The Blame Game

The Blame Game

I couldn’t stop admiring my diamond choker in the mirror when I experienced a judder.

“I told you that I would set the alarm. Look, it is 7 am. Get up. We were supposed to reach the wedding hall by eight. The boss is going to devour me raw.”

I looked at the receding figure of my husband as he rushed to the washroom after blaming me for the alarm’s non performance.

The next minute his ear-piercing screams filled the air.

“TOOTHPASTE IS OVER,” and then the prejudiced blame game continued.

“You failed to remind me in the morning yesterday, otherwise, I would have bought it on the way back from work.” He went on and on, as was a genetic issue in his family.

 I got the rolling pin to squeeze enough paste from the tube into four brushes.

“Now wake up the devils. They will take an eternity to be dressed up.” He shut the door with a bang only to open it with a louder scream.

“Sumi, there is no water.” He frantically opened all the taps, but all were dry.

“I always tell you to keep two buckets of water stored,” he started again and, muttering some imprecations, called out to the watchman, “RAMSINGHHHH…”

The motor would be set right only by nine. 

We greased Ramsingh’s palms with a hundred rupee note in exchange for six water buckets from the tank below.

Then lay the mammoth task of waking up the six year old twins, Piya and Jiya.

When that task was achieved, they were shoved into the washroom. 

“Are you ready?” My husband asked in a matter of another fifteen minutes.

“Well, if you don’t mind people calling me the Ayah of your kids, I can walk out with you, just the way I look now.” I fumed.

When we finally got out of the house, it was already 8.40. 

We approached our car, only to realize that the cleaner had not reported for work, yet.  A feline creature had conveniently used our car’s bonnet as a washroom.

 It took another ten minutes to remove the stubborn shit. 

Piya and Jiya took this break as a relaxed time to play, hide, and seek.  

Whether Jiya fell over Piya or it was the other way round, it didn’t matter; both were hurt and howling like wild jackals. In the melee, they had smeared the ‘kajal’ that I had so artistically applied in their eyes.

“Why do you apply this black stuff on these devils,” My husband said, giving me some tissue papers.

The fate of my husband’s promotion hung precariously as his boss threw a derisive glance at us for reaching well after his son’s wedding was solemnized.

When we returned home and opened the door, the world became upside down in my eyes.

The taps hadn’t been closed!!!

Before my husband opened his mouth to play the blame game, the twins said in unison, brandishing their pointer, “I had told you….”

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