Easier said than done. That’s the consensus. I have bounced the idea off many – peers, friends, my wife and children. They insist this is their considered opinion. Still, I’d love to give it a shy. Failure doesn’t scare me. After all, the ultimate freedom lies in the right to get it wrong. Or right? Yes, I want to be a househusband.
But that’s not because I have tired of the rat race or because a journalist’s job has left me completely unemployable. Neither is it because my work doesn’t interest me all that much. It’s the sameness. The daily bone-grinding, mind-numbing, spine-crunching monotony.
Why does life have to behave thus? Get up with sand in your eyes every morning. Sip bland tea. Read the headlines (On most days, I find the papers boring and can’t suffer reading page after page of dense black print). Eat oats soaked in milk and fruits for breakfast, have a bath and drive down the road that I had taken barely 10 hours ago while returning home from work. Best not mention what happens at work.
I have narrated my routine to the sane, the sensible and the wise. Mr Sane counselled: “But that’s the way we all live our lives.” Ms Sensible advised: “Don’t do anything impulsive” and Dr Wise reasoned: “Salvation is in rigour. Exercise every day to sprout muscles. Brush your teeth every day to get them sparkling white. Work every day for spectacular success.”
During each of these conversations, I sorely missed the enormous iron hammer I had seen years back at an industrial tools exhibition. I had this irresistible temptation of grinding the Sane, Sensible and Wise heads to pulp. Alas!
At 42, I am half way through life and have a wonderful family. Wouldn’t it be so much better spending the rest of it with my wife and the daughters at home? Caring for them, helping out with the little one’s homework, answering, or at least trying to find answers for their myriad queries? And most of all enriching myself through participation in areas of life where I have never ever gone. And that could mean cooking meals, doing school runs and even cleaning the house up.
Question is what happens to the bills? An easy way of handling that would be to shed dead weight, cut down on the avoidable. Once again, pundits say it’s easier said than done. But being a stay-at-home dad wouldn’t necessarily mean not earning a penny. Surely, there’s a lot that can be done from home. One would need to find a way of doing it.
Did I hear you call me an escapist? A quitter? If that’s the definition, then so be it. When I was born, it was not ordained that I’d have to die on the battlefront with a sword in my hand. Besides, minding the house, wanting to be a dutiful husband and a good dad does not equal taking the escape route. I am convinced. Living life at someone’s mercy for a fist full of rupees is loathsome. Not being able to take the family out on a holiday when they crave for it is nothing short of disgusting.
So, here I am. Decided and free of all doubts. I am off. To live on my own terms.
