A NAGGING EPISODE
A beautiful relaxed Sunday morning. I am enjoying my newspaper reclining on my favourite chair in the verandah sun taking intermittent sips from the steaming cup of coffee perched on the arm of the chair. The Lady of the House is sweeping the floor with a broom and on reaching near my feet she asks me to shift to the next chair. I do so dutifully balancing the cup of coffee as well as the newspaper on my both hands. After some time she again asks me if I can go inside and sit on the divan so that she may scrub the verandah floor. I obediently collect the pages of my newspaper, drain the last drops of coffee from the cup and go inside. I have hardly reached the editorial page when I again find her formidable figure hovering over me. Now she wants to pull out the bed sheet from under me for washing. Once again I am in the process of gathering up the scattered pages of the newspaper when the opening salvo of the day comes from her, “By the way, can’t you sit at one place and read this stupid paper of yours?”
So that is that. Nagging in its purest form. You cannot dare pointing out a logical flaw in it. And you can protest only at the risk of flaring up a heated argument that you can never win. You know very well that however high you may throw a cat, she always lands on her feet.
The nagging or this habit of criticizing continuously is a compulsion with women, or wives, to be more precise. Show me a wife who does not nag and I will show you a vegetarian tiger. The psychoanalysts say that it is an offshoot of the elemental possessive instinct of the human female. She asserts her right over her spouse by nagging him. And this reminds me of an episode told to me by a writer-friend. I may relate it here as briefly as possible to bring home the point.
This writer had a room in the outer portion of his ancestral sprawling house where he used to sit and work. Engrossed in his creative work he used to forget his lunch hour. His fiery tempered wife had to come out all the way from the interiors to call him for lunch. And it followed a barrage of complaints and reproaches from her. The sensitive soul of the writer could not bear it for long. He bought a small alarm clock and from then on he began to appear in the house punctually at lunchtime. Though the resentment of the wife subsided for a while, she did not look very happy or relieved. Then one day when the writer was enjoying his lunch peacefully in the house, the alarm clock got stolen. The wife raised great hue and cry at the negligence of the writer for leaving his room unlocked. Ultimately she ruled out that they did not afford to buy a new alarm clock.
So the absent minded writer reverted to his habit of forgetting the lunch hour and the old nagging duels at lunchtime resumed. One day, when his wife was away visiting her parents in another town, the writer was sifting the articles in her cupboard. He suddenly discovered that old ‘stolen’ alarm clock concealed between the layers of her warm clothes. For a moment, he gaped at it in utter disbelief. Then the understanding dawned on him very slowly. He remembered her offhand remark at the theft of the clock, “ In a way I am happy that the stupid thing has been stolen. It was trying to take over my rightful place ……”
The writer smiled wistfully. He understood his nagging, shrewish wife in a new light for the first time.
So that is that. Nagging in its purest form. You cannot dare pointing out a logical flaw in it. And you can protest only at the risk of flaring up a heated argument that you can never win. You know very well that however high you may throw a cat, she always lands on her feet.
The nagging or this habit of criticizing continuously is a compulsion with women, or wives, to be more precise. Show me a wife who does not nag and I will show you a vegetarian tiger. The psychoanalysts say that it is an offshoot of the elemental possessive instinct of the human female. She asserts her right over her spouse by nagging him. And this reminds me of an episode told to me by a writer-friend. I may relate it here as briefly as possible to bring home the point.
This writer had a room in the outer portion of his ancestral sprawling house where he used to sit and work. Engrossed in his creative work he used to forget his lunch hour. His fiery tempered wife had to come out all the way from the interiors to call him for lunch. And it followed a barrage of complaints and reproaches from her. The sensitive soul of the writer could not bear it for long. He bought a small alarm clock and from then on he began to appear in the house punctually at lunchtime. Though the resentment of the wife subsided for a while, she did not look very happy or relieved. Then one day when the writer was enjoying his lunch peacefully in the house, the alarm clock got stolen. The wife raised great hue and cry at the negligence of the writer for leaving his room unlocked. Ultimately she ruled out that they did not afford to buy a new alarm clock.
So the absent minded writer reverted to his habit of forgetting the lunch hour and the old nagging duels at lunchtime resumed. One day, when his wife was away visiting her parents in another town, the writer was sifting the articles in her cupboard. He suddenly discovered that old ‘stolen’ alarm clock concealed between the layers of her warm clothes. For a moment, he gaped at it in utter disbelief. Then the understanding dawned on him very slowly. He remembered her offhand remark at the theft of the clock, “ In a way I am happy that the stupid thing has been stolen. It was trying to take over my rightful place ……”
The writer smiled wistfully. He understood his nagging, shrewish wife in a new light for the first time.
istriyach charitram devo na jana;
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Nicely summed up ! Thank you, Sir!
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