'... it's all about how we leverage what's at our disposal,' I ended my little discourse to find my wife staring blankly at me, unimpressed as usual. 'All for a cup of tea?' she said.

'That's just the start,' I said, trying to make her see the possibilities. After all, for someone who had continued to put up with me all these years, anything must have seemed possible, but it didn't. Maybe I had met my match. Innovation has no takers you see. 

My wife and I were getting ready to share kitchen work that morning. For someone who pioneers extreme automation at work and fails consistently, I felt the business of cooking could help with a bit of automation too. 

'I'll set the cooker and will go downstairs to buy flowers,' my wife said, 'you make some tea for us. Don't just let the tea bags sit. Dip them few times when the water is boiling.' I found the pressure cooker loaded with rice and pulses, primed to be set on the flame and the empty sauce pan ready to give it company on the adjacent burner. That's when I hit a brainwave the size of a tsunami.

'The cooker will make tea for us,' I said and she shot me a quizzical glance before folding her hands in front of her and demanding an explanation as to how. 'Don't tell me you are going to place a vessel with a tea bag along with the rice and pulses,' she said.

'Nah!' I said emphatically. 'Only a fool would do that.' And then I went on to describe the grandest assembly-lining plan a kitchen had ever seen, at least in our apartment. It was a simple plan. The pressure cooker takes about eight minutes to build enough steam to want to let it out. The cooker's pressure regulator lifts and lets out steam. Four such cooker-exhalations would mean the food is cooked and one needs to let the cooker sit on a simmering flame for five minutes before turning the flame off. My plan was to have two tea bags tied to a thin dowel-like rod that would be tied to the cooker's regulator all the way over the saucepan. A fork tied to the handle would counterbalance the tea bags so they don't tip and fall into the sauce pan. And like a seasoned angler, the cooker would let the tea bag sit just below the surface of the boiling water that would be set on a medium-low flame. The water wouldn't boil too quickly for the first whistle, you see. Each whistle from the pressure cooker will simulate the dipping action and after the fourth, I could walk in, set the cooker on simmering flame and add some milk to the tea that would be boiling by then. No catches.

'Do whatever you want,' my wife said knowing it would be futile to make me abandon the plan.'But I need some tea when I get back.' Saying so, she disappeared. 

I set it all up and returned to the couch as the tea water started to ripple. I could now watch my favourite TV show and wait for the cooker to signal me when it was time. I was sure this was the day my wife would understand my genius. 

In a while, my wife walked in and then ran into the kitchen, sniffing all the way. I could hear her cursing and rolling many a utensil frantically. When I went in, I found everything intact, except the base of the saucepan was pitch black and there wasn't a drop of water in it. 

'But I worked everything out,' I blurted out to my wife, now on boil. 

'Yeah yeah!' she said scornfully. 'You worked out everything Mr. Scientist. Only, you forgot to turn the flame on,' she said pointing to the cooker.