The blissfully oblivious, charmed life of Mr X
The household reverberates with his booming voice at the start of the day, when pots are banged, pans sizzle fragrantly, and the room is enveloped in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
The crisp bundle of newspapers is reverently handed to him, reading glasses placed alongside, his mood gauged warily, while the toast wilts and the soft boiled egg quivers, both dreading their eventual demolition!
Barking orders down the ever-busy phone with a proprietary hand on his favourite newspaper, Mr X gulps down his breakfast and heads importantly for office.
The liveried driver is waiting, at attention, and soon the car turns out of the driveway.
A veritable sigh of relief is palpable as Mrs X finally sits for her first, peaceful cup of tea, smoothing the edges of the hurriedly discarded newspapers.
Putting her feet up with a grateful sigh, she settles down for a breather, when there is an insistent knock on the door.
The harassed driver puts his head in and urgently says, “Sir has left his important file at home.”
Mrs X jumps up and the drill commences as cabinets are opened and shut, doors banged, documents strewn all over in desperate search for the elusive file.
The phone trills and rapid instructions as to the alleged whereabouts of the truant file are hollered down the line. In a nervous flurry, Mrs X drops a drawer, mutters a curse and bangs her foot against the table.
The sound of the crash elicits a volley of questions but thankfully the recalcitrant papers are located and are on their way. Phew!
Hobbling on her painful toe, Mrs X looks around the rooms. A heap of clothes lies on the bed, a mound of damp towels languishes in a corner and a number of odd socks peep out from under the sofa.
Before she can start repairing the damage, the bell rings again, and the gentleman at the door is there to service all the air-conditioners of the house.
As that gets under way, the children call, one by one. Petulantly, the daughter whines about her insufferable boss at work and the son wants dad to raise his monthly allowance. Commiserating with one and promising to indulge the latter, she goes to her mother-inlaw’s room. Pulling up the blinds one by one so sunlight filters through the tightly closed windows, she enquires as to her well-being while the old lady frets about the maid who has been playing truant for the past two days.
Soothing her, adjusting the heating pad and handing the prayer books, her ears cock up as she hears an argument outside. The gardener is again complaining about the dogs who have in the course of the night run amok in the flower beds.
Surrounded by chaos, Mrs X beckons the vegetable vendor to the gate, placates a sulking maid, humours the upset maali (gardener) and ensures that the house grinds its machinery into motion. The humdrum routine gets on smoothly.
At 6 pm, Mr X walks into a house that is squeaky clean, the daily upheaval and commotions sorted peacefully. “So, what have you been up to today, my dear? Out for lunch again with the girls? All play and no work makes Jane a dull girl, you know,” he smiles, patting her patronisingly.
Mr X leads a blissfully oblivious, charmed life. Mrs X and many a housewife can faithfully vouch for it.
AT 6 PM, MR X WALKS INTO A HOUSE THAT IS SQUEAKY CLEAN, THE DAILY UPHEAVAL AND COMMOTIONS SORTED PEACEFULLY. “SO, WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN UP TO TODAY, MY DEAR?” HE SAYS