It was his tenth poori. Her mother-in-law used to admonish her habit of keeping count of the number of pooris or parathas that every family member consumed. Vanitha couldn’t help it. It had become a habit—a useful habit that could help others avoid diabetes and cholesterol.

“It’s the third chocolate, chotu. No more,” she told her son. “Do you want another paratha, ma?” She used to ask her mother-in-law after the third one. The first three were served with no questions asked. The only person she had never had to question or reprimand was her husband but that had changed in the last few years. Now-a-days, he had only loved two things in his life—television and food—and he indulged in both wholeheartedly.

Vanitha often wondered what had changed in his life that had led to such a shift in his personality. Was it age? Was he undergoing midlife crisis? Was it job pressure? Was he missing his dead parents? Was he worried about their son’s future? Why did he change? Yash used to be an effervescent and outgoing person always ready for a movie or a party or a game of tennis. He used to go for a morning jog and often played a game of tennis in the evening before bed. And in bed, he brought the same energy and passion that he had for life. Now, it was more than two months since he had hugged her, three months since he kissed her and six months since they had sex. Vanitha missed the Yash she fell in love with and married. Vanitha had learnt how to be conscious about consumption from Yash. He was careful about everything he consumed — food, clothes, Internet, television and alcohol. The shift had taken place so gradually that she couldn’t pinpoint when he took on this new avatar.

Vanitha placed the tenth poori on his plate. He snapped at her if she remarked anything about his overeating. So, she just delayed the journey from the kitchen to the dining room as much as she could, hoping that he would understand his fullness in the meantime and refuse an extra serving. Sometimes, he did. Today, he didn’t. Was he going to take an eleventh one too? She wondered. He had already gained a paunch and puffy cheeks. Why was Yash doing this to himself? And to her?

“Enough,” he called out and Vanitha heaved a sigh of relief. She could hear him walk into the living room and switch on the television. She could hear the low hum of the Tata sky home screen advertisement reach her ears. “Vanitha, Vanitha …” He shouted. Vanitha hurried into the living room. Yash stood in front of the TV with his hands on his hips. “Where is the remote? Arnab’s show is about to start.”

“I don’t know. Did you look in the drawer?”

“Yes. I did.”

Vanitha lifted the cushions on the sofa to see if the errant remote was hidden beneath it. She searched beneath the sofa while he sifted through the drawers once again. After fifteen minutes, they both sat on the sofa exhausted.

“Where could it have gone?” Vanitha asked.

“I’m going to miss Arnab’s show today.”

“Did you look behind the TV unit?” She asked.

“No. I’ll look there.” He said and dived behind it. He turned back to her dejected. “No.”

“Oh! You have a cobweb in your hair.”

“Where?” He ruffled through his hair unsuccessfully.

“Here,” she said and went near him. She picked up the cobweb daintily and their eyes met. A dying ember of the past passion sparked again. He bent his head down and kissed her lips. Vanitha slipped her hands around his waist and buried her face in his chest. She smiled happily. The plan had worked. The TV remote was buried beneath five kilograms of rice inside the rice bin.