As soon as my wife read about the hike in Petrol prices she asked me for a hike of one grand for monthly running expenses. She, like the Central Govt keeps track of the Wholesale Price Index and raises her demand pro rata periodically. Fortunately my pension also increases directly proportional to the WPI and takes care of her demand.
 
“You wait till the Government increases my pension and whatever I get including the arrears I will give to your kitty.” I said. “The Government takes its own sweet time and if the recommendations of the Sixth Pay Commission are any indication to go by, the pension of you guys in the Armed Forces may even nosedive. How do you expect me to run the house till then? The prices have already gone through the roof and you can see two big holes in the store room.”
 
“How come we have two holes in the store room?” “Elementary my dear husband, one from the flat below and one from our own make 2.” “In that case it must be like a tunnel shaft right through to the roof. What happens if it rains?” “We will cross bridges when we come to them. Right now either you have to find additional resources to run the house or forgo some things on your plate and glass till you get increased pension.”
 
I thought that she was only bluffing but I felt the effects from lunch time. The usual bone china plate gave way to a smaller side plate. The meal or whatever served on the plate didn’t have even a trace of red. It looked and tasted insipid. The absence of any dishes on the table indicated that there would be no second helping of anything, not even the pickles. Before I could comment wifey quickly added that the tomatoes had become as expensive as rubies. As I tried to eat my humble pie or whatever in my plate I found a big padlock on the wine cabinet which meant that I should not even try to think of my precious pleasures of the evening.
 
I never won any argument with my wife in all 42 years of my married life and gave up trying to convince her on anything to wit 2+2 =4, long ago. I quickly retreated to my study like a wounded tiger licking its wounds, busied myself reading blogs of Salman Khan the latest entrant into the blogspace guessing who the ghost writer was and wondering whether he was earning more or less than me.
 
In the evening as I spruced myself up and got ready to go to the club. I found the bunch of keys of the garage and the car keys missing from its place. “Did you see the car keys?” I asked my wife. “Yes, I kept them in safe custody. I kept a vehicle ready for you down at the steps.” She said confidently.
 
When I went down I found a TVS CHAMP which my second daughter (her favourite) used while she was studying engineering. She left for USA in 1990 and my wife had been preserving it as a souvenir. Souvenirs look nice but do not function normally especially after a hiatus of 18 years. This is no Murphy’s Law but my own patented wisdom. It proved correct as no matter how much I kicked, the vehicle refused to start.
 
I found the petrol tank full and a new spark plug seemed to have been fitted that day. I checked it for sparks and found bright sparks after every kick. But when I put it back in position the vehicle refused to start. Surprisingly the individual parts worked but the total added to zero disabusing many algebraic theories.
 
I then requested the watchman’s help to push the two-wheeler. When it didn’t start even after 20 metres I requested him repeatedly to push a little more. I had to repeat this request several times. A noble soul, he obliged every time I asked for “just one more push”. As luck would have it by then we reached the main gate of my club which had a downward slope to the main building. I thanked the watchman and allowed the vehicle to roll, pick up speed and headed towards the “Bridge room” my daily haunt.
 
When I tried to stop it at the entrance the two wheeler refused and forged ahead straight through the doors and a couple of tables, legs both of the tables and my friends and partners, reminiscent of the scene of Charge of the Light Brigade finally ending its journey right in the middle of the torso of my good friend fortified in the middle. Fortunately he was made of sterner stuff and provided enough of flesh to stop any further progress of the vehicle. His heart unfortunately was not as strong as his midriff and gave way. He fell backwards reeling under the weight of my two-wheeler. I crashed into the wall behind him and passed out.
 
When I came to, I found myself in the ICU and my Bridge buddies all of them septuagenarians on the adjacent beds. I could see through the glass wall my wife standing with end of her sari in her mouth stifling her moans but shedding copious tears. In between sobs she took time off to console the other three ladies. “Look at the mess that you got me into!” I said or thought I said but my mouth with several stitches and bandages didn’t let the words to go out.
 
All I could see was the four monitors showing occasional week spikes flickering like the light of a lamp running out of oil fast. I looked left and right and found the other three fast asleep or so it seemed. I wondered whether they were sleeping or………