Inside a Woman's Purse

                                                 

I have access to only one woman’s purse. That’s my wife’s. That’s the privilege of being her husband. But I never had the honour of opening her purse in all these twenty years of our marriage, until yesterday.

The laundry-man was at the door and my wife was at the neighbour’s. He gave me the ironed clothes and said, ‘Ten dirhams.’ If he had asked for a slice of heaven, I’d have been able to give it to him without much ado. But ten dirhams. From where to get these ten dirhams with the wife not being at home?

My wallet as always is empty except for credit and ATM-cum debit cards. So, there was no point in looking there for the ten dirhams. My mother often would say, ‘Even the poorest man in this world will have a rupee in his pocket but not you.’ And the wife asks, ‘What will you do if you need cash in an emergency?’ I tell her I can answer this question only when I experience that emergency. She always has a wry smile on her face when I say this.  

Probably this was the emergency she was talking about. And I was lost. I was secretly happy that she was not at home to see my situation. The door bell rang again and I rushed to see who it was.

‘Sahab, dus dirham,’ the laundry man said.

‘Bhaiyya, ruko zara,’ I said, wondering why every laundry-man, servant, driver, vendor, carpenter, electrician, plumber, etc, etc, is referred to as a bhaiyya. I went back inside my room to search for that elusive ten dirhams. Nowhere, I could find. The children were also not at home otherwise I would have borrowed from them. I am not sure if they would have lent me because I have borrowed quite enough from them and they tell me ‘Daddy you are supposed to give us pocket money, not we.’

In desperation, I opened my wife’s cupboard and there among the neatly stacked clothes, her purse was kept. The door bell rang again. ‘Bhaiyya ruko,’ I said, as loud as I could. Then I opened the purse. More than my month’s entire salary was in it, along with a tube of lipstick, a hanky, two dry tissues, a packet of wet tissues, toothpick, nail trimmer, kajal stick, nail polish remover,  a strip of Panadol, floss, sunglasses  -  it was like I had entered a bank that also has a department store attached to it -  juda stick, coins, cards, old bills / receipts, perfume, moisturiser, lip-gloss, rubber bands, comb -  I was thinking if she carries so much stuff in her purse, then what she must be carrying in her suitcase when she travels?

My curiosity was fully aroused so I made a mental note to check her suitcase next time she travels, then refocused on emptying the contents of my wife’s purse, as more treasure was hidden in it. But suddenly, I heard footsteps. It was my wife. ‘Gosh, what is this?’ she asked.

‘I had to give ten dirhams to the bhaiyya,’ I replied, quickly withdrawing a crisp ten dirham note from the thick wad.  

‘I have already paid him,’ she said, keeping her other purse on the bed.

I thought to myself would the same things be in this purse too.

‘Now, do you understand why I insist your wallet should be full?’ she said, sitting beside me.

‘No, I don’t,’ I said. ‘Your purse has enough to see us through the Great Depression.’

-          NZ

6.6.2019