Sampati's Observations

It was a Sunday morning. My wife and daughter had gone to my in-laws’ place the previous evening. Despite repeated requests from my wife and in-laws to join them, I chose to give it a pass. I wanted to relive my bachelorhood — even if just for three days.

But my solo adventure didn’t quite start as I had imagined. I woke up to an empty house and, out of reflex, called out to my wife — I needed tea. That was the first bump — waking up without my customary morning tea. Many more bumps followed.

Soon, the doorbell started its relentless concert. First, the maid. Then the Amazon delivery guy. Followed by the laundry guy from downstairs. And it didn’t stop there. I lost count. Funny thing is, when my wife is around, I rarely hear them. I wondered if she had set some secret schedule for these visitors just to keep me on my toes.

With my daughter away, the house also lacked its usual dose of theatrics — no impromptu dance performances, no dramatic tantrums — nothing to break the monotony.

So, barely 12 hours into my much-anticipated bachelorhood revival, all I had experienced were the downsides of it. Turns out, bachelorhood was only fun when I didn’t know any better.

It was around 4 PM. I had just finished my lunch — courtesy of all the food my wife had neatly packed and left in the refrigerator before leaving. Now, squeezed into a narrow corner of the sofa, I was lazily flipping through TV channels, struggling to find anything remotely interesting.

Then the doorbell rang. Again.

I decided to ignore it this time, hoping whoever it was would eventually give up and leave. But no — the ringing persisted, stubborn and relentless.

Left with no choice, I dragged myself off the sofa and trudged toward the door.

“What took you so long? Where’s my sister-in-law?”

I couldn’t believe my eyes — it was Aniket, standing right there with a laptop bag slung over his shoulder.

No wonder he was so persistent with the doorbell. Only someone traveling from that far would be so determined to have the host answer the door.

“When did you come to India?” I asked, pleasantly surprised. I couldn’t recall seeing any travel updates on social media — neither from him nor from Priya.

“Yeah, Aniya’s summer vacation started, so we thought of coming down to India,” he replied casually.

I let him in. The sofa had a pile of dry-cleaned clothes dumped on one side, so I quickly gathered them up, awkwardly clearing some space for him to sit.

“Where’s your family?” he asked again, settling himself on the sofa.

I took his laptop bag from his shoulder — surprisingly light, almost like it didn’t have a laptop in it — and placed it on the sofa table.

“At my in-laws’ place…” I replied casually.

“Cool! So, enjoying your bachelorhood?” he chuckled.

I didn’t know how to respond. I hadn’t quite figured that out myself yet.

“Single malt?” I asked, opening the liquor cabinet. His love for single malt was something I could never forget.

“Nah — Aniya doesn’t like the smell,” he replied casually.

That caught me off guard. I couldn’t recall a time when he ever held himself back from doing something — not for Priya, not for his parents. And now, his daughter’s preference dictated his choices?

“That’s a change!” I smiled, trying to tease him.

“Yeah, buddy… a lot changes when you become a father,” he sighed, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. I couldn’t disagree with him on that.

Then, leaning forward slightly, he said, “By the way, thanks for writing an entire book based on the random bits I shared with you about my family.”

It felt like a sign of genuine appreciation.

“Oh — that’s nothing! You just gave me free content. Honestly, I should be thanking you!” I said, trying to stay true to myself.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he just stared blankly at me, like my words hadn’t registered.

To break the awkward silence, I quickly asked, “Did Priya enjoy reading it? What about your in-laws? Your parents?”

He shook his head, forcing a half-smile. “Don’t ask.”

That got me nervous. For a moment, I wondered if my passion for writing had unknowingly stirred some trouble in his life.

“Is… everything okay?” I asked, my concern now genuine.

“Yeah… yeah… all good. Except…” He paused, like he was debating whether to say it or not.

“Can I have a glass of water?” he asked abruptly, cutting himself off.

“Sure!” I rushed to the kitchen.

But as I grabbed the bottles, I realized they were all empty. I had forgotten to fill them up last night.

When I came back with a refilled bottle, he was on his phone. From the tone of his voice, I could easily tell — he was talking to Priya.

“It’s Priya. She said hello to you,” he mentioned casually as he placed his phone down.

“She’s sent something for you. I’ll share it later,” he added, leaning back on the sofa.

“Yes, you were saying… everything’s good except?” I probed, trying to bring him back to where he left off. I had to get to the answer.

“Oh, that?” he smiled faintly.

But he didn’t dive in immediately. Instead, he took a moment — almost like he was sifting through his thoughts, figuring out where to begin.

“Let me start with my parents,” he began.

“They couldn’t stop flaunting your book — sharing copies and the Amazon link with practically everyone they know. Ever since we landed here, we’ve had a constant stream of visitors.” He looked hassled.

“‘We read about you and Priya…’”

“‘Your life is so interesting…’”

“‘I could literally picture your wedding day…’

“‘I shouldn’t have called Priya South Indian back then…’”

“The barrage of comments from our Kolkata relatives just wouldn’t stop,” Aniket sighed, almost like he was still processing it.

“Oops! I didn’t really think about these consequences…” I mentally facepalmed.

“But hey — your parents must have loved the book, right? I mean, why else would they share it with so many people?” I tried fishing for a silver lining.

Aniket looked up, and the faint, almost pitiful smile on his face said it all — ‘Poor you’ was practically written all over it.

“I doubt they even read it,” he said flatly. “They’re just thrilled that someone wrote a book about me. And since you narrated it from my perspective, they took it as a family pride moment — less about your storytelling, more about my so-called fame.” He shrugged.

“Oh…” My hopes deflated like a balloon whizzing down from the sky.

“At least… there’s something for you to cheer about,” I quickly redirected, trying to focus on him instead of my sinking disappointment.

“Cheer? Are you kidding me?” Aniket scoffed. “Chennai was our first stop, and from day one, all I’ve been hearing is complaints.”

“Complaints?” I had a faint idea what it could be about… but I still asked, hoping I was wrong.

“Yes! First of all — why did you get their faces sketched like that on the book cover? Apparently, they feel the sketch makes them look stiff and unhappy. They’re genuinely warm and cheerful people, you know.” He started unloading his frustration.

“Oh…” I mumbled, already sensing where this was heading.

“And that’s just the beginning! My father-in-law is particularly unimpressed with you,” he sighed. “He did not like how you omitted that crucial moment — when Priya and I approached them to seek their blessing for our marriage.”

“Wait… what?” I asked, now genuinely confused.

“Yes! He practically did a frame-by-frame breakdown of that day — like who said what, who cried when, who hugged whom. He relived the entire scene in excruciating detail — only to conclude that you did a horrible job capturing the depth of their emotions.”

“Wow…” I muttered, taken aback.

“And it didn’t stop there,” Aniket continued, now clearly venting. “He reminded me how much emotional turmoil they went through for five years because of us. The countless prospective alliances they politely turned down while Priya stubbornly waited for me. The constant struggle to handle the extended family’s judgments about Priya’s late marriage. He went on and on.”

I winced. Oops.

“In short — he’s massively disappointed in you. Feels you completely overlooked their emotional journey and just skimmed through it. According to him, you lack… emotional depth,” Aniket concluded the Chennai saga.

“Ah…” My heart sank. Great — not only had I unknowingly stirred old wounds, but now I was also branded emotionally shallow by a man I had never even met. Fantastic.

“Anything else?” I asked, forcing a smile, bracing myself for the next blow.

I stayed silent. Hearing all this, I could only empathize with Aniket. After flying over five thousand kilometers with a layover, he definitely didn’t deserve this welcome.

I quietly grabbed a can of Coke from the refrigerator and handed it to him. He needed something to cool down — literally and figuratively.

“So… Priya’s upset with you?” I asked cautiously, my heart pounding a little faster, bracing for his response.

“Oh no! Quite the opposite,” he smiled. “In fact, she’s completely hooked on it. She’s read the book countless times. Even apologized for ignoring me during those early days when Aniya had just entered our lives.”

He chuckled, his face finally lighting up. “And now, every time Aniya and I do something together, she makes it a point to say, ‘See? I’m not jealous!’”

A wave of relief washed over me. Phew! At least Priya was on our side.

“By the way, the real reason I came to see you… here, take this,” Aniket said, unzipping his laptop bag.

He pulled out a few diary-like notebooks and handed them to me. “Priya sent these for you — her personal diaries.”

I stared at them, dumbfounded. “Wait… what?”

“She wants you to write her version now,” he smiled mischievously.

I took the diaries, unsure how to feel. On one hand, I had just stumbled upon gold — ready-made content for a sequel to Me, Her and Them. On the other hand, the pressure of proving I wasn’t emotionally shallow now loomed large.

I couldn’t tell if I was thrilled or terrified, but I got the title of the sequel – Me. Her and Them: Together Forever…

If you haven’t got a chance to read ‘Me, Her and Them: Humours and Tremors’ yet, you can check it out here.

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