Last weekend when my spouse was
not in town, I missed him terribly. Who else will open jars for me? I have a runner’s backpack which holds water
too, but whatever I do, I just can’t seem to open it on my own. Every time I
walk to him to open a sealed jar, he responds with his typical ‘Are you even an Engineer?’
As if four years at engineering college they teach you to open jars.
Dude. Do
you know how hard is Digital System Processing? Artificial Intelligence?
Microprocessors? C? C++? Fact is that I say all this in my head only. I am too
tired to start an argument which will eventually end in his favor. That’s what
marriage does to you. You learn to let go because arguments can be exhausting.
You can very well spend that energy watching Netflix and chill your brain.
Then there was another question
which he asked. ‘What do single women do to open sealed jars?’. ‘They call other
people’s husbands!!’ I promptly answered. Then he opened the jar faster than
usual.
The primary task of the spouse is
to take out the trash, open jars, and scare away bugs because I am scared of reptiles
and rodents, irrespective of size and color. Thankfully there aren't any of those here. When I was younger, my Dad did the bug elimination dutifully, without counter questioning. We used to live in an independent
house in Trivandrum adjacent to an empty plot squirming with rodents and
reptiles of all sorts. These pests had no boundaries and used to visit us whenever
they got bored of their half acre land. Of all these creatures the one that
terrified me most was the flying cockroach. You spot it once, and the next
microsecond it is not there. It keeps us on our toes guessing where it could
have flown off to, only to realize that it is on your shoulder, wondering why
you look so pale and petrified for no reason. I just can’t handle the suspense and horror it
brings with its existence and continues until I am convinced that it is ‘taken
care of’. Poor Papa had to get rid of it and show it to me as proof for me to
calm down. I think that was when my anxiety would have started.
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| Image Courtesy: Here |
Spiders bring with it a different
type of horror altogether. Right after I have stepped into the bathroom and shed
my worldly obligations, the spider comes into sight. The pervert would be
sitting comfortably in a corner near the ceiling almost saying ‘ I am the Adam
to your Eve’. When we have crossed a certain age, screaming and running outside
like Archimedes is frowned at by the society. So we have to literally scream
inside and continue the bath, constantly looking at the spider without batting
an eyelid. I wouldn’t have made extended eye contact as such with any human ever. The liquid dripping down my face could have been
water or tears. The torture continues until the towel hits the face and for a
moment I missed the spider and in a flash of a second it is not in the same place anymore. ‘Mummyyyyyyyyy….!!!!!!’
This is when my Mom got royally
pissed and reminded me that I was not a baby anymore and that when I get
married people may think I am possessed and send me back home (which also
seemed like a good idea!)
To my loving family, I would like
to enlighten you that fear of spiders is known as Arachnophobia. It is real. It is incurable.
