Excuse me, papa

The Hindu

2 days ago

Hello readers! Before I get into the subject of today's symposium, I wanted to thank you all for your response to this column. Recently I have received several emails and social media messages from readers of this column. And most of these dispatches are devoid of any abuse or insult. I am extremely grateful. Some of you are waiting for replies to your thoughtful emails. I promise to respond at the earliest. It is, you see, a particularly busy time of the year.
Which brings us to the subject of this week's linguistic meditation.
It is summer here in London. Which means that for exactly one week or so, the temperature is not unlike that in Tiruchi or Karaikudi or that volcano that exploded in Iceland a few years ago. What was it called? Gummidipoondi? Narasimhanaickenpalayam? Something complicated like that. I have forgotten.
Meanwhile for the rest of summer, the weather is absolute shenanigans. You wake up in the morning and the mobile phone informs you that the temperature is 23 degrees Celsius. So obviously you will wear your fashionable linen shirt and half-pants and proceed to the market for purchasing purposes. Unfortunately, by the time you've reached the bus stop, the temperature has dropped to 9 degrees.
'Good morning!' says the bus driver.
'Blergahhatheanan!' you reply because your cardio-vascular system has attained samadhi.
Summer also means that the schools are closed and it is time for a wonderful annual ritual: the arrival of the grandparents from India. I am happy to say that my in-laws have reached London and will spend a few mirthful weeks with us.
I love my in-laws very much. You will rarely find a more relaxed, eager to help, active, cheerful pair of people. As long as loose-leaf Tata tea, sugar, and milk are available at home in decent quantities, they are a happy bunch.
They are also extremely keen to please. One day, some 15 years ago, I mentioned in passing that brinjal is my favourite vegetable. Which means that as soon as they land at Heathrow, and come out of the airport, the absolute first thing they will do is hug the grandchildren. The second thing they will do is buy brinjal.
We once purchased brinjal on the way from the airport to my house.
However, I also hate my in-laws.
You see, they absolutely hate to impose. And not in a nice way. No no. They will employ so much subterfuge, secrecy, misdirection and chicanery when it comes to keeping their needs hidden, that it drives me absolutely mental.
For instance: 'Mom! Papa! It's Friday evening. Shall we order in something? What do you guys want to eat?'
'Nothing. Absolutely nothing. We have made dal and rice for us. Please don't worry about us. You please go ahead.'
So obviously, your writer, being the simple, honest, uncomplicated, handsome person he is, will take this at face value. And he will order food for the rest of the family.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see my father-in-law trying to sneak out of the front door.
'Excuse me, papa? Where are you going?'
'No, nothing. Absolutely nothing. Who is going out? Nobody is going out. Oh, this is the front door? Ha ha ha. What a comedy. I thought it is the bathroom door.'
'You are going to the bathroom with your jacket, umbrella and shopping bag?'
'How dare you speak to your elders…'
'Don't try your tricks with me, old man!'
'Ok fine, I am going to buy rice.'
'No need. I have ordered extra rice with my delivery.'
'Sidin… I also need to buy dal…'
'And?'
'And onions and red chillies and turmeric powder and salt.'
Basically the only aspects of dal and rice they had prepared were utensils and water.
My dear readers, no doubt many of you are parents of married couples, and grandparents of their children. I have one question to ask you: why are you people like this? What is wrong with you? Why do you try these tricks? Why can't you let us take care of you? Do you think there is some sort of Param Vir Chakra for self-sacrificing parents?
If your children are fortunate enough to be able to take care of you… goddammit, will you please let us take care of you? My god! This is why there has to be a word in the English language to describe unbearable fellows like you. And that word is not maternity or paternity but… martyrnity.
Example sentence: 'Abbas Uncle achieved Olympic-level martyrnity by refusing to let his son buy him a new phone. Currently, his phone has no screen, no camera, no headphones and no volume. His excuse is that the battery is still working.'
Do you have someone in your life who showers you with martyrnal love? Or perhaps you yourself are an exponent of martyrnal tricks and shenanigans? Please send me your thoughts via email at the earliest.
The writer lives in London and is currently working on a new novel. He blogs at www.whatay.com.T