Cover up

Somehow I never felt any feeling of empathy towards the petty kings of Indian History who tremble on hearing from their not too well dressed messengers about the advancement of a mighty army. Their dilemma was not only to choose which direction to run away but also to choose who among the mistress should they take with them so that they hibernate happily.

One June morning for a moment I did feel sorry for all the above souls as I had to encounter a sort of similar situation. For me the messenger was my 7 year old son and the head of the might army was my wife.

“Daddy, Mommy asked you to wrap my books and notebooks with brown covers”.

The thing which I dreaded the most – wrapping brown covers for notebooks was assigned to me. The reason for my hating is very simple - I am not good at it or to put it more frankly very bad at it.

My wife joined the party and asked me “Please wrap those covers, tomorrow our son’s school is re-opening.”

It was the moment of truth for me. All I had to say was – “sorry I don’t know how to do it”.

But somehow since I belong to the school of thought that says never lie in life unless you are married. I said “I don’t have time”.

“But do you know how to wrap covers”, my wife asked me.

This was my second chance to come out honestly “Yes honey, I really don’t know how to wrap covers but I am good at tearing them”.

But a successful family life requires some myths.

I replied “I am a master”.

“Then do it, it is a men’s job.”

The above comment made things worse for me. I had to prove of my gender worthiness.

I was given a pair of scissors and books. I felt like a cabaret dancer asked to do a Varnam in Bharatanatyam.

My wife and son were curiously gaping at me as expectant as the orchestra looking at their lead musician.

I started cutting with shaky hands.

“You are not good at using scissors.” My wife claimed.

“I would have become a barber had I been good at it”. I tried to joke.

Providence came to my rescue as my wife had a sudden visitor who had brought some sarees for sale. For once I was happy at the sight of the saree seller. What better diversion for women than sarees!

It was the golden opportunity for me to escape. I simply grabbed the books and put them in a bag. My quick mind worked the simple way out. I could do it at any shop on my way to office and can lie. “Its my work dear”.

I stepped out confidently admiring my disaster management skills and handed over the books to a shop keeper requesting him to wrap brown covers.

The shop keeper looked at me indifferently and said “We don’t do such jobs”.

I handed over a 100 rupee note and said I can pay whatever he wants. He was still unimpressed and told me that it was very easy work and I myself can do it. He was rubbing salt in to my wounds.

I was upset for a moment and again my quick brain thought about Govind the office boy. He was the most trustworthy person who always helped me in times of crisis - right from a puncture in my car tire to paying my delayed credit cards.

I went happily to my office and was heading towards Govind.

I was shocked when I learnt that Govind’s wife had delivered a baby boy and he was off to his hometown.

Govind definitely deserved a son because he knew how to wrap covers but not at this juncture.

It was one of the worst days and I was cursing God for not having postponed Govind’s son’s entry in to this cruel world by at least a day.

I was a depressed man at work that day. I never knew fatherhood demanded such uphill tasks as wrapping covers for children’s books.

The next day was the opening day of my son’s school.

“Please give the books which you have wrapped”. We have to go early today to school” my wife told me in a hurried voice.

“Oh God”! I remembered that I had left the bag containing the books in my office. And my office was at least an hour’s drive from my house.

“Where are the books”?

“They are in the office”.

“Office? Why did you take them to office”?

“Because I wanted to get the books wrapped”.

“Why in office? You could have done it here”.

Like a erring criminal of a Indian movie who always admits his guilt in the final moments of a movie, I weakly replied “I am not used to wrapping covers”.

What? You don’t know how to wrap covers? You never told me before?

“I never thought this as a big thing to tell you honey… You remember -I told on our marriage day that I cannot swim, and that I cannot ride on a giant wheel and even the fact that I snore when I am very tired”. But it never struck me to tell you that I am a poor wrapper dear”

“At least you could have told me yesterday, I would have done it.” Now our poor son is going to school without books on the first day”.

My son began to cry which made matters worse for me.

“I would have never married you had I known you never knew such a simple thing as wrapping covers on a note book”

It was the last straw for me. She never used such cruel words when her right leg got fractured during our first ride on a bike after marriage.

I shouted “Enough is enough.” I will not rest until you admire my wrapping skills. You may be so impressed that you may even suggest that we can go for more kid”. I don’t exactly remember what my wife threw at me.

I rushed to my office. I was a man with a mission. I wanted to be a good wrapper at the end of the day.

I took my bag and entered my boss’ room.

“Boss, I want leave today”?

“What for”?

“I want to wrap covers for my son’s books”.

What? No one has requested me leave for wrapping covers for son’s books”.

I was stubborn and my boss gave up. I thanked him and was leaving his room”.

My boss stopped me.

“I will give you leave on one condition”. You also take my son’s books. You please wrap them too…You know Govind is on leave and I am not good at wrapping covers”.

I could not understand how my boss could say this with a smile.