Newly wed couple, where the groom looks doubtful and the bride pensive

Ready to Single | Problems Solved

I think I should finally get married. It will solve problems of getting a rental flat easily; getting a bigger rental flat easily (“Why does a single guy need a 2BHK??”); at the risk of sounding misogynistic, having home-cooked food available readily; and most of all, being asked at every turn and corner: “You are still single??” One of these days, I’ll really turn around and corner them with my equivalent of that question, “You are still married??”

I could have a marriage of convenience (as if most marriages aren’t that already). Marriage of convenience, because I ain’t too hot about the three pillars of marriage: kids, women and marriage itself. (Straight, gay, bi, I don’t think anyone can understand women completely, except perhaps other women. And then, they go and feel jealous of each other.)

She and I could rent or buy a double-bed flat. So, she gets her space and me mine. Nothing has to happen within our closed doors. Outside those closed doors, we can pretend to be like every other couple pretending to be a happy couple.

Of course, a year or so later, people will begin asking, “Why don’t you have kids yet??”

Then, of course, we could adopt. Or better still, do IVF and address the next question in advance, “How about a second kid as company to junior?”

Man on a swing by the beach

Ready to Single | First and Last

As his Ola arrives, he asks me, “So, why aren’t you married?”

We are meeting right after school – after around 25 years. Of course, like everyone these days, we are connected on FB. We catch up over dinner. Over two hours of getting up to speed on classmates, schoolmates, profs, principals, marriages, kids, divorces, deaths. Yup, we are in our 40s, after all. Yet, he leaves this one for the end. Sometimes, the last thing you ask is the first thing you want to know. He is “happily” married himself, with a daughter. And mercifully, he left out “yet” from the question.

I give him the rehearsed answer. “I am not too hot about kids, and I don’t believe in marriage.” I have been doing this for 10 years or so. It comes easily. The real answer, even I don’t know. A mix of choice and chance? A case of the one that got away, and the one that never came?

He doesn’t seem satisfied, like I am refusing to share this part of my life with him. But, what does he expect? We met up for only two hours, after 25 years. And now, the driver wants to get on with the ride.

My friend and I will have to meet again. At least, he will want to.

Illustration of a man doing the dishes at the kitchen sink

Ready to Single | Dishes and the Zen of Washing Them

I have been living by myself for over 12 years now, and whenever anyone comes to know this, their first response usually is, “So, you know cooking, right?” Yes, I do, but it’s mainly the basics: tea-coffee to daal-rice. Tea-coffee I am happy to make everyday, but am happier to outsource anything more heavy-duty in the cooking department (apart from good old instant noodles) to my domestic help.

I do like some cooking-related activities, though. I enjoy shopping for supplies, and smelling raw fruits and vegetables (yes, am vegan) – both at the store and when storing them in the fridge – even gives me a high. I don’t mind cutting fruits and veggies (the former regularly, the latter occasionally), for I get a second high as each sliced and diced plant produce releases its innate aroma. Like most people, I relish eating too, and have my weighing scale to vouch. But actual cooking – despite all the Masterchefs, Top Chefs and sous chefs; all the Instagram food handles, photos and hashtags; and all that I hear about its calming properties – I just don’t enjoy. I think I am just not a cooking soul, I am just not for the cooking born.

A small boy gazing at a dish-washing scrubber while accompanied by his mom at the sink

What I do love however is the kitchen activity that comes a bit after cooking. No, not eating; that usually happens outside the kitchen. I talk of… dish-washing. Now, that is therapeutic. The smell of the bar / powder / liquid (take your pick) as it comes out of the container matches that of those veggies I just talked about. The water running over your hands, tingling your palms as it does so. The soft foam that envelops your hands and the dish. The bubbles that sometimes form, unleashing your inner child. The feel, and smell, of a freshly cleaned plate. And I don’t stop at the utensils. After the saucers and sauce-pans, I proceed to clean the sink. I am clearly a cleaning junkie.

I also find dish-washing energizing. In the morning, washing my coffee and breakfast dishes perks me up as much as the coffee and breakfast. In the afternoon, it helps me fight fast-arriving post-prandial fog. At night, it ensures, just as all those health experts advise, that I don’t go to sleep right after eating. Calorie-burning and exercise for the hands. Someone’s going to read this and make it the next big work-out trend. I better call dibs on ‘Muscles from Vessels’.

As I work from home (ah, that’s how I am able to do so much washing), it also provides me a break from my work, and sometimes even fuels ideas for work. That’s where I got the inspiration for this piece: I like writing. I like dish-washing. And the twain shall meet.

Quote by Agatha Christie on washing dishes

But I think the real reason I dig dish-washing is a bit more core. (I don’t share a similar enthusiasm for washing clothes, and mercifully, there are washing machines for that.) Washing dishes is all about restoring, bringing something back to its original state. I even see a bit of Hindu spirituality at work here. I look at the trifecta of Cooking-Eating-Washing as invoking the symbolic qualities of the trinity of Brahma-Shiva-Vishnu.

Poster art of Hindu Trinity of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva

The Hindu Trinity of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva

Cooking is all about creating – conceiving and crafting something that appeals to many of our senses, and in the case of several people, something that’s close to art. Eating involves destroying – finishing off what you’ve asked for or what’s been served to you. Unsurprisingly, a common synonym for eating is ‘devouring’. But cooking and eating both leave behind much mess (in the kitchen) and dirt (at the table and on dishes). Enter washing, with its promise of preservation. The vessels go back to their squeaky, shiny state, and the kitchen to its sanitized, spotlessly clean self. And all is right again in the mortal world.

Analogies and analyses apart, I find washing dishes joyful in itself. I feel like I’ve been let loose in a Lilliputian water-park with just one instruction: ‘Go play.’ Ok, two: ‘Clean some dishes while you’re at it.’

And at times, the dishes join me in my vigour. A few days ago, one of my coffee mugs slipped from my hands as I was giving it a good scrub-and-rub. My heart missed a beat. (Yeah, try telling the heart just then that it’s only a coffee mug; the heart just senses that something’s going to shatter into several pieces.) But the mug fell at an angle on the bottom of the sink… and bounced back. I caught it firmly in its upward action, doing Jonty Rhodes proud. I guess the mug’s survival instinct was as strong as its ceramic.

Seriously, if and when dish-washing brands come up with a ‘Share the Load’ campaign (an ongoing ad campaign by Ariel, exhorting men to share clothes-washing duties with women) of their own, they will have no problem pitching to people like me. (I am sure there are many others like me out there, but more of this toward the end.) Why, I could even be their brand ambassador.


Actually, no, I am so keen about dish-washing that I wouldn’t share this load. My domestic helps first amaze at my desire to retain this chore for myself, and then turn sour at the realization that, damn, this money ain’t going to them.

So too, if my friends and I were out dining and we fell short of cash, I would be more than happy to take up the compensatory task of cleaning the dishes. And here, unlike in the kitchen and at the table, I don’t baulk at the non-veg/an stuff. I am okay with sliding that chicken bone or crab shell off the plate, with my hands if need be, for I guess, the pain of knowing someone murdered a fowl or a fish for food would be wiped off by the pleasure of washing and wiping that dish clean.

In my dish-washing bliss, it seems I have some very choice company. Bill Gates, yes, the Bill, has gone on record from time to time saying he does the dishes at home from time to time. Guess that’s how he saved his billions?


Inspired by Bill (why, Be like Bill), and given that I do it so often and so much, I could even launch a dish-washing outsourcing start-up. Before I work out its business plan though, I of course have some dishes to go wash.

I wrote this piece for The Hindu’s thREAD. Here’s the edited version on their site: This piece on thREAD

The standard icons of a man and woman split apart

Ready to Single | Dusted

When I was of “marriageable age” and single, and found my friends one after the other getting married or heading there, I would go: ‘Another one bites the dust.’

Now that I am more “middle age” and still single, and find many of those friends telling me they are either divorced or heading there, I find myself going: ‘Another one the dust bites back.’

Close-up of a man and woman's hands holding a cardboard cut-out of a miniature house

Ready to Single | The Space Between Us

I am not hot about either marriage or moppets, and so am “still single”. But as my inner circle (and now blog circle) knows, I am also very romantic. So, they have asked me, “Well, then, do you plan to live in?” However, I also like my space; have lived by myself for 10 years; have largely loved being so; have largely loathed the recent three years I’ve been staying with my parents (also because I now WFH) and so am looking forward to getting my own place again very soon; am in my early 40s, and the older you get and the longer you stay single, I guess you get set in your ways. So, what’s my response to their query?

Well, the romantic, own-space-loving me is also very individualistic / unconventional. (Surprise, surprise.) So, the way I’d like it is that my partner have their space (with or without family), I have my space (soon, without family), and we get a separate space: to meet up when we want to, to be on our own (in our own space, or in this mid-space without the other) when we don’t want to be with each other. So, a ‘live-in-between’?

One of my friends marvelled at my ingenuity. Only one. Guess that explains why I’m “still single”.

This is a repurposed piece from an earlier post. Had earlier done it as an Irfictionary post, but thought it works even better as a Ready to Single piece, and so there it is.