table. Traces of all-purpose flour danced on the floor with some onion peels twirling around the kitchen. I scowled at him and the helpless he pleaded, “Khaa ke kkare hai na!”
Now that’s where the problem starts. Our synergies just don’t match. And the reason being our contrastingly different personalities. Our choices are so different that even our choice of Maggi doesn’t match. Our ideologies never come to a consensus and our working style has never found a common meeting point. While the scattered peels, the half closed lids, the messed up floor were hovering over my head and my hands were scratching hard to put everything in order. But I chose to ignore and clasped my hands tight, gulped the anger down the throat, and leave it upto him. I was determined to not start cleaning without him.
And that’s one lesson I want to give to all the women out there. Your husbands are the masters of procrastination whereas you want to get the job done at the earliest. Had I started, I would have ended up cleaning everything myself. But learn to leave the husband’s task to him. No matter how long he delays. No matter how much your blood boils. Ler the dishes pile up in the kitchen. Let the floor get dirty. Let the groceries sit on the sofa. Let your husband do his jobs at his own pace. In this lockdown days and even after that, if something has been assigned to your husband, let him do it. Learn to wait peacefully. That’s how they will learn to take up responsibilities and that’s how you will get to have shaanti ke do pal.
