Outdated customs that never go away

Older adults have a talent for turning their bedrooms into little worlds. During my recent visit to an elderly couple, I saw that every corner of their room was filled with various boxes, books, cards, calendars, and medications. A single table was overflowing with jars of every kind. Chooran, gur, shakkar, peppermint, Isabgol, biscuits, mithai, rusk, dried fruit, and so on were present.

Aunty complained of a stomachache while drinking tea and requested the servant to get Isabgol. He suggested that it would be best to throw out the Isabgol jar in the kitchen and acquire a new pack since it seemed to contain some red-colored susri, or flour bugs. “The other half of the pack is lying on our bedroom table,” the woman said. Bring it over so I can see whether it has Susri as well.

The husband remarked, unassumingly, “I did notice some in it a few days ago, so I didn’t have it,” looking up from over his reading spectacles.

And that was it! Have you recently seen Susri in it? I have the Isabgol in front of you every night. How come you haven’t stopped me? She enquired.

With a perfectly innocent expression, he submerged himself in his newspaper and easily transitioned to the “I can’t hear anything” mode. When he wanted it to, his hearing aid performed well. Mostly, he performed as if he were deaf.

She lost her temper and yelled at him for all the sacrifices she had made. He turned to face her and said, in a nonchalant tone, “Did you say something?”

Indeed, I did! You ought to have warned me about the susri in the Isabgol, didn’t you?

“Hmm.” He just kept helping himself to additional pakoras. Uncle yelled, “What am I saying?” I might have perished from eating these susri, for all your concern. Why didn’t you alert me if you saw them?

With a “holier than thou” expression, he said, “These pakoras are delicious.” Please give me some more.

I was in splits by now. He had become an expert at the technique of selective hearing. Every meal was a fight for them. There was never any agreement between her overindulgence in feeding him and his diminishing hunger. When he wanted to, he could easily hear her; if not, well, then simply put the blame on that old, terrible hearing aid.

They both wouldn’t alter. Old habits seldom, if ever, die. “Panchaan di gall sir matthe; par parnala othhe da othhe” is a Punjabi proverb that means “The wisdom of the elders is appreciated, but the gutter shall stay its course.”

She has persisted in her never-ending attempt to change him for the last 60 years. And as always, the newspaper that covered his ears and face is the cure-all!