For Diwali she wanted a gold set.

“Arunivas! Arunivas! Make sure you get me a gold set! Last Diwali you forgot completely that I am allergic to non-gold. How can you forget such important things? I don’t understand.”

Arunivas Nayar sighed. Here he was, passing the time of day in the bathroom, and even here there was no be no peace.

“Yes darling. Yes, I will make sure,” he crooned from behind the hollow six paneled door.

“You forget all such basic things. How can a man forget such basic things? Are you a woman, to forget such basic things? Even a woman does not forget.”

Arunivas clenched his teeth. How he wished at least this woman would forget. Everything for Protima was “basic”. Dusting the railings was a “basic” activity, cleaning behind the pedestal sink was “basic”, even driving without his eyeglasses was “basic” – he could still remember the thrashing he took when, having forgotten his spectacles at home on their grocery rounds one evening, he had been forced to maneuver the wet roads half-blind.

“We cannot turn back now just so that you can see better. There is a time for everything, and the time to get your glasses is gone, past, over! Don’t waste time! Continue driving. We must reach our destination.” Protima had stubbornly insisted. She could be very pigheaded at the most awkward times.

The blue blur that had been behind his car suddenly disappeared and he found the motorist alongside him gesturing wildly. In the driving rain, with Protima napping in the passenger seat, he pulled on to the shoulder to see if anything was amiss with his beloved Corolla. The sergeant’s voice awoke her. No, nothing was wrong; it was just the rain slowing things down. Yes, he was quite sure everything was alright. Arunivas had felt immensely grateful for the officer’s sympathetic, “Take care, and drive safely.”

Snuggling back into his seat, he came face to face with Protima’s glaring countenance.

“Why can’t you drive properly? What’s wrong with you? Do you see anyone else being stopped on the highway? You are so careless! You will end up killing someone one day.”

He did not bother with her accusations. Unjust though they were, he was so used to them that they evaporated like the early morning mist. The iron was hot and he pushed on to attempt a strike.

“I don’t have my eyeglasses. How can you expect me to see properly in this weather?” he countered. The squad car was still behind him and he felt emboldened.

“It is all your fault,” he ventured.

The tigress pounced.

“Yes, everything is my fault. You lose your eyeglasses, and it is my fault. Your boss gets upset with you, and it is my fault. This marriage is also my fault.”

Protima sat up in her seat erect as an iron rod, her fingers gnawing at the side door handle.

“When did this topic about work start? And you know I am happy in our marriage. I am just saying that you should have let me return for the glasses so I could see better while driving.” Arunivas could sense his fortitude shrinking rapidly. The squad car passed him and moved on, out of view. The last of the rats jumped ship.

“What eyeglasses? Your number is close to zero. You don’t even need eyeglasses .Is minus two even a number? Now look at me, I wear minus six, I am completely blind without my eyeglasses. Do I ever take them off? No. If I lose them, what do you think will happen?”

Arunivas dared not hope.

“Darling, I know your eyes are worse than mine. I am just saying…”

“What are you just saying? My eyes are worse than yours? What is wrong with my eyes? I don’t look good or what? Why don’t you find someone else who will tolerate your paunch all her life?”

This was not the time to approach the topic of Protima’s physical appearance. In fact, never would be a good time, Arunivas contemplated.

“No Janu, I just meant that you cannot see that well.”

“Don’t talk rubbish; there is nothing wrong with my eyes. They are perfectly fine. Why do you always talk nonsense?” Protima was in top form now and there would be no stopping her.

“Do you ever see anyone else talking such nonsense like you? Last week at Sarita’s house you were advising her father-in-law about stocks. That man has studied stocks all his life and here you are a junior clerk advising him! What must he have thought, that what kind of an idiot man is this.” The gentleman in question was a sixty-plus retired economics professor who had lost his savings in the ‘90s, when the IT bubble had burst. His position in his daughter-in-law’s house being close to that of an unpaid menial, he had quietly requested Arunivas to pass on any small data entry work to him in the hope of earning, once again, a living..

Arunivas shrugged. His own savings were intact, and silently accumulating. The thought cheered him, and sent a shiver of thrill throughout his body, while the enemy firing continued.

“I felt so embarrassed. Don’t you know you should never advise your seniors? I don’t understand why you don’t understand such basic things.” The dreaded ‘B’ word again.

He kept his hands tightly on the steering wheel and mentally counted to ten. The toll booth loomed up ahead. Here would be a few minutes of rest, a brief pause from the hammering he felt inside his brain. Protima usually fell silent before strangers.

“Can you find me a quarter?” he asked. The valet was opened, and a coin quickly extracted from the small clutch inside. “Thanks.”

The lady at the booth had music blaring at full volume. She seemed young, but he could not make out her features. She was a blur, like everything else. He could only see his wife clearly, and wished that were not true. He proffered the money and drove on.

“Did you see her?” Arunivas stole a side glance. Protima’s voice always took on that sniveling tone when she was gearing up to gossip.

“How much make-up she had on! So gaudy! These women look so cheap, and on top of that they load themselves with that cheap fake jewelry. Whoever heard of fourteen carat being real? So cheap they look, and they carry themselves as if they are some goddess! Someone should tell them how cheap they look. Now look at me, nothing will do for me except twenty-two carat gold. Am I not right? Only twenty-two suits me, and it looks so decent. Plus, I am allergic to anything else, you know.” The last was said softly, almost as an apology.

How many times had he been subjected to this same discourse? He was perfectly immune to it, and by now knew when to offer monosyllabic ‘yes’ and ‘no’ sounds instinctively.

“The allergy is so severe on my neck, you know, if I wear anything else.”

Arunivas did not know. He had only heard, or rather, his brain cells had been pounded countless times into tacitly submitting that such was the case, that he actually believed it was true.

What harm was there in thinking it was, at any rate? It was not as if she needed any more jewelry. She already had a horde of it stashed away in some drawer, saving it, perhaps, to garnish her funeral pyre. They had three sons, and Arunivas knew that, though she was a doting mother right now, by the time old age and debilitating circumstances sought her out, Protima, like so many others, would feel bitter towards her progeny. She might not leave them anything, but did it really matter? He was a practical father. He had had children because everyone had them, it was the way of the world, and when they went their own way – there were no ifs about it – well, so what then? Life went on.

Besides, he was not going to get her jewelry anytime soon, so her background whirring could continue ad nauseum. The windshield wipers worked furiously overtime. The rain was pouring cats and dogs. Should he even continue the journey? The Indian grocery shops would be closed by the time they got there. Protima’s voice droned on.

Arunivas adjusted the rearview mirror. The rain fell in sheets, hitting the car body vengefully, like a woman beating her hands against walls, her bangles breaking, tiny pieces of glass rolling off in all directions, a hue of colors hit by rays from the peeping sun sparkling and setting off rainbows, free, turning gleeful faces up to the skies, illuminating the corners where they fell, little sparks of light scattered here and there.

No, he needn’t get her any jewelry anytime soon. Not till Diwali at any rate.

Diwali.. lights… golden hues against a midnight backdrop, men in their finery, turbans even, women in dark colored silks, children ringed with fireworks running wildly setting the gardens alight with their laughter, and in the center of it all, Protima. Decked out head to toe in a dark banaras sari with silver bands circling the hem, her hair done up in plaits and flowers, her arms encircled with glass bangles, reaching down to help her sons light candles, gaily laughing, beckoning her husband to join them, lightly fingering the necklace embracing her swan neck, telling everyone how Arunivas has insisted on buying it for her without bargaining, with the price of gold sky high, he had said ‘a precious metal for a precious wife’.

He exited the bathroom. The laptop case was unzipped. A large velvet box was lying open on the bed. Protima was struggling with the clasp around her neck. The corners of her pink lips were turned up. She smiled at him through the mirror, a grateful, happy smile; the way she had looked as a child. For once she was quiet.