Our Mindset Episode 28
Bhabhi looked at me angrily, her eyes wide with frustration. “How selfish can you be? Last week, when your husband didn’t bring groceries, you came to me. This week, when Mami didn’t pay you, you came to work for me. I thought of you as my sister, but you only remember me when you need something. Isn’t that right? The moment Mami promised you wages, you left your work in a hurry. Did she even pay you?”
Tears welled up in my eyes.
Seeing that, she laughed. “I was just teasing you! I knew they wouldn’t let you work that day. Why are you crying?”
But my tears weren’t because of her words. My husband had spent the morning feasting on Mami’s leftover mutton curry, while our children hadn’t eaten mutton in a long time.
Hearing that, even Bhabhi felt bad. She said, “You love your kids so much. When you get your wages, buy a few chickens first.”
We didn’t talk much throughout the day. She weeded the fields while I harvested the crops, watered the cattle, carried grass to the barn, and washed clothes near the well. We only had time to talk during lunch.
In the past seven years, my children never had to suffer for food because I frequently visited my parents’ home. My husband and I constantly fought, and my father knew exactly why I had come home. While I stayed there, he would buy eggs, mutton, and fish for us. Within two or three days, my husband would show up—not for me, but for the mutton. He would stay for two days, and since the son-in-law was visiting, a chicken would be slaughtered for him. My mother pampered him more than my father did.
That evening, when I returned home, I saw a man sitting on the porch. A bike was parked under the tree, with a large sprayer tied to it. My husband said, “We have to spray pesticides in the orchard tomorrow. He will stay here for the night, so prepare a meal for him too.”
The man immediately said, “I need liquor and mutton every evening. I don’t eat without it. I already have a bottle with me. I’ll pay—just go to the village and get the mutton.”
Without a word, my husband took money and went straight to buy it.
The man turned to me and said, “Don’t be upset. It’s just my habit. I don’t drink all day. I work hard—I spray pesticides over four or five acres daily. I earn well, but all I ask for is a bottle of liquor and a plate of mutton at the end of the day. When I go home, I give my wife money in one hand and a packet of mutton in the other. She’s happy.”
A thought crossed my mind—my husband had no such addictions. Did that mean my life was better, or was his wife’s life better? After all, she received money and mutton every evening without even asking.
When my husband returned, the kids were overjoyed at the sight of mutton. I finished making chapatis while the curry cooked. They kept reminding me, “Mom, don’t make it too spicy! And once it’s almost done, save some broth with just salt for us.”
I felt ashamed. They didn’t know the mutton was bought with someone else’s money.
A little later, the man said, “I have kids too—I’m a father of three. Do you think I can eat all this alone? First, set aside some mutton and vegetables for your children before adding the spices.”
That night, as I watched my children eat with so much joy, I couldn’t help but wonder—why did it take another man’s kindness for them to have a meal like this?