BATTLEGROUND KITCHEN: MY MOTHER (SENIOR TITAN), WHO THOUGHT I WAS STILL A TODDLER, TOLD THE MAID THAT SHE WOULD DECIDE MY MENU. THE MAID RELAYED THIS NEWS TO THE JUNIOR TITAN (MY WIFE), WHO LAUNCHED A SURGICAL STRIKE

I discovered the real meaning of ‘crossfire’ when I picked up the Brigadier’s rank and was posted to Amritsar.

As a Second Lieutenant, the first piece of advice given to me by a senior Major was: Don’t ever get into the crossfire of Titans. He went on to add: Be neutral, no loose statements, no favourites, and remain away from the ‘power camps’. Curiosity prompted me to ask him about the Titans of the armed forces. His quick reply was that they could be the Commanding Officer, Second in Command, Brigade Commander, Divisional Commander, etc. And he further told me that generally the heat is generated both on the professional and social fronts. I surmised that somewhere this Major had been hurt in the ‘crossfire’. The word ‘etc’ came into force much later in my life. My wife and my mother could easily be termed as Junior Titan and Senior Titan. Both the ladies were thrilled that I had donned the rank of a Brigadier and were possessive to the hilt.

The first salvo was fired by my mother who declared that we will move into the Flag Staff House only after visiting the Golden Temple. The Junior Titan, my wife, countered this by saying that “nobody should dictate us”. Nonetheless, the Senior Titan prevailed.

Then, my mother declared her arrival dates unilaterally. We had only two television sets. On one, I followed the news and sports, while on other the better-half watched the entertainment channels. My mother’s impending arrival prompted my wife to pick up a third TV as the Senior Titan started her day with Gurbani.

Their next battleground was the kitchen. My mother, who thought I was still a toddler, told the maid that she would decide my menu. The maid relayed this news to the Junior Titan, who launched a surgical strike. “It’s either “her” or “me”, “she thundered over my hotline. By afternoon, I had exhausted all my negotiation skills. In the evening, my wife announced the verdict to my mother: The Senior Titan could decide the menu only twice a month. Winner: Junior Titan.

The score-settling became a daily routine, and the next in the firing line was our Labrador named Bossy, who resented the Senior Titan from Day 1 as the latter had banished her to one corner of the house. The hatred between two was mutual. Bossy never believed in losing and was quick to jump on my mother’s bed when she wasn’t around till she received a solid whack of her walking stick.

My driver was the next to add fuel to the blazing fire. Seeing my mother limp, he suggested that ‘Bada Sahib’ arrange her meeting with the ‘fauji doctor’. Thus began the bi-weekly ‘Free Consultancy Journey’, which was followed by my mother calling the doctor for tea. It was no surprise when he went on to become the ‘sincere beta’ and we were told to learn from him.

By now, two distinct camps had emerged. Senior Titan had the doctor, driver and the gardener, while the Junior Titan had the cook, maid and Bossy. Fortunately, I was intelligent enough to adopt the role of a UN observer with total immunity for my reactions.

Finally, we got a breather when the Senior Titan announced her decision to visit my sister for three months. She left with a parting shot: “All those who look after the parents, will be blessed by the Almighty.”