Salary for The Wife

“You know, I should be getting a regular salary,” said the wife last night.

“My money is yours, honey, heh heh. See? It rhymes,” I said grinning in an ingratiating manner. The wife hates being called honey.

She did her standard disdainful nose wrinkle and jaw tightening move and said, “I am serious. I need to be getting a regular salary.”

“You are the one who said you need to give up your job to look after the daughter (I won’t give her name. You should never put your child’s name on the internet). Let’s hire a good full-time nanny from one of those expat agencies and you can go back to work. Who is stopping you? I never asked you to sit at home”

“Sit? Sit? Do I SIT at home?” screamed the wife. “That’s the problem with you men. If someone is looking after the home and children, she is ‘sitting’ at home.”

“I am also not a home-maker. I hate that word. I am working 24 hours to ensure you can go and earn a living and rise in your career. Please understand, you do not earn a salary for yourself. You earn family wages.” The Sociologist was now peeking out from her Hyde.  

“If you had to pay for everything that you get for free because I work at home, you will end up spending thousands, if not lakhs. And, if you want something of the standard that I provide, it would be even more,” she said. Her tone was cold and analytical, which was not to be mistaken for a call to rational debate. This was going to be a monologue.

Still raining in Ranchi. 150 target for India, in 20 overs. Not impossible.

“What the government should do is simple. It should get a law passed that makes it mandatory for employers to deposit half the salary of a man, whose wife works at home, into her account. Directly. Are you listening?” she asked, raising her voice slightly but inserting enough steel in it for me to stop thinking about cricket.

The human brain is such a wonderful machine that even if you are not actively listening to something, you do end up hearing it. “Yes, I understand your point,” I said. “What I don’t understand is, how is it different from the joint account we have? Whatever salary comes into the account is equally yours to withdraw and spend.”

“No. That is not good enough. The hidden idea behind the joint account is that the money is actually yours, you have earned it, and you are just being kind and liberal by saying it is mine as well. That will just not do. Your stupid company should realise that half the money you earn is mine. It is because of me that you can work the late hours that you do and go on the long business trips, honey.”

That word is irritating, when spoken in that tone.

“Who likes to work late? I don’t. It is part of my job,” I said.

“No, my dear. It is not part of job. It is what allows you to rise, become more important and earn more. If you don’t do it, you won’t lose your job. You will just not have the career that you want,” the wife said. How unreasonable.

“No one recognises that house work is socially and economically productive work. Only Chavez did and his government gave salaries to poor women who worked at home.”

“Chavez was a dictator,” I countered.

“Well, in that case, that is what you need,” said the wife and walked off.

Meanwhile, in Ranchi, the match had been washed out.