Pickled Brains.

          “Good thing I didn’t study in a convent,” I said to Sri Husband, touching his feet reverently one morning.

          “Stop bothering me,” he said, curling his toes and quickly withdrawing both legs from existing position, away from me. “What on earth are you doing?”

          I said, “These convent-girls don’t know anything about being a good wife.” My tone was appropriately demure and my demeanour humble.

          He snapped. “Go read the newspaper, get some ideas for your column. Otherwise, finish reading that book you were bent over last night. Go to the bank or something. Take up a new job. Just stop wasting time over useless trivia.”

          I said: “I’m a good wife, right? I wear kunku and sari.” I kept my cool. My ‘dharam’ says never retaliate if Lord and Financer barks.

          Sri Husband: “What does wearing a sari and kunku have to do with being good? It’s like saying if you wear glass bangles you must be a brilliant cook… or if you own a cell-phone, you must be an efficient manager… or carrying a gun makes you a good shot. Rubbish.”

          I explained: “All these crimes happening against women, it’s because they learn stuff and nonsense from convent schools.”

          He: “How?”

          Me: “Wearing jeans and cutting hair.”

          He: “How does that increase crime?”

          Me: “They show that they have two legs, you know, like in jeans… a skirt is better, but still it shows skin.”

          He: “The nine-yard sari your grandmother wore showed more flesh. What’s more, in Palolem and other villages, if you remember, in our childhood, women seldom wore blouses. But, wearing jeans is gross…”

Me: “…you agree?”

He: “…because it’s unsuited for coastal tropical temperatures and humidity. Their thickness and tightness is unhealthy. I should get back to draping a dhoti.”

          Sri Husband uses logic to confuse me. I changed track. I said, “These rapes and things are happening because we’re moving away from our culture.”

          Silence. That means he has a different viewpoint.

          Me, trying to be a good wife again: “Should I get you a glass of water? Tea?”

          He, sounding exasperated: “I’m not helpless, thank you. I’m fit enough to get whatever I want for myself, by myself, whenever I want it. Go do something worthwhile instead of hanging around asking me what I want. I’m quite capable of looking after myself. How about enrolling for a University course or getting the car serviced?”

          Me: “Our ‘shastras’ say I should do ‘husband-sewa’. It’ll add to my ‘punyyaee’. I’m not sure whether going to college or driving vehicles is part of our culture. That’s not written in the ‘shastras’.”

          He: “Besides wearing kunku and sari, did the ‘shastras’ specify that you should not use your skills, brains, talents? Show me in which text it’s written, who wrote it.”

          I quietly read aloud from a newspaper article: “…‘desi’ education…moving away from our roots…need to learn Sanskrit…rituals getting diluted…the survival of dharma at stake…” he was nodding at every point in agreement.

          Came the deluge: “Away from roots? We’re beating fellow-humans to death on the road. Sure it’s because of the convent schools. Need to learn Sanskrit? We need precise communication in our daily lives and with the world beyond our homes. The more languages we learn, the better. We must learn Sanskrit, plus our mother-tongues, plus those of our neighbours. Konkanni, Hindi, Kannada and Marathi should be compulsory. Gujerati, Naga, Chinese, Eskimo, and some other languages could be optional.”

 “‘Lecture-baazi shuru’,” I sighed, quietly listening to the tirade. 

Not bothered by my aside, he bashed on regardless: “Rituals? New ones replace the old. For some, charging a mobile phone at night is a ritual, more important than stealing flowers from a neighbour’s garden in the morning for ‘pooja’. There are other new rituals like paying bills and taxes... which you can do whilst chanting the Gayatri mantra to save time.”

I took advantage of his taking a breath and said: “You know, people have become so evil, just think, putting cameras in the changing-rooms of garment shops. Everything’s connected. To convent education.”

Sri Husband: “The shop-staff was convent educated? When did convents include how to capture customers on camera in the syllabus? Surely they teach things like maths and geography.”

Me: “Not joking. For years they’ve been telling girls to attend school and work even when they have their periods.”

He: “It’s a normal physiological function…”

Me: “Pickles get spoilt when a menstruating woman touches it.”

He: “Do a study: ask girls to touch pickle jars in malls and shops and document the results. Get a legal opinion on who’ll pay for the damages if they do spoil.”

Me, now fed up of this logical business and therefore out of the pativrataa mood/mode: “Enough. Your ‘bakbak’ and this sultry heat are giving me a headache.”

Sri Husband, grinning wickedly: “All that thinking… too much effort for you. The sultry weather is pickling your brain, giving you weird ideas.”

I got up.

He added: “They say convent education teaches students to win arguments.”

I left the room mumbling: “I wish I’d gone to a convent school.”

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