• Home
• /
• Opinion

The day I put in my letter of indiscretions

So, rewind to that time and one of those spur-of-the-moment days when husbands put their foot in it.

Do you remember some time back there was this 'in' thing about writing out your indiscretions and putting them in an envelope and giving them to your husband or wife and they could read it whenever and this overload of honesty would sort of clear the air and all would be forgiven as you rode into the November of your life together. Some clever psychologist had worked it out, if memory does not fail me and there were all these testimonials saying how wonderfully it worked and since I am a sap for testimonials from jam to detergent that washes whitest, I went for it.
So, rewind to that time and one of those spur-of-the-moment days when husbands put their foot in it.
One such day, I give my wife a sealed envelope.
What is this, she says.
It's a sealed envelope, I say, it is the big thing now, everyone is into sealed envelopes, there are only two kinds of people in the world, those who have their names in sealed envelopes and those who don't and the only ones who count are those who do.
What is in it?
A list of my indiscretions.
Your what?
My indiscretions, you know, all the naughty, wicked things I have done that you don't know about.
She laughs a dry, mocking laugh which hurts, considering how long it took me agonising over it before running with the confess.
Why are you laughing a dry, mocking laugh I ask her, this is serious, come the day you have to open it under a court order, I want you to be ready.
You don't have a Swiss account, she says, and you don't play cricket and you are 65 years old, you don't have any indiscretions, even your savings bank account is overdrawn, all you are is predictable like most husbands.
That, I say, is very rude and unfeeling, I'd like you to know the old pizzazz is still humming.
Come to think of it, she says, I wish it were true.
What?
That there were some indiscretions, at least it would add a certain excitement to being married 35 years.
Thirty six, I say, always leaning on the side of accuracy.
There you are, she says, see how one year makes no difference.
You don't understand, I say, there are shocks and surprises in that envelope.
The last time you surprised us was when you stayed more than three years in a job without taking on the management and, believe me, it came as no shock and that was in 2009.
I've made wikileaks look like a walk in the park, I say, there are secrets only I know.
There is nothing secret about you, she says, you are an open book and your secrets will not shake the mighty Tiber.
Who is Tiber?
The Tiber, the river, Roman empire, Shakespeare.
What's with you, I say with some asperity, here I am confessing all and you are yammering on about the Roman empire.
That evening I say, so tried to steam it open, did you, couldn't resist a peek.
Peek at what.
My sealed envelope.
Oh, that, she said, I'd forgotten about it.
At which point my daughters walk in and see the sealed envelope and, being perceptive and of an expensive education, say, look, a sealed envelope.
It's your father's, says my wife, a list of his indiscreet, true confessions.
Oh, they say, that, we thought it was something interesting.
bikram@khaleejtimes.com