He walked out into the open verandah and sat down on his favourite arm chair - a 1940 London made resting chair. Gifted to him by his brother-in-law on the day of his wedding, it now occupied a corner of the red-oxide coated floor of the verandah. In its prime days, it had occupied centre stage in the living room and was the prized possession of everyone in the family. The verandah was a large area opening into the front garden and facing the single creaking gate of the house. It was covered by a sloping roof which was made of layered mud bricks and supported by two metal rods on either ends. The arm chair was on the left most corner and a rice cleaning casket lay fallen at the centre of the verandah. He sipped on his coffee tumbler and called out to his wife Sujata, as was his habit for many years now. But today was different. "Is the phone ringing?", he asked towards the kitchen. At the age of 68, his ability to hear had dwindled a bit and his dependence on Sujata had increased greatly. "No. That's the third time you have asked in the past 10 minutes", Sujata screamed back from the kitchen. "Why do men always treat women as messengers", she muttered under her breath as she scraped the last remains of the coconut and put them into a cooking pan. A small burst of smoke erupted and vanished in seconds as Sujata covered her mouth with the end of her saree. The crackling of the mustard seeds and the rain outside enhanced the smell of her dish. "Why can't he call? She has been in the hospital since yesterday morning, and yet he has not called even once today", he spoke with an aim of trying to get some comfort from his wife. "Why are you always so impatient? Why can't you wait like normal people? Such matters take time", she raised her voice to conquer the sound of the rain and the cooking. "What has patience got to do with this? You will never understand. All I am saying is that he should call. Its about time." "How do you know its about time? You men are the limit. Expect everything to be done your way", Sujata stirred the pan with a spoon and put the stove onto a medium flame. "Can you come out please? I can't shout all the time in this rain" "Two minutes and your snack will be done" The rain continued to fall incessantly as it had done in the past few days. Sujata came out from the living room into the verandah with a plate of snacks. "Why aren't you eating?", he enquired while gingerly tasting the offerings on his plate. "I will. But later. Only after he calls", she stated in a manner that made her look like she was admitting to a crime. "See? I told you. It is about time. He should have called", after a pause he continued, "If only he was here right now, I would have shown him what responsibility is all about" "What do you know about responsibility? You haven't brought back our umbrella from that no-good friend of yours." "Don't talk about Dutta like that. Its not his fault. This rain has prevented me from going to his place to collect it" "Why can't he come and return it? Its an umbrella after all, he can surely come in the rain under it!" "You women will never understand what it is to adjust and compromise for others' needs. Its always about you and yourselves. That is why so many homes break apart. Learn to adapt and adjust and the world will be so much nicer." "So now its Dutta who takes precedence over me? I never thought that would ever happen. Its my bad fate. My father was right. You were never going to be a good family person", she broke into one of her usual complaining moods. "See? Again. Again making this whole issue out of nothing. Please check if the phone has been kept properly. Maybe he is trying and unable to get through" "I checked it when I got out of the kitchen. You think it doesn't matter to me?" He kept quiet, deciding that arguing further would be of no use. The rain clouds were showing no signs of slowing down and the pattering of water on the verandah's roof created a humming orchestra that filled the silence created by the lack of conversation. After a few minutes of silence, as he finished the last sip of his coffee, the phone rang. A sudden rush of adrenalin filled his legs and he got up from his chair. Sujata had by then reached inside to the phone. "Hello?" "Hello Ma, everything is fine. Its a baby girl", said the voice on the other end. Sujata smiled as tears of happiness flowed down her eyes and she found herself unable to say anything. He took over the phone from her and heard the news from the voice on the other end. He had decided he would scold his son for not keeping them informed all this while, but the news overwhelmed him. He was a grandfather now and all he wanted to do was to see his beautiful grand daughter. "They are coming in two days time. Both mother and daughter are fine", he quivered and lay his hand on Sujata's back. That gesture of his hand had been his most explicit display of affection in public towards his wife. She took his hand in hers and said, "Let us get the room ready for them". He walked back to the verandah to pick up his coffee tumbler. The rain continued to fall heavily. But the rain drops from the edges of the verandah's roof fell down at a slow pace. The drops fell at a very slow rate against a back drop of heavy and fast rainfall. He suddenly thought about his life. It now felt detached from the rigours of others' lives. From the travails of others' youth. His life seemed to him like the slow drops falling off the roof edge. He smiled to himself and hurried back in as Sujata shouted out calling him a lazy husband.