We’re cosily wrapped up under a blanket, sipping red from a shared glass as we reach the halfway mark of the movie. She complains that her eyes are stressed from reading subtitles for over an hour. To be honest, mine are too. Obscure Malayalam words are booming through the TV as she gets up to pop another bottle of wine when I finally make my move. I discreetly reach for the remote and hit pause. But as soon as I do, her husband protests: “Dude, it was just about to get interesting!”
Drama ensues for the next half hour as the “happy couple” bicker over whose movie choices are better. For me, they are the movie. All I need is that glass of wine but she’s too engrossed to uncork the bottle.
In my illustrious career as a TwheelerTM I’ve learnt that two people that are emotionally and/or contractually obligated to live with each other, adapt to each other’s personalities, tolerate their eccentricities, and accept their faults all the time, need an outlet. For earlier generations that outlet was “having kids”, but modern-day DINKs? They need me.
For the uninitiated, a third wheel is “a person who is not wanted or needed in a situation, especially when they are with two people who are in a romantic relationship”. That’s how ChatGPT defines it. But ChatGPT, unlike a good third wheel, lacks emotion, sensitivity and heart. If you ask me, my brand of third wheel, ie, the TwheelerTM, is exactly like one on a bicycle—a necessary addition that brings stability, comfort, assurance and balance to an otherwise repetitive and tiring experience. At every new phase of coupledom, they have one constant, and that’s me.
The third wheel is like a human buffer that two people can agree to stand and hang with 24/7, mostly to have a good time, and sometimes to beat the boredom of a long-term companionship. Sounds simple, but it’s not.
About a year ago, my friend had his medical report come back with ridiculously high cholesterol levels. Drastic lifestyle changes were mandated. His wife tried her best to enforce the doctor’s orders, but there’s no older trope than a nagging wife checking on her husband’s eating and drinking habits, so I had to step in. I donned my couples’ counsellor glasses and delivered a passionate monologue chiding him for ignoring his health and loved ones. Surprisingly he took it rather gratefully. I even got a warm hug accompanied by a “Thank you, I needed that”. Baffled glares were exchanged between me and his wife. Now every time a lecture is in order, I’m expected to have a hard talk.
Another friend is married to a calendar boy. Calendar boys differ from calendar girls in that they aren’t models in a calendar, they just live by it. Morning showers are timed, evening walks are scheduled on Google, and there’s no deviating from the standard humdrum of the workday nine-to-five. Most of their arguments are about whether it is appropriate to have a few mild beverages on a Tuesday, or if 10 pm is too late to start a movie when it was scheduled for 9:30. It is often down to me to play judge in these petty squabbles and inadvertently partake in said activities as well. A lot of hours have been spent eating, drinking and watching movies with them when I could have used that time more productively—probably doing the same things by myself.
To be clear, there is nothing kinky about a third wheel. With no sexual tensions, the couples to my third-wheeling are stable and faithful, and my job is to ensure they don’t mess it up.
Whether you agree or not, simply put, most couples in long-term relationships don’t always want to be left alone together, and that’s where I come in: not as a tagalong but a BFF that the couple can share. Are there times when I feel like I should have left them alone? Probably. Especially when I find myself sandwiched between them on dimly lit dinner tables, or on a holiday with them on a secluded beach.
One of my toughest jobs has been managing a long-distance relationship as the stand-in third wheel. The husband works in Goa, and we live together, while the wife lives in Bombay. Their relationship exists mostly via FaceTime through the day, and the period between these calls is when the Twheeling is put to the test. When he’s had a stressful day, we play video games so he can trash-talk to decompress. I keep track of all his scheduled meetings because he has the memory of a goldfish. When his wife is visiting, we share driver duties, and I go to all the new restaurants with her while he works late.
In fact, there’s a lot of stand-in work to be done as a Twheeler.
When one partner needs a drink but the other is “on a detox”, I step in and take the hit of a hangover the next day.
When one partner is a tennis enthusiast and the other has a phobia of competitive sports, I step in as the doubles partner.
When one partner has been through driving lessons on ten different occasions but still can’t drive and the other isn’t around, I put on my chauffeur hat.
Sometimes I hold on to their secrets before they share them with their partner.
As a third wheel in four different relationships, I’m forced to wear a variety of hats, including (but not limited to) driver, tech consultant, drinking buddy, pet-sitter, photographer, tennis partner, travel planner, music curator, and of course, therapist.
It isn’t easy, but it has its perks. For one, there are four different homes in two different cities with a “my room” in them. When I need a getaway, a staycay, or just some pampering, I have my own little micro Airbnb network to tap into. The stay is free, the food far superior, and all services are paid for in the form of idle chit-chat, unsolicited advice, and the occasional heart-to-heart.
Another big win as a third wheeler is all the hand-me-downs. When they move houses, I get to cherry-pick half a home’s worth of furniture out of it. When they do a closet cleanse, I get a new batch of everyday wear. And since I spend so much time in their homes, I know just how rarely that smartwatch, portable speaker, tennis racket, water bottle, air fryer, swimming goggles, laptop bag, and table lamp is used, so if I ask, they really can’t say no.
You may assume that a third wheel is a hapless object of pity. What relationship can this person have of their own? And let me tell you, you are absolutely right.
It’s hard to have a personal life when you are part of so many other personal lives. I went on three dates with the same girl once, and when my friends found out they almost got teary eyed and had that “fledgling is leaving the nest” look on their faces. On another date, my friends happened to pop into the same bar—a bar that I had tactfully chosen to avoid this exact situation. Imagine trying to get to know someone better while sixteen eyes are leering at you from across the room, reading your lips, and waiting to give you their stamp of approval. The date didn’t end well, not because of the eyes, but because I gave her sound relationship advice and convinced her to get back with her ex. I guess I have too much relationship experience from the ones I manage.
