<p class="bodytext">‘Hey, this week has a long tail—I mean a lot of holidays! Let’s plan a trip,’ I chirped, bouncing with enthusiasm. My husband barely looked up from his newspaper. “Yes, a long weekend means everything is long—traffic jams, queues at tolls, eateries, and billing counters. Better stay home, eat fritters, and watch OTT. You can watch all the crowded places on the Net and be happy that we stayed at home!”</p>.<p class="bodytext">I made a face. “Be a sport! Learn from the younger generation. They go clubbing, pubbing, road-tripping, and what not! They earn, they spend, and get rid of stress that very week. As for us, we didn’t enjoy ourselves while young—we were busy working. Now we’re too old for anything except short trips!”</p>.<p class="bodytext">I moved away in a huff, feeling his gaze following me. A moment later, he cleared his throat. “Short trips? Speak for yourself. I’m still young enough to survive a two-hour queue for <span class="italic">masala dosa</span> at the famous hotel! You can make a reel too, of the place.” He tempted me. “Hmm, practically everyone who visits that place makes reels. I want to enjoy my <span class="italic">dosa</span>, not look for angles!” I retorted.</p>.<p class="bodytext">He folded his newspaper with the solemnity of a judge delivering a <br />verdict. “Fine. Let’s go. But no trekking, no camping, and absolutely no places where the wi-fi signal is weaker than<br /> my knees.”</p>.<p class="bodytext">I clapped my hands. “Yay! We’ll go somewhere scenic, with good food, clean bathrooms, and zero chance of encountering wild animals or noisy teenagers.” He raised an eyebrow. “So, our farmhouse?” I grinned.</p>.<p class="bodytext">“There are cows and a dog. But the watchman doesn’t have kids blasting music at 2 am.” I shuddered, remembering the scenes at a neighbouring flat, where a breakup party turned into a sobbing and shouting party after some drinks.</p>.<p class="bodytext">He sighed. “Alright. Let me get the car tank filled and the tyres checked.” I giggled. Yes! We are beating the crowds and going on a trip! I would take loads of pictures to flaunt our farmhouse on social media.</p>.<p class="bodytext">I packed, taking care to order snacks and fruits online. He came back an hour later complaining of long queues at the petrol pump. I moved closer to him and said, “You are tired; let us stay home.” “What!” I shushed him, promising to cook his favourite dishes and a new OTT subscription. </p>.<p class="bodytext">What he didn’t know was that this wifely concern had only one reason – the watchman and his wife were going to their village, leaving no one to cook and clean. “A long weekend, amma, we want to visit our village,” they said when I called to inform them of our visit. So our ‘home stay’ turned out to be calm, as most of the neighbourhood was quiet; it was a long weekend, you see!</p>
<p class="bodytext">‘Hey, this week has a long tail—I mean a lot of holidays! Let’s plan a trip,’ I chirped, bouncing with enthusiasm. My husband barely looked up from his newspaper. “Yes, a long weekend means everything is long—traffic jams, queues at tolls, eateries, and billing counters. Better stay home, eat fritters, and watch OTT. You can watch all the crowded places on the Net and be happy that we stayed at home!”</p>.<p class="bodytext">I made a face. “Be a sport! Learn from the younger generation. They go clubbing, pubbing, road-tripping, and what not! They earn, they spend, and get rid of stress that very week. As for us, we didn’t enjoy ourselves while young—we were busy working. Now we’re too old for anything except short trips!”</p>.<p class="bodytext">I moved away in a huff, feeling his gaze following me. A moment later, he cleared his throat. “Short trips? Speak for yourself. I’m still young enough to survive a two-hour queue for <span class="italic">masala dosa</span> at the famous hotel! You can make a reel too, of the place.” He tempted me. “Hmm, practically everyone who visits that place makes reels. I want to enjoy my <span class="italic">dosa</span>, not look for angles!” I retorted.</p>.<p class="bodytext">He folded his newspaper with the solemnity of a judge delivering a <br />verdict. “Fine. Let’s go. But no trekking, no camping, and absolutely no places where the wi-fi signal is weaker than<br /> my knees.”</p>.<p class="bodytext">I clapped my hands. “Yay! We’ll go somewhere scenic, with good food, clean bathrooms, and zero chance of encountering wild animals or noisy teenagers.” He raised an eyebrow. “So, our farmhouse?” I grinned.</p>.<p class="bodytext">“There are cows and a dog. But the watchman doesn’t have kids blasting music at 2 am.” I shuddered, remembering the scenes at a neighbouring flat, where a breakup party turned into a sobbing and shouting party after some drinks.</p>.<p class="bodytext">He sighed. “Alright. Let me get the car tank filled and the tyres checked.” I giggled. Yes! We are beating the crowds and going on a trip! I would take loads of pictures to flaunt our farmhouse on social media.</p>.<p class="bodytext">I packed, taking care to order snacks and fruits online. He came back an hour later complaining of long queues at the petrol pump. I moved closer to him and said, “You are tired; let us stay home.” “What!” I shushed him, promising to cook his favourite dishes and a new OTT subscription. </p>.<p class="bodytext">What he didn’t know was that this wifely concern had only one reason – the watchman and his wife were going to their village, leaving no one to cook and clean. “A long weekend, amma, we want to visit our village,” they said when I called to inform them of our visit. So our ‘home stay’ turned out to be calm, as most of the neighbourhood was quiet; it was a long weekend, you see!</p>
