What do women want, really?

There is no woman in sight. If a man stands in the middle of the forest and says something, is he still wrong?

The wife is always right. She reminds me every day.

She may forget to take her pills. She might even forget the curry on the burner. But she will never forget this. I suspect she is downloading the FBI’s advanced brainwashing techniques and testing it on me.

This is how a typical day unfolds. I will be happily sitting in my recliner with my feet propped up. I will be gazing at the flat-screen TV and absentmindedly flipping channels.

A sudden thud in the kitchen brings me to a pause. And reality. My wife is in the kitchen cooking. Over the years, that thud has become more meaningful. It could mean, “I am sweating and cooking here, and all you do is sit around doing Nothing. Can’t you at least come and wash the dishes?”

I sit up in my recliner. The remote lay forgotten by my side. The thud could also mean, “How many times do I have to tell you that I need more space in the kitchen.” This also represents one of the so-called unbreakable plates that would have ‘accidentally’ dropped and shattered.

My legs now slide off the cushions. What should I do? Both the TV and I are mute.

In the grand design of things, I think women architects have designed the kitchen to always be next to the living or family room. Why can’t kitchens be tucked away in a corner of the basement or attic?

Another thud, and I rush to the kitchen. My wife was busy stirring three pots on the stove. I sidled up to her and started rubbing her back. With her back to me, it looked like an excellent place to start negotiations.

A sort of hiss escaped. I mistook it for the steam cooker. I should have taken the hint. I continued rubbing and reached up to massage her shoulders with both hands. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

She turned around and waved her wooden spoon at me. A lump of brown hot mass from the spoon splattered right across my face, glasses, and T-shirt front. I was careful to keep my frozen, calm expression.

We stood looking at each other and burst out laughing. She said she was just irritated. She did not know why, and that made her more irritated.

Hello. Help me here. What do women really want?

I do not listen to her. She reminds me of that, too.

I realized much later that I had married a talking machine in perpetual motion. I hung on to her every word for the first couple of years. I suspect I got fat storing all the monologues that spread all over my body.

I learned to memorize essential parts of her speech. Sometimes, she asked me to repeat what she said a moment ago! And I had to repeat the list of the monologue. Over the years, I would just hum and haw and say, “Yes, dear.”

Events and trends in life go around in cycles. Wise men say this. I did not think it applied to me.

I have to be careful. My daily calorie intake depends on lengthening my attention span. If I kept quiet, she complained that I did not listen. If I hummed and laughed, she would want me to repeat things. Sometimes when I ask, “What did you say, dear?” She would reply, “Nothing. I was just talking to myself.”

At night, she takes it up another notch. She talks in her sleep. By now, I know that she is not pretending. Now I talk back to her. Sometimes, even ask questions. To which she faithfully replies. So that is how our conversation goes. At night. Two-sided. And half asleep.

Man. We never win! We are always wrong! Just admit it right from the beginning, soon after the honeymoon. It’s easier that way.