Kishore Singh: Withdrawal symptoms

She hated getting up for breakfast in the morning, she dawdled over lunch, she would throw a tantrum when it was time for her to take a walk, but come evening and you could count on my mother-in-law perching herself coyly in the living room, hoping to catch my attention with a sharp cough if I delayed the pouring of alcoholic refreshments. If I was busy, a recounting of family scandals to the kitchen staff was enough to ensure that I did not tarry long, though to their delight, and her daughter’s discomfort, there was no guarantee the subject would not come up — possibly because, when she thought no one was looking, she’d be dipping into the bar through the day. “I’m just tidying up,” she would tell her daughter when caught red-handed in the act, though she never failed to upbraid me for hiding the “better stuff” where it was difficult for her to get at.

Having left Delhi to live for some time with her son and daughter-in-law in Pune, I discovered that my visits to the liquor vends had decreased, but my wife’s nostalgia for her mother had simultaneously increased. “I have to visit my mother,” she’d announce, but stayed put anyway even though I said I’d pack her a small case of her mother’s favourite tipples.

Last week, while away in Jaipur, my wife decided she could no longer delay her departure to Pune, so she rang to say she was making her flight arrangements. “Would you like to leave from Jaipur, or return to Delhi and go from here?” I asked. “Let me see what the travel agent suggests,” she said. The travel agent told her he could get her a very attractive fare to Bangalore instead. “So I’ve booked myself for a little holiday there,” she said, “maybe a week, or perhaps a day less or more.” “I’ll look after the house,” I promised her, “make sure our daughter isn’t neglected, and keep the staff busy so they don’t get up to any mischief, but what are you going to tell your mother?” “I’ll probably book my return journey via Pune,” my wife said to me, which seemed reasonable enough.

Later, she called to say that she had postponed the idea of a trip to Pune once more, but only by a bit because she’d decided to return via Hyderabad since “it’s, sort of, on the way anyway”. I looked at the loot I’d set aside for my mother-in-law and added a couple of more bottles to it — my brother-in-law was a little parsimonious about her need for a drink to help her get through the day, though he wasn’t above helping himself to a little on the side too. “Maybe,” I suggested to my wife, “you could travel to Pune over the weekend after you have returned from your travels in the south.” “Isn’t that the weekend you’re going away for some writer’s retreat at some resort?” she asked suspiciously. “That is why I suggested it in the first place,” I explained, “that way I’ll get my work done and you’ll be able to spend time with your mother.” “You don’t take me anywhere,” my wife griped, “all I do is stay at home while you have all the fun, which is why I will come with you instead.”

“All right,” I agreed, seeing that I had no choice anyway, “you can always go to Pune later.” But since her current plans include travelling to the mountains “while the snow is still fresh”, another trip to a neighbouring country, and perhaps returning to Jaipur, my mother-in-law’s wait for her daughter, as well as a hangover, just got a little longer.