One of those Dear God moments...

Dear God,

In my next life, please let me be born as a woman who is putty in a man’s hand…oops…no make that a man who is putty in a woman’s hand. Drat! I got it wrong again! No of course I don’t want to be a man in my next life but a woman who can make a man turn complete jelly in her hands. Yes, I know that sounds gross but that’s not what I meant and anyway you know what I am talking about, don’t you? You see, all my life I have wanted to be one of those women. You know the kind who just have to bat one eyelash (or is it the lid?) and have a line of men ready to climb the Everest or scale the Great Wall of China or basically do impossible things like that. Have no idea if Great Wall climb is improbable but you get the gist again, don’t you God?
I of course don’t want anything so far reaching. Just everyday normal stuff would do. Like dozing off while putting the baby to sleep and not having to worry about rinsing the dishes coz the man would SURELY (and not when he feels like it) do that; like being able to make the man put away his socks EVERYDAY WITHOUT FAIL. Being able to stop the bugger from going to a boys’ night out on the day when I don’t want him to. You see, very simple, homely stuff. Utterly probable.

I also want to be rid of this insane belief that I can take care of myself and turn into a similar version of my neighbor Nita in Delhi. You see, Nita’s husband would drive all the way to DLF in Gurgaon from Rohini in North Delhi, crossing his office at Essex Farms in South Delhi on the way, simply because she had to work so far. He would repeat the process in the evenings. I on the other hand would take the Rs. 25 chartered bus and on certain forgettable occasions, even the deathly Call Centre Sumo. All because the man thought I could take care of myself and so, tragically, did I.


So Dear God, in my next life turn me into a woman who can doze off at 8.30 PM with the sound knowledge that her husband has cleared the kitchen and put the dishes under the sink. Turn me into a woman who only has to say stuff like ‘stay with me baby’ or some such dialogue to make the man forget a night of boy bonding. And grant me the ability to shiver at the thought of taking an auto after dark. Amen.