The True Reality Show

He peered into the mirror to take a closer look at his white linen shirt. Was there a spot on his shirt? He let his fingers lightly dust it, and it was only a little curl of thread. Satisfied with his overall look, he tossed his head lightly, to allow the little wave of hair over his forehead fall more naturally.

He yelled out her name to see if she was ready. No she wasn’t and she needed a little more time, was her cross and impatient reply. Never mind. He took the time to pull out a tissue and buff his shoe one last time. Sprinkle a little more cologne. He did look handsome. He liked his looks and made no bones about it.
Walking out of his room he crossed over to the lounge, pulling out his cell phone to kill time while Wife made herself presentable. His mind now on other things, he wondered who would be there at the party. A few calls here and there helped him figure out a bit of the evening ahead.

His wife came out, dressed up to the nines. Nines it was, in a red salwar-kurta, red bindi, bangles, et al. He frowned. Not okay. Not okay at all. He wished she could be a bit more subtle – he looked down at himself, cool in white linen, a tan chinos and a suede strappy shoe, handmade Italian leather. He looked at her, bright un-artistic red, her chubby face framed by earrings that looked like two exclamation marks turned upside down. He briefly closed his eyes. Could he… should he… He decided to take the plunge. “Babe, you kinda need to tone yourself down.”
“Why?”

He fumbled for an answer to such a simple question. Then decided on the truth. “You look like a flashy behenji.”

“Oho! You don’t suddenly like my looks!” she shouted, picking up her red bag which she had thrown on a nearby couch. She had been busy changing the shell of her cell phone to a shiny, Swarowski-studded cover. Bling! But well… he tried again.
“Look at me,” he said, turning to look at himself at the full length mirror hanging to one side of the lounge, “Smart, presentable and subtle. Be subtle baby. You will look sexy.”

“I don’t want to look sexy or anything,” she said firmly, in a very matter-of-fact tone that closed the argument. Then as an afterthought she added, “I don’t know what happened to you suddenly. Not only are you dressing in this very strange way, but you suddenly don’t like the way I dress. I have always worn such bright colours… So what’s wrong now?” She narrowed her eyes, tossed her reddish mane, and took a close look at him. Her eyes twinkled, “Any on the side?”
He turned red. And refused to take the bait.

The party was very happening he decided. He swallowed as he remembered how the red vision looked – she was now walking beside him. He would dump her with her cronies double quickly, he decided and do some polished sophisticated ‘working’ instead. The crowd was classy.

First things first, as his wife would say – they said hello to their ‘friends group’. They backslapped, greeted one another loudly, laughed loudly, dressed loudly. It was an evening of truth he decided, as he tried not to wince too obviously, quietly sneaked away to socialise with the classier set.

And somewhere in between, he found himself face to face with his friends best friend, in his ‘friends group’. His palm was wrested from him, his hand shaken to excess of heartiness and a bonhomie of a backslap followed. All this while he was in the middle of a genteel but animated discussion within a classy group.

This friends friend said, “And where’s your good wife?” Not waiting for a response, the man looked across the room, pointed, slapped his arm cheerily once more and said, “I see your Mrs. in red! I will say hello to her.” And he toddled across quite happily while the classy group turned to see – the Mrs. in red.