Folks, today’s discussion is going to be a little personal. Of course, I use the word discussion, but it’s only me doing the pontification. I mean you, dear reader, can write to the editor, (and your letters are welcome, even though we don’t actually read them), however, its just one point of view that must be shared here. Oh, and by one point of view I mean my wife’s view, which in that wonderful institution, built on a democratic principle, marriage, is the one and only point of view allowed. So, back to this er…… one-sided discussion.
Yesterday, which could be the day before, depending on when you read this column, the wife, whose name and identity must be hidden and kept a secret, (as my wife Ayesha, doesn’t like people to know her name in the first place, a very un-instaa stand, if you ask me), sat me down on the couch. Now, when I say sat me down, what I mean is threw me to the couch, like Rustom threw Sorab in Matthew Arnold’s epic poem. (Ok and please my wife’s name is not Rustom, not yet at least). To be fair, she always does this when she wants my undivided attention. As anyone can tell from my writing, I have a huge problem in trying to pay attention. Consequently, this problem gets effortlessly transferred to my readers. Who, by now, are clearly not paying any.
Yet the wife, (Ayesha, Rustom, why be petty), had a strong message for me, which to emphasise more clearly, she shared while standing on my feet. Apparently, I may be in a feature film that will probably be released before the year is out, and the wife thought that in case, I became an overnight film star, (the likelihood is 7%), I need to do an image makeover.
Her exact words, “You are too ugly and shabby to be a film star, at this moment”. To substantiate her argument, she called our 68-year-old cook, (also known as H.O.F, Heads of Food Dept.), and asked him if he thought I could pass as a “hero”. His laughter was just not derisive, it was long and hysterical, truth be told he had to be carried off back into the kitchen.
She then went for a plebiscite. In our country, that means the opinion of my kids and mother. This resulted in more laughter, some hysteria, and a lot of finger pointing and mentioning of social awkwardness, embarrassment, and even expulsion from modern society, as we know it, altogether. The kids had more practical demands, such as, “Could they change their surname”, “Could I be asked to live separately”, and “At the very least, can we blacken the curtains and cover the windows from both sides”?
But the unkindest cut of all was when I heard my own mother on the phone saying, “I wish he had just completed his law degree. You know he hasn’t had a job for 35 years”?
The wife, of course, (no names please), put a more positive spin to it. She said she hoped the film only runs for a day or two, in which case, after five days of trolling on Insta and Twitter, sorry X, sorry whatever, the storm should pass. She requested the family, to turn off their social networks for a week after the release to be safe.
Then the government of Broachastaan agreed that I should be sent away for a fortnight during the release of the film, thus no member of Broachastaan may be seen as guilty by association. Then to end the discussion, my wife got off, my feet, but made sure I remained at hers. Thus endeth the ‘discussion’. Long live democracy. Jai Hind.
The writer has dedicated his life to communism. Though only on weekends.