Before you read this, read Episode 75: The Name Shall Be - II
Lunch was truly truly grand. The dishes that decided to sit at the buffet were few but delicious in their taste and quite worth the wait I had endured. Chicken that swam in sensuous spice and gravy sat beside a bowl of Russian salad. A few paces down the table reclined a whole basket of soft bread - smooth and sumptuous to look at and a delight to the tongue.
As my tongue sampled these and a few other items I had hauled onto my plate, a pair of tongues near me began to wag.
“Don't you know? They can never agree.”
“What rubbish! How ever did they have a baby?”
“A baby is not proof of peace.”
“It's a proof,” I said suddenly to one of the tongues near me, “of they having sex.”
Both the tongues shut up and rolled themselves firmly into their owners' mouths, shivering with shock at what I had just said. I quite liked the spectacle their faces had become and a minute or two after I had enjoyed it all, I walked away to sit next to Mother and another set of relatives.
“They have been having problems,” informed one of the set.
“Really?”
“Yes, he hates the interference. But who will tell her that?”
“Interference? I asked, what sort of interference?”
But this relative went off at a tangent: “Do you know the MC of the party?,” she asked suddenly.
“Yes I do.”
“You know her well?”
“Yes, why?”
“Don't you think when I mention interference, I might be referring to her?”
“Ahh,” I said, impressed by the line of thought and reason, “yes I think so.”
“Well, then,” said another relative, “that intereference is a bit too much to bear.”
“Yes, I know,” I said, “But, what can be done? She is the only daughter.”
“Isn't he the only son?”
“Well she's the only child.”
“That makes a difference?”
“Yes, it does. It means they will pick her up everytime she falls till either party walks into the grave!”
“Do be quiet dear!” This was Mother trying hard to not look disgusted at my behaviour and by my rather eclectic conversational skills, “at times you do talk a lot of nonsense.”
“Oh come on Mother, do lighten up. All I am doing is gossiping. And for the first time, I am gossiping with my very own relatives!”
Mother decided that she had had enough and so went in search of a better noise to hear.
I continued undaunted. This particular set of relatives impressed me by their sense of humour – a trait sorely lacking in virtually everyone bound to me by familial connections.
“So,” I said, picking up where I left, “she is quite the spoilt flower.”
“Well, pampered flower you mean?”
“Ah yes yes.”
“Well, looks like the flower has learnt to bend and see the world's dirt as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“Running a house my dear is no joke as your Mother will tell you.”
“She's told me so often, I can sense it coming even before she starts to mouth it.”
“Right, and this flower is right now realizing she has a house to manage on her own now.”
“I see.”
“Well, as usual, the husband does nothing.”
“I see.”
“So, she tries her best to get him do things for her.”
“And he agrees to?”
“Of course, but it's difficult.”
“That, yes. Husbands,” I said, as if I were an authority on them, “need a lot of prodding and coaxing.”
“Well,” said the relative who explained what interference was, “so she's rather tired.”
“You mean to say she wants a divorce?” I asked.
At this, all the forks and spoons cluttered onto their plates and the whole set of relatives sat staring at me.
“No,” one of them said when they recovered from the blow my words had dealt them, “we didn't mean that. We meant she is tired of them both - the interference and the husband.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, in fact she was half expecting a girl.”
“Why?”
“So that that would keep the interference at bay!”
“The interference wanted a boy?”
“Well, yes. “
“Good God! And she must have interfered with the names too.”
“Oh yes, she did! She had not one not two but seven names lined up.”
“And I am sure she must have mentioned a cricketer's name as well.”
My relatives looked at each other.
“Oh yes, she did! That was the first among the seven.”
“I see. So then?”
“Then what then? Her son-in-law finally had enough. He came home drunk the other night and made it a point to smell like a drunkard.”
“He drank? He drank?”
“Yes yes, he did.”
“And then.”
“Well, he banged open the door to the house, and there they were mother and daughter deciding upon the names. The daughter of course did not want the mother to put her foot in this business, but the mother was adamant. Anyway, that night, he walked in and threw three bottles of Old Monk at the mother's feet.”
“His mother's feet?”
“No! Hers!”
“Okay then?”
“Well, he ranted about she had made a mess of their lives and how she was such an eyesore to look at when she wore that dark red silk saree.”
“Haha. Yes, she looks like an eyesore in that anyway.”
“He told her she looked hideous in all that gold that she loved to stick all over face and hands. And he ordered her out of the house. Well, the mother was not going to give up this easily. She told him they had already decided on the name for he was too weak-willed to decide on anything at all. And that's when she lost the battle.”
“What happened?”
“Well, the moment she said that, the daughter flew into a towering rage and ripped the names list into three or seven bits. And she held her husband's arm and told her mother that enough is enough. And she wanted her out of every decision she took.”
I was impressed and yet, shocked.
“She said that?” I asked.
“Oh yes, even the husband was shocked. All his drunkenness vanished and he stood up straight when he saw what was happening!”
“Haha; then what happened?”
“Apparently, both ordered her out of the house and told her that if she interfered one more time, she would never see the grandchild again!”
I gasped. So did three others.
“She said that?”
“Oh yes! The grandmother was in a dilemma now. Should she cry and act shocked or should she hold her head high and walk out as if she did not care? And that's when the grandson began to cry. All her pride melted out of her and she begged them to not be so cruel.”
“She begged,” I repeated as if in a stupor.
“Oh yes, she begged like Meena Kumari - tears and all. She pleaded. She said they could name him any name they wanted. As if she had bought exclusive rights to name him!”
“Well, she thinks she has exclusive rights to everything.”
“Anyway, she went on like this for 10 minutes.”
“Naturally,” I said, “she wanted to make sure she would be allowed to interfere yet again. For she knows she cannot let go of that habit.”
“Haha. Well they did not relent. They told her this was the last time and were she to even try this again, she would have only herself to blame for the consequences.”
“Super!”
“Well she backed out and how! She fell sick for a whole week, and then refused to talk to both daughter and son-in-law! Both were so elated, they now think this is to be constant in their lives.”
“What? Her non-interference?”
“Oh no! This battle that they have begun! As for the mother, she did start to talk in monosyllables. The interference has reduced, but it’s still there.”
“Haha. Good! I am so glad. But I wonder why they didn’t name him Constantine.”
“Oh because of the constant factor? Well, they’ve named him Garfield.”
“That cat! Constantine would have been better.”
“Oh no! I think Garfield’s apt.”
“Why? Because they fought like cats and dogs? What’s his second name? Oddie?”
“Very funny. Almost hilarious, makes me force myself to laugh, etc, etc, but no. Garfield’s just right.”
“But why?”
“Because, my dear,” said the relative who was an expert on interference, “Garfield means battlefield!”
Lunch was truly truly grand. The dishes that decided to sit at the buffet were few but delicious in their taste and quite worth the wait I had endured. Chicken that swam in sensuous spice and gravy sat beside a bowl of Russian salad. A few paces down the table reclined a whole basket of soft bread - smooth and sumptuous to look at and a delight to the tongue.
As my tongue sampled these and a few other items I had hauled onto my plate, a pair of tongues near me began to wag.
“Don't you know? They can never agree.”
“What rubbish! How ever did they have a baby?”
“A baby is not proof of peace.”
“It's a proof,” I said suddenly to one of the tongues near me, “of they having sex.”
Both the tongues shut up and rolled themselves firmly into their owners' mouths, shivering with shock at what I had just said. I quite liked the spectacle their faces had become and a minute or two after I had enjoyed it all, I walked away to sit next to Mother and another set of relatives.
“They have been having problems,” informed one of the set.
“Really?”
“Yes, he hates the interference. But who will tell her that?”
“Interference? I asked, what sort of interference?”
But this relative went off at a tangent: “Do you know the MC of the party?,” she asked suddenly.
“Yes I do.”
“You know her well?”
“Yes, why?”
“Don't you think when I mention interference, I might be referring to her?”
“Ahh,” I said, impressed by the line of thought and reason, “yes I think so.”
“Well, then,” said another relative, “that intereference is a bit too much to bear.”
“Yes, I know,” I said, “But, what can be done? She is the only daughter.”
“Isn't he the only son?”
“Well she's the only child.”
“That makes a difference?”
“Yes, it does. It means they will pick her up everytime she falls till either party walks into the grave!”
“Do be quiet dear!” This was Mother trying hard to not look disgusted at my behaviour and by my rather eclectic conversational skills, “at times you do talk a lot of nonsense.”
“Oh come on Mother, do lighten up. All I am doing is gossiping. And for the first time, I am gossiping with my very own relatives!”
Mother decided that she had had enough and so went in search of a better noise to hear.
I continued undaunted. This particular set of relatives impressed me by their sense of humour – a trait sorely lacking in virtually everyone bound to me by familial connections.
“So,” I said, picking up where I left, “she is quite the spoilt flower.”
“Well, pampered flower you mean?”
“Ah yes yes.”
“Well, looks like the flower has learnt to bend and see the world's dirt as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“Running a house my dear is no joke as your Mother will tell you.”
“She's told me so often, I can sense it coming even before she starts to mouth it.”
“Right, and this flower is right now realizing she has a house to manage on her own now.”
“I see.”
“Well, as usual, the husband does nothing.”
“I see.”
“So, she tries her best to get him do things for her.”
“And he agrees to?”
“Of course, but it's difficult.”
“That, yes. Husbands,” I said, as if I were an authority on them, “need a lot of prodding and coaxing.”
“Well,” said the relative who explained what interference was, “so she's rather tired.”
“You mean to say she wants a divorce?” I asked.
At this, all the forks and spoons cluttered onto their plates and the whole set of relatives sat staring at me.
“No,” one of them said when they recovered from the blow my words had dealt them, “we didn't mean that. We meant she is tired of them both - the interference and the husband.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, in fact she was half expecting a girl.”
“Why?”
“So that that would keep the interference at bay!”
“The interference wanted a boy?”
“Well, yes. “
“Good God! And she must have interfered with the names too.”
“Oh yes, she did! She had not one not two but seven names lined up.”
“And I am sure she must have mentioned a cricketer's name as well.”
My relatives looked at each other.
“Oh yes, she did! That was the first among the seven.”
“I see. So then?”
“Then what then? Her son-in-law finally had enough. He came home drunk the other night and made it a point to smell like a drunkard.”
“He drank? He drank?”
“Yes yes, he did.”
“And then.”
“Well, he banged open the door to the house, and there they were mother and daughter deciding upon the names. The daughter of course did not want the mother to put her foot in this business, but the mother was adamant. Anyway, that night, he walked in and threw three bottles of Old Monk at the mother's feet.”
“His mother's feet?”
“No! Hers!”
“Okay then?”
“Well, he ranted about she had made a mess of their lives and how she was such an eyesore to look at when she wore that dark red silk saree.”
“Haha. Yes, she looks like an eyesore in that anyway.”
“He told her she looked hideous in all that gold that she loved to stick all over face and hands. And he ordered her out of the house. Well, the mother was not going to give up this easily. She told him they had already decided on the name for he was too weak-willed to decide on anything at all. And that's when she lost the battle.”
“What happened?”
“Well, the moment she said that, the daughter flew into a towering rage and ripped the names list into three or seven bits. And she held her husband's arm and told her mother that enough is enough. And she wanted her out of every decision she took.”
I was impressed and yet, shocked.
“She said that?” I asked.
“Oh yes, even the husband was shocked. All his drunkenness vanished and he stood up straight when he saw what was happening!”
“Haha; then what happened?”
“Apparently, both ordered her out of the house and told her that if she interfered one more time, she would never see the grandchild again!”
I gasped. So did three others.
“She said that?”
“Oh yes! The grandmother was in a dilemma now. Should she cry and act shocked or should she hold her head high and walk out as if she did not care? And that's when the grandson began to cry. All her pride melted out of her and she begged them to not be so cruel.”
“She begged,” I repeated as if in a stupor.
“Oh yes, she begged like Meena Kumari - tears and all. She pleaded. She said they could name him any name they wanted. As if she had bought exclusive rights to name him!”
“Well, she thinks she has exclusive rights to everything.”
“Anyway, she went on like this for 10 minutes.”
“Naturally,” I said, “she wanted to make sure she would be allowed to interfere yet again. For she knows she cannot let go of that habit.”
“Haha. Well they did not relent. They told her this was the last time and were she to even try this again, she would have only herself to blame for the consequences.”
“Super!”
“Well she backed out and how! She fell sick for a whole week, and then refused to talk to both daughter and son-in-law! Both were so elated, they now think this is to be constant in their lives.”
“What? Her non-interference?”
“Oh no! This battle that they have begun! As for the mother, she did start to talk in monosyllables. The interference has reduced, but it’s still there.”
“Haha. Good! I am so glad. But I wonder why they didn’t name him Constantine.”
“Oh because of the constant factor? Well, they’ve named him Garfield.”
“That cat! Constantine would have been better.”
“Oh no! I think Garfield’s apt.”
“Why? Because they fought like cats and dogs? What’s his second name? Oddie?”
“Very funny. Almost hilarious, makes me force myself to laugh, etc, etc, but no. Garfield’s just right.”
“But why?”
“Because, my dear,” said the relative who was an expert on interference, “Garfield means battlefield!”
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