26-02-2023, 09:09 AM
When I got out of it, I was like a volcano waiting to burst. The month that Ritu had been laid off had easily been the most acrimonious time of our marriage. She simply was not used to sitting at home. And she did spend a lot of time volunteering with a rescue shelter, she still missed the adrenaline rush of the corporate chase. She was getting annoyed at the smallest of things and yelling way more than ever before.
Part of it had been resurrecting the Denise issue. Which wasn't even that much of an issue. Two years ago at a corporate retreat, Denise and I had shared a drunken kiss on the dance floor, surrounded by our equally drunk colleagues. There might have been some vigorous groping too. It was a moment of weakness for me. As a good looking and in-shape guy, I am used to attention from Indian female colleagues. I had never let it go beyond casual flirting, because honestly, who had the time for an affair? I barely got time to sleep with my wife, and she was a knockout still.
Denise though was white, recently transferred from the company's Sweden office. A tall shapely friendly Scandinavian beauty a decade younger caressing my triceps and tucking her hair behind her ears, and laughing too hard at my dad jokes...that was a whole other temptation. I only succumbed to it for a minute at that party, very drunk. And even then, I pulled away after that minute, rebuffed any further advances. She slipped a room key into my pocket. It stayed in my pocket.
My mistake was not telling Ritu about it right away. Like right right away. I woke up to an angry call at 8 AM, with a horrible hangover.
"You fucked Denise?" icy chill.
"What? No! Who the fuck..."
It was pointless asking who told her. There had been a few dozen people at that party, many of whom knew Ritu from our common industry. I could think of four women instantly who might have tattled to her.
"Ritu, listen to me. I did not have sex with Denise. All that happened was a drunken kiss in a moment of weakness. And I pulled away. And that was it. It meant nothing."
"She did not give you her room key?"
"She did. I did not use it. I swear, honey. Just an impulsive drunk kiss. Meant nothing."
"So you will get away with anything if you say it meant nothing?"
You get this gist. It was a fight that lasted a few weeks. Only an apology from Denise along with the sworn promise that nothing happened nor will ever happen finally put the issue to bed two years ago. And we moved on. Or so I had thought.
Now it seemed like what bothered Ritu more than my being away most of the month was that Denise was on the same project. Or maybe that Denise was still gainfully employed (and had risen faster than usual) while she was twiddling her thumbs at home. She started making snide Denise comments again. That added to my own stress and annoyance.
So when I called Shafi, our gated community's maintenance in-charge, I took it all out on him.
"Shafi! You motherfucker...does my wife have nothing better to do than deal with sinks every other day? You are fucking ruining my whole..."
Again, you get the gist. I really let him have the full fury of my jatt rage. He didn't argue back, but did not sound pleased. And later, when I cooled down, I felt bad about it. It wasn't Shafi's fault. It was the damn builder's fault. Another typical Indian white collar thing we had done was buy as fancy and as expensive a house as our salaries could permit. A high end gated community with its own dedicated staff for everything. It worked exactly as advertised for about 5 years.
Then the mediocre quality of the builder's work started revealing itself. Maintenance folks started getting swamped with requests as something or the other kept breaking down. Shafi, in his early 20s, was the "boss" of a 3 person team constantly trouble-shooting some 40 houses which kept having new breakdowns almost everyday. The quality of their work and response rates were bound to suffer.
Part of it had been resurrecting the Denise issue. Which wasn't even that much of an issue. Two years ago at a corporate retreat, Denise and I had shared a drunken kiss on the dance floor, surrounded by our equally drunk colleagues. There might have been some vigorous groping too. It was a moment of weakness for me. As a good looking and in-shape guy, I am used to attention from Indian female colleagues. I had never let it go beyond casual flirting, because honestly, who had the time for an affair? I barely got time to sleep with my wife, and she was a knockout still.
Denise though was white, recently transferred from the company's Sweden office. A tall shapely friendly Scandinavian beauty a decade younger caressing my triceps and tucking her hair behind her ears, and laughing too hard at my dad jokes...that was a whole other temptation. I only succumbed to it for a minute at that party, very drunk. And even then, I pulled away after that minute, rebuffed any further advances. She slipped a room key into my pocket. It stayed in my pocket.
My mistake was not telling Ritu about it right away. Like right right away. I woke up to an angry call at 8 AM, with a horrible hangover.
"You fucked Denise?" icy chill.
"What? No! Who the fuck..."
It was pointless asking who told her. There had been a few dozen people at that party, many of whom knew Ritu from our common industry. I could think of four women instantly who might have tattled to her.
"Ritu, listen to me. I did not have sex with Denise. All that happened was a drunken kiss in a moment of weakness. And I pulled away. And that was it. It meant nothing."
"She did not give you her room key?"
"She did. I did not use it. I swear, honey. Just an impulsive drunk kiss. Meant nothing."
"So you will get away with anything if you say it meant nothing?"
You get this gist. It was a fight that lasted a few weeks. Only an apology from Denise along with the sworn promise that nothing happened nor will ever happen finally put the issue to bed two years ago. And we moved on. Or so I had thought.
Now it seemed like what bothered Ritu more than my being away most of the month was that Denise was on the same project. Or maybe that Denise was still gainfully employed (and had risen faster than usual) while she was twiddling her thumbs at home. She started making snide Denise comments again. That added to my own stress and annoyance.
So when I called Shafi, our gated community's maintenance in-charge, I took it all out on him.
"Shafi! You motherfucker...does my wife have nothing better to do than deal with sinks every other day? You are fucking ruining my whole..."
Again, you get the gist. I really let him have the full fury of my jatt rage. He didn't argue back, but did not sound pleased. And later, when I cooled down, I felt bad about it. It wasn't Shafi's fault. It was the damn builder's fault. Another typical Indian white collar thing we had done was buy as fancy and as expensive a house as our salaries could permit. A high end gated community with its own dedicated staff for everything. It worked exactly as advertised for about 5 years.
Then the mediocre quality of the builder's work started revealing itself. Maintenance folks started getting swamped with requests as something or the other kept breaking down. Shafi, in his early 20s, was the "boss" of a 3 person team constantly trouble-shooting some 40 houses which kept having new breakdowns almost everyday. The quality of their work and response rates were bound to suffer.
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