Available in limited edition, meet Deepak, Ajay, Nalin, Arvind and Shailendra—the handymen-husbands. Accomplished professionals and self-taught Mr Fixits on the side. With a blithe allegiance to the DIY credo, these busybodies love indulging in home repair and improvements. Their women, Preeti, Jyoti, Sunita, Neeta and Lekha, say they can’t imagine life without these kaput-correctors.
They’re the only plumbers you can holler for when the showerhead clogs and you’ve got soap in your eyes. The after-hours tailors you can trust to tweak extra-revealing necklines. And the only grease monkeys who won’t cheat you on motor spares while ducking under a troubled chassis. From blueprints to rust-free upkeep, their projects don’t need desktop computing or pivoting office chairs. It’s all just applied physics, i.e. "work equals force into distance".
‘Solution Man’ is what Preeti Budhraja fondly calls her spouse Deepak. Married for 13 years, this Delhi-based couple in their 30s spend their weekends as active housemakers along with their children, Marukh, 12, and Mahira, 8. "I find other men shallow compared to Deepak," says Preeti, a Hindustan Lever executive. "When they hold back wondering if they can afford things, I know Deepak will find a solution." The proof is all over their home. This freelance photographer has designed and built almost all the furniture in their apartment. A hidden gain is the thousands of rupees saved by diy-ing.
Outsourcing woodwork goes against his grain. When they needed a new bed, Deepak promptly fashioned a stylish low-slung twinsleeper with trendy Malaysian rubberwood. The real attraction of the home-made berth, made in one weekend, lies in its unique supportive wire frame. "It stabilises the bed and lets the rubberised foam mattress breathe," attests the well-slumbered Preeti. And just so that Marukh and Mahira didn’t feel left out, daddy gifted the girls a blue bunk bed with an adjustable ladder and safety rail. Along with it came a Barbie mirror for their bathroom.
Judged against this, another woman might call her man a ten-thumbed yob. Not Jyoti Nargas. Ajay, her 40-plus partner, gets his charge from negotiating microcircuits. He’s made a hi-fi stereo and digital alarm for the car. He isn’t just building from a kit; he has acquired a provisional patent for his creations.
Married to Jyoti for 22 globetrotting years, he’s always looked after inner workings from plumbing to wiring. Says Jyoti: "I can wake him up at midnight and he’ll willingly fix a fuse. But asking him for coffee? That’s useless." Contradicting perceptions about men and mess, Jyoti pulls open drawers, where Ajay stores screws, nails and hinges. All are neatly compartmentalised by size. Besides this lie his precious Black and Decker power tools he uses for fixing fans, descaling geysers and fabricating appliance spares.
Turned on by torque, the force that goes into rotating nuts and bolts, Ajay says: "My aim is to make life easier." On their tenth anniversary, when Jyoti asked Ajay for a diamond ring, he agreed. But the shopping trip only began after he rigged up a burglar alarm. That was Ajay’s way of ensuring that Jyoti’s diamond would be forever (on their premises).
Faraway in Kochi, praising her spouse for packing and moving their possessions, as many as 11 times in 17 years, Neeta Tiku, 35, senior research fellow, University of Jammu, says: "I’m totally dependent on Shailendra." This naval officer is a tri-services man at home—mistry (handyman), darzi (tailor) and nai (hairdresser). His unpaid jobs after every transfer include customising the kitchen and stitching clothes for the family when they’re living in remote outposts. He also doubles up as Neeta’s coiffeur, shaping her locks into a fashionable blunt or steps.
Due north in Pune, Sunita Pandhe, sociology professor, hasn’t needed to hire help. Her husband, Arvind Gupta, visiting lecturer, Inter-University Centre for Astronomy and Astrophysics, is a peerless all-rounder. Lunch to electricals is Arvind’s lot. ‘Book keeping’ in the Pandhe-Gupta residence is a cinch, after Arvind built bookshelves to house their vast collection of 3,000 titles.
Just when you think broad band guys only do techie tasks, consider Nalin Pant, 42, chemistry lecturer, iit Delhi. He waxes prolix on the alchemy of baingan bharta (an aubergine mash) with a bite and the uncommon zing of hing (asafoetida). Daily cooking is his job, and once he fires up the gas on weekends, it’s go, go, go till he’s got five sabjis (vegetables) sautéing, along with tandoori chicken in the oven.
"Nalin’s OCD. Obsessive compulsive about kitchen cleanliness," says Lekha Nair. Her only Malayali whinge is: "He doesn’t make kundru." That’s a small cucumber-esque vegetable ignominiously known as gentleman’s toes in English.
United by dignified tinkering and willing to be paid in kisses, not cash, the handyman spouse subculture is as rare as fresh air in cities. And they’re loved by their women for how they ‘do it’. To prevent a mess, they use a handy-vac so flying dust gets sucked up before falling on the carpet. They also run magnets on the floor to collect fallen nails and screws, or deconstruct the food pyramid so the family’s calcium and folic acid needs are fulfilled.
It takes one to know one. And if you’re hoping to lasso a handyman, next time you’re out on a date, cold-shoulder the nightcap query. Ask if he’s got a can of Zorrik-88 instead. It’s a popular multi-use cleaning, protecting and lubricating aerosol. Most Mr Fixits keep this snafu-solving spray in stock. Because the unspoken motto of kinetic creatures who love their green safety glasses and toolkits is: "When all fails, put Zorrik-88 on it." Spot it and snare him. Save the loathing for later. After he’s sawed and thwacked together the new chaise-lounge that you wanted.
