I have decided that I need a wife. And no. I am not gay. Let me explain. A wife, the good old-fashioned kind, I have come to realise, is one of the prime necessities of life. Of course, men always knew it. But in these days of equal opportunity, why should women not be the beneficiaries of what is arguably one of women’s greatest gifts to mankind? If convenience can be a time-honoured reason for marriage, why make gender an issue?

I am sure that I qualify — I am as unreasonable and impossible as any man.

On the upside, I love shopping. And I have a clue or two to what women want.

Then why can’t I have a wife? Someone preferably like my grandmother, (who never gave her husband any trouble as long as she had a free hand with the household, and which sensible husband would ever object to that!). Admitted, her home would never have made it to housekeeping glossies, but I still have fond memories of her hot luchis and delicious mutton curry. And she always remembered to boil me an egg when I went visiting.

Of course, I would make no such demand of my wife — unless she absolutely insists.

The requirements, in the main, are simple. She will have to look after my home and — to be adopted — kid and dog; have my favourite dishes ready when I come home; have a ready ear when I want to hold forth and have sympathy for my pet peeves.

... contd.