Kishore Singh: Subject to silent treatment

A few days ago, for reasons best known to her, my wife stopped talking to me. This was accompanied by other acts of omission. "Can I have a cup of tea?" I'd ask her, glancing through the morning papers. Instead of pouring me a cup, she'd point at the teapot. I'd get up, pour myself a cup, and ask her if she'd like one too. Instead of replying, she'd summon the cook. "Tell sahib I have had my tea, thank you," she'd instruct me.

So we spoke through the day, and the next. "Ask him if we're going to the party tonight," she asked my son to check with me. "Ask sahib when he can send me the car," she told the driver. "Tell him not to wear the brown jacket, it makes him look old," she told my daughter. "A few business friends want to come home," I said, "is it okay?" "Tell him it's his home," she told the staff, "but he might be more comfortable entertaining people I don't know in a restaurant."

She'd be on the phone with her friends, but communication between us was restricted to gestures and post-its. She'd leave useful notes on my bedside and on the dining table: "Your towel is in the third shelf," or "Have five of the soaked almonds, they're good for your heart," even "Your mom called while you were sleeping, she wanted to speak with me anyway."

We went to Sarla's for dinner after she sent me a text to be ready by 9.30, and to remember to wish her, it was her anniversary. "Tell him, he must eat his greens," she coached the cook. When my brother came to visit, she spent the entire evening chatting with him and ignored me entirely, much to his amusement. "Why are you in her bad books?" he texted me midway through her diatribe. "I don't think I'm in her books any more," I responded.

At night, she summoned our daughter to the bedroom to tell her to instruct me to switch off the lights as she wanted to sleep. She told my son to tell me not to give the dog any more treats since he had been throwing up from overeating. Her travel agent called to say he had booked her tickets to New York, and where could he send the invoice? Various members of the staff kept handing over bills I was expected to pay - her mobile phone, credit card, online shoe order, even a dancing class she never attended. She took all the cash from my wallet but left behind a note to say she, not some thief, was responsible for the purloining.

I should have been happy at this break from her soliloquy, but worried about where she might strike next. She cleared out an entire wardrobe of my winter clothes, and when I protested, she told the cleaning lady to say memsahib needed more space with her saris, so tough luck. When her kitty gang came over for a natter over the weekend, she told them to tell me to make them all drinks, and she'd like hers with one cube of ice, fresh mint, generous with the vodka, and a splash, no more, of tonic. I cooked for her on Sunday at her request, communicated over the phone by her brother in Miami. It's now been 10 days since we exchanged a word, or two, but I'm doing her bidding even though we no longer speak to each other.