Post dated wish

We all have post dated wishes. If you are thinking “I do not have one”, you might be right. I mentioned “We” the way royalty of yore used to address themselves in plural, like “We will partake the food, take some rest and hunt some wild animals”. In order to placate Mehr-un-Nisaa (Nur Jehan, for those who slept through their history class), Jehangir addressed himself once in Singular “I”. If Jehangirnama had foot notes it would have read – The empress was unhappy that the emperor failed for the umpteenth time to get the plumber and fix the leaky faucet.

I am always on the placation mode with Radhika. Not only I fail to fluff the pillows but also fail to make the bed properly without wrinkles, keep the shoes back in the rack, reply to her in full sentences instead of monosyllables, give food to the guests before partaking it myself, making comments on prime time Hindi Soap operas, etcetera.

I have two post dated wishes. One, to get an appreciable nod from Radhika for making the bed and the other is to drink a chilled glass of beer. You might wonder that, why drinking chilled beer is a post dated wish. It is because that I have resolved to imbibe alcohol only after getting a job. I have kept up my spirits mostly by running long distances, pumping iron, reading and writing. Of all these, only pumping iron is the new activity. It has lead to stronger teeth (Read about in Gym Capers).

I never knew that strength training is not only strenuous but also an expensive affair. In order to measure the progress of my gym exploits, I bought a measuring tape.

I read in a Men’s magazine getting your spouse to measure the biceps is a good start for a seduction routine. Hence, I requested Radhika to do the honors. Predictably I had her rolling on the floor. Unfortunately it was with laughter. All she could manage between gasps of laughter was “What biceps”.

The tape did not show any improvements and I had to order scientific instruments which were sensitive enough to measure changes in microns. It set me back by few thousands. All I could say to Radhika is “Wait for another 10 years and we can measure by tape”.

Pumping iron has also made my orientation circumspect. I walk up to complete strangers touch their arms and exclaim “Man, awesome biceps”. I am glad that all their partners can do now is wring their hands. They would have filed a formal complaint of harassment earlier. I am glad for the Delhi High court judgment on same gender relationships to keep me out of custody.

So readers make my wish come true. I promise not to touch your arms in public and will eat the food only after you have partaken yours. I will even share the beer with you.