Swami was pacing in his living room when I arrived at his home that morning. Vidya sat on the sofa with a cup of coffee, looking far too relaxed for the crisis at hand.
“She’s not coming,” Swami said, stopping mid-stride.
“Who?” I asked.
“Shanthamma,” he said, as though announcing the collapse of a government. “Two weeks leave. Two whole weeks. Can you imagine?”
Vidya looked up from her coffee. “It’s only two weeks, Swami. We’ll manage.”
Swami looked at her incredulously. “Manage? How? The vessels will pile up, the clothes won’t get folded, the floor will collect dust. It’s going to be chaotic.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Vidya said. “It’s just housework. We can do it.”
“That’s what you think,” Swami muttered. “These things are like dominos. One maid goes, the entire system collapses.”
I wondered what system he was referring to, but just then Meera walked in, earphones plugged in, scrolling on her phone. “What happened?” she asked.
“Shanthamma is on leave,” Swami said gravely.
Meera shrugged. “So? Order food. Yay. Sweep a little. Big deal.”
Swami looked personally betrayed. “Order food? Sweep a little? Do you think life runs on Swiggy and Jhaadu.com?”
Meera rolled her eyes and went back to her phone. “It’s just two weeks, Papa. Chill.”
Swami threw up his hands. “Nobody understands. I need order in life. Order begins with Shanthamma.”
At that moment, the doorbell rang. Jigneshbhai walked in, smiling his usual smile, as though he had heard about the crisis through some hidden radar.
“Good morning,” he said. “You look tense, Swami.”
“Tense?” Swami said. “Tense is an understatement. Shanthamma is on leave for two weeks.”
“Ah,” Jigneshbhai said, settling into a chair. “Then it’s a holiday at home.”
“Holiday?” Swami repeated. “It’s a disaster!”
Vidya offered Jigneshbhai some coffee. He accepted it calmly.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked.
“There is no plan!” Swami said. “That’s the problem. Who will do the dishes? Who will mop the floor? Who will put the washing machine clothes to dry?”
Vidya sighed. “Swami, relax. We’ll share the work. I’ll do some, you’ll do some….”
Swami looked horrified. “Me? I ..umm… am not going anywhere close to the mop.”
Meera snorted. “Papa, you act like the mop is some wild animal.”
Swami ignored her. “This is serious. The whole house will be a pile of dirty clothes and utensils with dust all over the floor. Look, it is already entering from the balcony. Close the balcony door, Meera! There’s a construction site next door!”
Jigneshbhai took a slow sip of coffee. “Don’t worry,” he said, “everything will hold itself together just fine.”
But Swami shook his head. “You don’t understand. I need things in order.”
“Sometimes,” Jigneshbhai said, “order comes after a little disorder.”
Just then the phone rang. It was Raji Periamma. Vidya picked it up, but before she could say much, Swami had grabbed the phone.
“Periamma, can you believe this? Shanthamma has taken leave. Two weeks!”
Jigneshbhai put a hand on his forehead.
On the other end, Raji Periamma’s voice boomed. “Sweep, wash, cook. We did everything ourselves. Chant while doing it — makes it easier!”
“But—” Swami began.
“No buts,” she said. “Do you want my quick rasam recipe so you don’t have to order food? Very easy. Grind, boil, done.”
Meera squirmed in her place. Her face indicated an “Oh, no,” expression but she didn’t say anything. Swami tried to protest, but Periamma had already launched into the recipe. When he finally hung up, he looked exhausted.
“I am not going to make rasam,” he said to us. “Maybe Meera, we should order something.”
Vidya hid a smile. “Maybe we should. And maybe we should get down to some housework.”
Swami looked cornered. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll try. But don’t expect miracles.”
The next hour was chaos.
Two plates didn’t survive the sink. We observed a moment of silence.
Swami swept the floor into neat piles — and left them there. It looked like a dust exhibition. The mop nearly took down the TV stand.
“Papa, you should livestream this,” Meera said.
“Very funny,” Swami muttered.
Finally, he settled on the washing machine.
After that, Jigneshbhai picked up a broom casually and began sweeping without fuss.
“It’s just about rhythm,” he said, “like badminton.”
Swami looked at him. “You make it look easy.”
By lunch, the house had survived. Food was on the table. Swami looked exhausted.
As we sat down to eat, Swami looked a little calmer. “This is exhausting,” he admitted. “But maybe manageable. We can do this every alternate day. Though two weeks is a lot.”
“Of course it is,” Vidya said. “But it is also manageable. We just have to share the load.”
After lunch, Swami sat on the sofa, tired from his heroic efforts.
Vidya got us another well-deserved cup of coffee. Jigneshbhai took a sip in his calm, relaxed manner.
“You see?” Jigneshbhai said. “The house is standing. The family is fed. Nothing collapsed.”
“True.” Swami looked at us with a sheepish expression. “Maybe I overreacted,” he admitted.
“Maybe?” Vidya said.
“Fine,” Swami said. “Definitely.”
“Help is a blessing,” Jigneshbhai said quietly. “But so is knowing you can manage without it.”
Swami nodded slowly. “Maybe. But I’ll still be very happy when Shanthamma returns.”
Two weeks later, when Shanthamma returned, Swami welcomed her like a returning hero. Jigneshbhai smiled. “Some absences teach us more than presences.”
***
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