“Oh, no!” he groaned as he flew out of the house at breakneck speed. “What a way to start a day!”

His wife stood at the door, brandishing a frying pan, a Prestige non stick one, at that, which she maintained in mint condition. Not that it did much for his prestige ever! For there were times when she did forget to take care of it, as now, a moment ago, when it descended on his head more than once. “I’ll fry you, you worm!” she screeched at a glass shattering pitch that would have done an opera singer proud. The worm squirmed. Cocking a wary eye behind him, he thankfully saw her retrace her steps. Luckily she would never come outdoors minus her lipstick.

The storm had abated for the moment. He was so occupied in sneaking a peek behind him that he failed to see the newspaper boy sailing along on his shining paragon of a cycle. The boy saw him too late and they came together with a resounding crash.

He picked myself up gloomily, and dusted his poor rear which had come off the worst in the encounter. “Maybe I should acquire a suit of armour for days like this,” he thought distractedly as he looked around for the dratted boy. However, the lad seemed to have taken off like a streak of lightning before he could be nabbed.

The cycle lay on the ground, glinting in the sunlight. He suddenly felt an urge come over him, the urge to renew memories of his cycling days, those days when his friends had jeered at him, calling him a speed fiend because he had never won a race.  His mother bemoaned the days when he got home, looking as though he had been pulled backwards through a thorny bush, his trousers in shreds, and his pride in tatters. Till one sunny morning, when he won a cycling contest, probably because his opponents were younger and more adept at falling off! He never, ever let anyone forget that dubious victory.

The cycle beckoned like a sultry temptress. He picked it up gingerly and lifted one foot over the bar. After a couple of false starts, he got it moving. People around moved away hastily at the fierce scowl on his face, as he concentrated on getting his feet to move and maintaining his balance at the same time. He found himself gliding down a gentle slope, and had he been a bit surer of his sense of balance, he would have almost enjoyed the ride. In reality, he wondered how he would get off; maybe he could just let go and tumble off? Or hang on and clutch at something like an overhanging branch and heave himself off? Both ways seemed rather undignified. But then, dignity had never been one of his strong points!

He wobbled past a jewellery shop and this brought back bitter memories of his spat with his wife. The crux was that he had done the unforgiveable – forgotten her birthday which had inconveniently landed up two months too early, or so he thought! The day also happened to be Women’s Day, which she pointed out in dulcet tones, smiling when he parried that by assuring her that every day did belong to the fairer sex. As he sipped his filter coffee, after a sumptuous breakfast of his favourite ‘upma’ done to a nicety, with tiny vegetables and aromatic curry leaves, finishing off with a bowl of delicious carrot ‘halwa’, she had draped herself across her chair and waited expectantly. A spirited belch later, he had complimented her on being the best cook in the world. What a wonderful way to begin a morning, he had thought.

And then, with no storm warning, the day had blown up in his face. As she sat there, the smile still in place, he had risen with a flourish, feeling for once like the master of the household, when she suddenly turned into a regular Godzilla. Her eyes flashed fire, her nostrils flared and her ears waggled. “Did you just forget my birthday?” she grated. The frying pan appeared without a warning and that is when he flew out at breakneck speed, frying pan in hot pursuit.

Now here he was, astride a strange cycle, with no idea as to how to get off. The wobbling had become more noticeable, his nerves having failed him, when suddenly, a huge pothole materialized before him. He grabbed on to the right hand brake and found himself whizzing through the air at full speed. After a not so gentle flip, he found himself flat on the ground, his nose in a handful of dust, with luckily nothing bruised but his ego. Looking back, the day was going just as it was meant to go – disastrously. Was it true about getting up from the wrong side of the bed and straightaway getting on to the wrong side of one’s spouse?

He hobbled to his feet, his bones creaking in protest at the indignity of a graceless tumble, and turned his face homewards. As he limped along, he was aware of a buzzing within his head, as ideas jostled with one another, the predominant ones beating down the rest. Gifts, gifts, gifts... what could he get his wife this year? It had to be extra special as he had been idiotic enough to forget her birthday.

He recalled the one year when he presented her with a wonder hamper of non stick pans, one of which had been used on him that very morning. “Pans? You want to keep me chained to the kitchen?” she had said in a deceptively gentle voice. And then, the frying pan had come out for the first time ever, though not the last by a long margin.

She loved footwear, and so one year, he had ransacked a store and got her some really smart sandals, which had looked particularly attractive on the slim pretty feet of the petite sales girl. In fact, it wasn’t his fault that he went overboard and bought six pairs in different colours; she was so darned charming; and intelligent to boot, as she quoted Marilyn Monroe. “Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world.”

 “Happy birthday, honey!”

 His wife had stared down at the tiny sandals, her eyes beginning to emit sparks, as she tried to wedge her rather substantial feet into them. “Are you trying to make me feel like Cinderella’s step sister?” she had shrilled, right before she threw each one at him, as he tried to duck, but not before the dozen of them had been hurled by his sharpshooter spouse.

The next time he had a boys’ evening out with a few friends, the occasion being when his wife had gone home for a few days, the topic of gifts came up. “Why is it so difficult to assess what our wives want?” he asked despondently.

“Well, nothing difficult about it!” came the nonchalant reply. “Just pick her up and take her to the best restaurant in town. Then hand her the keys of a brand new BMW, and make sure that everyone around sees you do it!”

“A BMW? Have you any idea how much that costs?” he had squeaked in disbelief.

“Women think big, you know! They think in terms of big cars, designer clothes and huge rocks. The more bling, the better!” Since the man was much married and tolerably happy, he decided to take his advice.

For the first time ever, he meekly walked into the entrance of a jewellery store, where he was swamped by a gaggle of hovering salespeople, in all sizes and shapes, all of whom pointed him to various counters, turning him around till he felt quite dizzy. When he finally sat down and pointed to the piece that he could afford, they disappeared as the commission proved miniscule, given the size of the item. He, of course, could envisage the size of the hole it made in his well used wallet.

Now, as he limped on, with memories swamping his mind, he found himself in front of the jewellery shop that he had wobbled past earlier. Here was the perfect chance to pacify his Lady Godzilla.  He walked in, his heart beating a trifle quickly. Jewellery stores always had that effect on him, as he felt like an unwilling Ulysses being lured by the Sirens. Unfortunately, these Sirens had no idea about the state of his wallet. That embarrassing moment would come when he would finally point a tentative finger at what he wanted, that moment when the smiles would disappear only to be replaced by genteel sneers, so genteel that they were almost invisible. He dreaded those quick glances, the raised eyebrows and the slight upturning of their lips as they made out his bill.

The counters sparkled as light fell on myriad varieties of rings, necklaces, earrings and brooches strewn around in perfect order. Eager sales ladies converged on him, sensing a kill.

“May I help you, Sir?” trilled a particularly musical voice, as a charming young lady beckoned him to her counter. His ever vulnerable heart was amazed at the dexterity with which she whipped out a dozen necklaces in the twinkling of an eye. Soon the counter overflowed with glittering eye catching jewellery, each costing the earth, and probably an extra planet as well. He sent up a silent prayer of thankfulness that his lady love was not with him.

In the end, he chose a charming little bracelet, as charming as the salesgirl, and left for home, his heart as light as his wallet, feeling that he had earned his brownie points for the day.

This time, he stepped out jauntily into the balmy day, sunny side up. He felt like breaking into song, but he didn’t want to create a traffic jam, as he recalled the saying about the chap who sang to chase his problems away, but realized that his singing was an even bigger problem. He tripped along, imagining a pleasant reunion with his Lady Godzilla. Brushing an imaginary speck off his shirt, he hummed a tuneless ditty below his breath to avoid scaring the birds, some of whom cocked their heads and turned bright inquisitive eyes at the strange rumbling noises that came from him.

As he neared the house, the gate stood open, luring him in. The sunrays fell on the roof, turning it a mellow yellow as he quickened his step, and walked in. This was his home, his haven!

He looked around for his Lady Godz... nay, his Muse, his lady love. She glided down the staircase, as beautiful and imperious as a queen, and looked at him enquiringly. Was that a faint smile on her face? Ah, what a tender moment, tender enough to awaken a poet’s senses!

He was now in fine fettle, as he knelt down before her, and presented his offering to her, expecting nothing less than a bear hug in appreciation. He closed his eyes, and then opened them in delightful anticipation.

He was not sure about what happened next. The lights flickered for a frozen moment as his wife held out her hand. His mind whirled as did the earth, as he saw a familiar bracelet nestling on her wrist. The penny dropped as he goggled like a goldfish, dismay crowding out all other thoughts. He had made the supreme mistake of giving her the same present twice over! A grave folly indeed, in her eyes!

Her eyes blazed fire, and she reached out for something on the table behind her, and to his horror, out came the frying pan for the second time again, and made contact with the same spot as it had done earlier.

“Oh, no!” he groaned as he flew out of the house once again. “What a way to end a day!”