Kishore Singh: Stranded for the summer

You'd think that people who have swimming pools would have the decency to stay in town to entertain their buddies. Yet, they're the ones travelling right now when it's so hot here, you can cook an entire picnic by the poolside. Which is just what you might end up doing if you thought to "borrow" the swimming pool in your friends' absence. "Feel free to use it," Monica told my wife when she called from London, failing to mention that she'd had the pool drained before leaving town. "Have it filled up," my wife ordered the handyman at Monica's house, having commandeered me to arrive ahead of a group of friends she'd invited along. "The pump isn't working," smirked the assistant, clearly used to disposing of with unwanted guests. At Sonali's farmhouse, the manager said there was no water in the pipes. Mantra's maid said the pool was under maintenance and wouldn't be ready for a month.
 

"Thankfully, we have friends who have vacation homes in the hills," my wife informed me, and I must confess these appeared an attractive option given the frequent power breakdowns that had begun to plague the city. But Mithu in Kasauli was in residence and had only one bedroom to spare for which there was a queue, though she promised to call should there be a dropout, "but it's only for two nights at a time," she confided, which hardly seemed worth the trouble of the journey. Shimla and Mussoorie were suffering a water crisis and we didn't want to stay in cottages where we were required to trek to a community tank for buckets of water that we would have to carry back uphill every time we wanted to flush. Sarla's villa in Ramgarh was on offer to us, provided we took our own cook, maid and gardener along.

With our options running thin, my wife finalised her plans, fleeing overseas to friends and family, even though their mails indicated a lack of enthusiasm about their imposed guest. Not having her thick skin, and being of sensitive temperament, I cast around for a break of my own. But all resorts were either full or so outrageously priced, it seemed cheaper to buy an apartment in Delhi than rent a suite for a fortnight. I considered going to Bhutan till word that the prime minister's retinue would be arriving ahead of his maiden foreign trip had my hosts in a funk. As to spa weekends, I nixed the idea in the bud at the thought of being surrounded by young couples abdicating their responsibility as parents by letting their young charges run wild in the corridors or, worse, peeing in the pool. My aunts invited me to join them on a trek through the Himalayas, but their inclination was more spiritual than leisurely, leading me to decline their somewhat spartan invitation with some relief.

"Dear, you can be happy reading by yourself," my wife consoled me, pointing out that she'd informed our friends who were in the city that, as an enforced bachelor for the duration of her extended holiday, they might think to offer me company. "The result of your commendable efforts," I sighed, "is that the Sharmas and Kumars are coming for dinner tonight, Ed and Minky want me to cook them lunch on Sunday, Chunky is bringing his in-laws over on Monday, and the Bhatts have asked to stay for a week," ensuring that my summer is going to be warmer than even the heat.