A Farmer’s Wife

Being a farmer’s wife can be a difficult role to keep, I have realised having made demands on my wife every time I lugged the vegetables—taking the rickety and unpredictable State Transport bus, riding the local train and ultimately driving my 13-year-old Kinetic Honda home and watch her face brighten up as she unloads the bags contents and say: “Ajji would’ve been so happy seeing all these.”
Day after day she has put food on our meal table, making those delicious and appetizing dishes from vegetables which are neither available in the shopping malls nor the neighbourhood bhajiwallah. In fact, many of them I haven’t heard of. Like Haak Sag, Kantola, Moringa pods, Vitamin plant, Banana Stem, Karonda and several others.
Keeping her assignment deadlines, week after week, she has continued to serve the family’s needs. Being a mother, a wife and overall a service provider–that’s what parents are called today–is not an easy job. Waking at 5.30 in the morning and retiring only after being charmed by Neil Caffrey’s (of the TV serial White Collar) handsome looks. Working from home can sound great but it’s more engaging and tiring unlike a 9 to 5 job. Only thing you don’t do is commuting to your work place.
Despite the unusual demands on her time, recurrent sleep deficit and the perennial backache she doggedly tries new things in kitchen. Seems, it runs in her genes. Her father, a plant geneticist with several patents, for years worked on developing hybrid cotton plants which are sturdier to cope with nature’s vagaries. He was at it till Alzheimer caught him—snatching him from the fields and making him homebound. There is something in her which makes her take new challenges. Like making Drumstick Bartha or boiling the turmeric rhizomes.
At times I have sulked, angry that she has forgotten the spinach or raw papaya which later found home in the dustbin.

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