Manik Khanna had a list; he was a methodical man. Crime and punishment were clearly spelt out, leaving little room for uncertainty, doubt or confusion. What had begun as a game between husband and wife proved so effective that it endured long past its lascivious origins. He had handwritten the rules and locked the pages away in his safe, nothing digital. Aside from the infringements listed in the agreement, Radhika was free to do as she pleased. It seemed fair to him.He spent years contemplating what to include in the list, carefully observing Radhika in the early days of their marriage as he compiled it – her personality, her flaws, what he could tolerate and what he couldn’t, what she could endure and what she couldn’t. A living document, the list was revised every couple of years. Additions chronicled new flaws she had developed, while subtractions marked earlier ones she had, through punishment, managed to conquer. Each time a shortcoming was removed from the list, Manik rewarded her with a piece of jewellery, the value meticulously tied to the effort or pain she had endured. There was also a list of presents, kept as a reminder for her, should she need one.Manik despised it when women had greasy hair. To his mind, it was no different from a greasy face, and you couldn’t get away with not washing your face every day. The punishment was straightforward: he would snip a lock of hair from the underlayers of her mane if he noticed it looking flat and oily. No one would know but the two of them. It wouldn’t be visible unless it became a recurring issue. That, of course, was entirely up to her.His clothes had to be colour- and shade-coded, arranged from light to dark in his wardrobe. He demanded complete order when entering his walk-in closet, where the cupboards were crafted from clear sliding glass with minimal hardware. It seemed straightforward enough, but in practice, it was more challenging than one might expect. The help frequently got it wrong. His clothes would return from the dry cleaners or laundry, only to be hung without the required precision. Unless Radhika personally and meticulously oversaw this task, it was bound to end in failure.Radhika wasn’t a perfectionist, and this was the root cause of all the strife. He wasn’t about to engage with the staff and reprimand them – that was his wife’s responsibility; the buck stopped with her. He provided her with enough money, enough time, enough leisure and enough hands to get it right. No excuses.If Manik didn’t find his clothes arranged exactly to his liking, Radhika would find herself locked in the dark dressing room for 15 minutes to reflect on her mistake. The soft glow from the strip lights inside the cupboards would illuminate the offence, a silent but pointed reminder. She wouldn’t have access to a phone or watch, leaving her adrift in a timeless punishment. The duration would increase with repeated errors, which was entirely within her power to avoid.One time, he forgot about her. He’d been on an urgent phone call with a long-time client, an ultra-wealthy businessman who had been on the verge of arrest, panicked and unsure of what his next move should be. Manik became so absorbed in the situation that the 15 minutes stretched to an hour and a half. His wife remained locked in the cupboard, alongside his other valuables, completely forgotten.Samara had returned home from a birthday party, bounding into the room with excitement. “Where’s Mamma? I want to show her the return present – it’s really cool,” she announced, holding up an iPad mini.“This is your return present? Ridiculous. Where does your mother send you? Honestly, send your friends’ parents to me; they look like they’ll be needing an expensive lawyer soon,” Manik chuckled, drawing his daughter in for a hug.“Papa, where is she? Where’s Mamma?” Samara asked, wriggling out of his grip. She was getting too grown-up for such displays of affection.“Mamma? Yes, Mamma. Why don’t you go charge this thing? I’ll just send her out. She’s in the bathroom,” he replied lightly, sending her off.Manik made his way to the dressing room and unlocked it with a swipe of his finger. Inside, he found Radhika curled on the floor in the foetal position. He hesitated, then bent down and gingerly helped her to her feet. Leaning in, he kissed her tenderly on the mouth, a silent gesture of truce. No further apology was offered for the delay.Radhika wasn’t allowed to gain weight. This was for her health and well-being, to be a good wife and mother, to set the right example for Samara. Samara, after all, had a tendency to gain weight too, just like her mother. Women were hormonal; weight did fluctuate – Manik understood that. Once every menstrual cycle, right after her period ended so the hormones were accounted for, he would ask her to strip. He would measure her body meticulously, noting down any changes from the previous month. If she had gained weight, he would hand her a diuretic, which she had to drink in his presence, to flush out the extra water weight.A list of nine infractions, give or take, was codified. Over the years of their marriage, this list had been whittled down from a bloated, excessive 23.“It’s not like I enjoy doing this to you,” he had once murmured in her ear, coaxing her out of bed post-punishment, when Samara was just a toddler. They had a wedding to attend, that of the son of a sitting High Court judge, who had been a junior advocate at Radhika’s father’s legal chambers back in the day. It was important that she attended, preferably with enthusiasm.“If you would just listen … This is for your own good, for our good as a couple. We have it in us, together, to be the best, the most successful out there. I know you like it. You like me to push you, go in hard when you need it, so that you can be your best self. You know you do, Jaan,” he cajoled, moving closer, gently licking the salty tears from her cheeks.Little Samara, confident that her presence was always desired by her parents, toddled over to their bedroom door. Reaching up to the handle on her tiptoes, she jiggled it up and down in a determined announcement of her intent.Manik smiled, got out of bed and opened the door just a crack, enough to let the child in without her hovering nanny catching a glimpse of what was happening inside. He returned, beaming proudly at the cherubic child in his arms, admiring her shock of thick, black hair, much lusher than that of other children her age, and brought her into the bed to lie between her parents.Radhika looked at her daughter, relieved that the little girl had not noticed anything amiss, and admired the pink plastic shell necklace Samara proudly held out for her inspection.The child wanted her mother to feed her dinner and put her to bed and communicated this in that sweet toddler combination of words and gestures that, at this stage of development, only her caregivers could understand.Radhika just wanted to lie in bed and watch TV until it was time to leave. “Is it so bad?” she wondered. What if I didn’t have the help I do now? What would have happened to this child? Another tear rolled down her left cheek. Samara, noticing it, looked curiously at her mother and gingerly poked the tear with her tiny index finger. She hadn’t seen an adult cry before and seemed surprised that grown-ups were capable of tears.Manik had stepped out onto the balcony to take one of his interminable calls, while Malti Didi hovered at the doorway to collect her charge; the child’s dinner had arrived on a tray, ready to be eaten in front of the TV. Malti Didi tried to coax Samara to leave, knowing what madam wanted, but the child, sensing dismissal, became even more adamant about her mother’s presence and began to cry unreasonably loudly, though not a single tear fell from her eyes.Radhika glanced through the glass balcony door at Manik, still deep in conversation, but he had noticed the commotion and was watching intently. She knew he was counting the seconds, keeping track. She jumped out of bed and took Samara back to her room. One of Manik’s rules was that Samara must never cry for more than two minutes, three at most. Any longer and it meant her needs weren’t being attended to. Within that timeframe, she should either be soothed or disciplined. Radhika wasn’t ready to face further punishment today, not with the wedding to attend as well.Excerpted with permission from Moms, Shivani Sibal, HarperCollins India.