<p>I’m not a great fan of Shah Rukh Khan but, like passive smokers, I have been a passive watcher of some of his movies due to circumstances beyond my control; taking an occasional glance at a scene when my daughters are having their daily dose of King Khan’s long list of blockbusters.</p>.<p>But the title of one of his movie’s, <span class="italic"><em>Main Hoon Na</em></span>, has almost become my daily mantra since our recent relocation to Bangalore after 22 years abroad. As cost-cutting has become compulsive, calling a plumber or a carpenter, or even our friendly ‘all-in-one’ electrician, is considered a luxury while self-help and multi-tasking a necessity.</p>.<p>Be it fixing the kitchen sink or replacing a bulb or silencing the noisy wardrobe door, the job has to be done ‘in house’ and on such occasions, the collective eyes of the entire household falls on me— and I, with false bravado, of course, say 'Main Hoon Na' to avoid extra expenses. But the job has never been as easy as I had so conveniently assumed all these years. The kitchen sink is unfriendly, the overhead bulb uncooperative and almost comes off intact with the holder, and the wardrobe door refuses to slide without letting the whole world know of its very existence.</p>.<p>To add to my woes, the tool kit does not come in handy. The cutting plier, much to my chagrin, never fits the item to be repaired or replaced— it is either too big or too small. The round screwdriver is never found when needed the most while the ‘business’ part of the good old hammer comes off the hook when just one more 'hammering' is needed to finish, if not fix, the job.</p>.<p>The most complex of all matters is the simple job of removing a rusty nail. All the workouts in the gym down the years is of no help here nor the lessons painstakingly learnt during practical classes in school and college. A little extra effort, more out of misplaced enthusiasm to please the ‘family audience’, resulted in the nail snapping right at the surface of the wall. The tricky job became trickier as I could feel the remaining part of the adamant nail by my fingernails but could not grip it with any tool, including my proud possession— the Swiss knife, to pull it out.</p>.<p>Now weeks have gone by and the wife, though not completely satisfied, is not incessantly complaining about the kitchen sink or the overhead bulb. The TV occasionally goes off or at times the hairdryer refuses to do its job or the wardrobe door refuses to slide but my daughters know whom to summon, and I unfailingly enter saying 'Main Hoon Na'.</p>.<p>However, the naughty nail on the wall even to this day looks at me straight in my eye and mocks ‘Main bhi Hoon Na.’</p>
<p>I’m not a great fan of Shah Rukh Khan but, like passive smokers, I have been a passive watcher of some of his movies due to circumstances beyond my control; taking an occasional glance at a scene when my daughters are having their daily dose of King Khan’s long list of blockbusters.</p>.<p>But the title of one of his movie’s, <span class="italic"><em>Main Hoon Na</em></span>, has almost become my daily mantra since our recent relocation to Bangalore after 22 years abroad. As cost-cutting has become compulsive, calling a plumber or a carpenter, or even our friendly ‘all-in-one’ electrician, is considered a luxury while self-help and multi-tasking a necessity.</p>.<p>Be it fixing the kitchen sink or replacing a bulb or silencing the noisy wardrobe door, the job has to be done ‘in house’ and on such occasions, the collective eyes of the entire household falls on me— and I, with false bravado, of course, say 'Main Hoon Na' to avoid extra expenses. But the job has never been as easy as I had so conveniently assumed all these years. The kitchen sink is unfriendly, the overhead bulb uncooperative and almost comes off intact with the holder, and the wardrobe door refuses to slide without letting the whole world know of its very existence.</p>.<p>To add to my woes, the tool kit does not come in handy. The cutting plier, much to my chagrin, never fits the item to be repaired or replaced— it is either too big or too small. The round screwdriver is never found when needed the most while the ‘business’ part of the good old hammer comes off the hook when just one more 'hammering' is needed to finish, if not fix, the job.</p>.<p>The most complex of all matters is the simple job of removing a rusty nail. All the workouts in the gym down the years is of no help here nor the lessons painstakingly learnt during practical classes in school and college. A little extra effort, more out of misplaced enthusiasm to please the ‘family audience’, resulted in the nail snapping right at the surface of the wall. The tricky job became trickier as I could feel the remaining part of the adamant nail by my fingernails but could not grip it with any tool, including my proud possession— the Swiss knife, to pull it out.</p>.<p>Now weeks have gone by and the wife, though not completely satisfied, is not incessantly complaining about the kitchen sink or the overhead bulb. The TV occasionally goes off or at times the hairdryer refuses to do its job or the wardrobe door refuses to slide but my daughters know whom to summon, and I unfailingly enter saying 'Main Hoon Na'.</p>.<p>However, the naughty nail on the wall even to this day looks at me straight in my eye and mocks ‘Main bhi Hoon Na.’</p>