A short story

The bone of contention among the Kumars had always been money. They were reasonably happy (if reason is a term one can use in conjunction with anything to do with marriage) and the birth of their daughter had brought them together to a common daughter-devotion-fan-club platform. But they had yet to work out a method when they will not go for each other’s throats the minute finance raised its persistent head in any conversation.

As financial behavior went, they had always been poles apart. While Naveen was irresponsibly open handed, Neetu was as tight fisted as any champion heavyweight. Naveen lived life for the present, while all Neetu thought about was the rainy day. Things were manageable during courtship, primarily because Neetu had no idea about the exact state of Naveen’s finances. But post marriage every discussion ended in the same way.

‘I don’t want to discuss this with someone who does not have the ability to support his family’.

‘If you want support then behave like a housewife and keep your trap shut’, would be Naveen’s standard reply. ‘You so called modern women make me sick. You people have your careers that come before anything else. Remember that your home is a job also. You guys invest your salaries while the husband buys the vegetables’.

‘Yes. At least that way you don’t spend your entire salary on alcohol’, would be Neetu’s discussion closer, before slamming the bedroom door.

Yesterday had been especially bad and Naveen was regretting some of the things he had told Neetu. While taking his shower in the morning he suddenly remembered their early days – the bike rides, the rain soaked lazy afternoons, the movie theatre neckings, the weekend stayovers. There were a lot of things that were good about his wife. Some of his friends’ wives he saw, he was thankful for his marriage. ‘I would make a fresh start’, he resolved. ‘I can make this work. From today……’

His thoughts were broken off by a knock on the bathroom door. ‘The milkman is here. Give him 750’, his wife said.