At my previous job, I used to spend more time at home with the children. Now, I just do not seem to have time for anything but work, she argues.

About two years ago, my daughter Annabelle, who was just three and a half years old then, used to proudly announce to all and sundry: "My grandmother stays at Mulund. My aunty stays at Borivali. We stay in Pune. And daddy stays at office!"

Now, she has grown used to the fact that I am a sort of visiting father. Like a visiting professor. But she still insists on asking me where I am headed just a few hours after I've reached home.

It's about six months into my new job, but I have yet to adjust myself to the new lifestyle, or, rather, workstyle.

When on morning shift, I have to ensure an early-to-bed schedule. To hell with Saans, Kaun Banega Crorepati, prime time television and all that!!! Yet, I still feel as if I've just returned from a workout at the gym.

On other shifts, the story's no better. One week you sleep at night. The next week, you sleep at noon. And the third week, you go to sleep in the evening.

Wives don't understand this.

"What do you do in office? Just sit and work. So where's the question of getting tired?" she wants to know.

She does not understand that, after my normal duties (details of which I will not bother you all with), I surf the Net. To keep abreast with all that's happening around the world. And that can be pretty exhausting!!

But the wife is still angry.

"What is all this Net? I don't care. Take Craig (our son) to play school."

Craig too insists I take him to school. He's very excited. He expects me to carry his schoolbag.

A scolding from me puts paid to that idea; he reluctantly trudges along, angry with me. On our return, he complains to his mother.

"What, you made him cry? How could you be so heartless?"

The wife is angry.

Then, I try to be a good father and pamper them with little gifts.

Which makes the wife even more. Very angry.

"Why are you wasting money?" she thunders.

She then goes to offer some advice. "We must save."

Ten minutes later, there's talk about why we have never gone on a holiday. NEVER.

"Doesn't your office give you holidays?"

When I sulk and prefer to cool off and just watch television, the children are quick to put in their requests.

"Daddy, please put Cartoon Network. Mummy never allows us to watch cartoons."

When I insist on watching the news on television -- "Just the headlines, please," I plead -- it draws howls of protest.

Now, the wife is angry. Really angry.

I am supposed to do the odd jobs in the house on my weekly off-days.

"Why don't mothers get an off-day?" the wife wonders.

The wife is angry. Very angry.

On those odd days, the wife is very tired. Terrible backache. Feverish. Terrible. Just terrible.

Then, I am supposed to mother the children. I am supposed to help out in all the household chores.

But she does not help me at office. I attempt a feeble protest.

Frankly, the wife and I start off as Tysons and end up as Golotas.

Now I am angry. Very angry.

I just hope you are not. Angry, I mean. After having to click and click and click on all those links.