My wife had been pestering me to buy her a diamond ever since we got married. It’s been 24 long years but I couldn’t satiate her love for diamonds, which I realized over these years is much elevated in enormity to her love for me.
I had been dreading to go to bed with her every single night, lest she reminds me that yet another day having passed without me getting a diamond for her. This has been how I survived every single night in these over two decades of our togetherness.
No wonder, luck is also referred to in feminine, as lady luck. And I am sure, the Dame Fortune has as much as a fascination for this precious stone that any other woman has. I say this with conviction, because I fathom no other reason for her to bless me with the fortuitousness of only daughters as children.
With the populace at home having the unquenchable love for rhombus shaped stone having increased since my kids too grew up to be beautiful young ladies over the years, I felt more and more questioned for my incapability to endow them with their first love.
But unexpectedly since the last one week, I feel quite relieved. My consort for life has suddenly stopped reminding me for the lozenge stone but has shifted her allegiance to another very distinctive and exclusive demand, which seems to have captured her heart as her first love, displacing the diamond which had occupied that little space in her empathy, for all these years, much to my misery, discontent and despondency.
Last weekend, as I terrifyingly put myself into the bed, she cuddled towards me enhancing my anxiety, but I soon had a sigh of relief when she whispered in my ears that she would not demand for a diamond anymore.
She could have almost bit my ears off when in that nervous enthusiasm in hearing those words, which ringed like jingle bells, when I turned towards her to embrace her, and I realized that she had not finished off her sentence.
As she pushed me back, digging her lips deep inside my ears, what I heard was no less than a prophecy, scandalous and outrageous of a much higher magnitude than that fateful 8th of November, 2016 when our Prime Minister’s face and voice was beaming wide on all the television and radio channels declaring that all those currency notes that we had held close to our chest, would not be valid tender from the next sunrise.
It was just a whisper, but for me, it was more than a howl, the decibel of a roar, if measured on my logarithmic scale at that time. As it thundered on my ear drums, she just spoke those fateful words, and turned aside. She said, just get me a LoU.
Her new found love for LoU over diamonds dawned on me with lightning alacrity and momentum clearly representative of and signifying my doom much earlier than I would have planned and anticipated.
I neither am a Modi or a Choksi nor were my parents smart enough to name me Nirav or Mehul when I was born. How on earth, was I to get a Letter of Undertaking (LoU) from a Bank for my beloved wife, which she can conveniently use to raise money from any Bank to buy herself those Gili that she had longed for ages?
I am not a Gujju, I tried to reason out to her, perhaps trying to desperately convince her of my alleged lack of such business acumen. But she had a valid spot of squabble too. Don’t you at least have some Punju friends, she questioned. If Modi for a Gujarati was my point of argument, PNB for Punjabi was her valid defense.
I have been slugging out the last one week smoldering my shoe soles, going from one bank door to another, but till now haven’t been able to establish myself to be male enough for my spouse, to satisfy her new-found first love; her love for Lou!