Self-Help in Old Age

Of late, I feel a certain void in my  life as nobody praises me to my face for all the good qualities I possess and exhibit.  When I was in service in semi-government offices and later as faculty in management training/education institutions, I used to receive,  expectedly of course,   encomiums about my intelligence and oration showered by  my subordinates and  students respectively. Now even the group of senior citizens  I meet in our Cooperative Housing Society  have stopped  praising  my erudition in Hindi despite  being a Tamil.

All the above notwithstanding,  what disappoints me the most is that  my wife too does not appreciate  my astute political analysis vis -a -vis Karnataka elections or my insightful interpretation of the New Education Policy 2020 or NCERT’s rationalization of school syllabi or  my profound musical heritage. The last talent extends to all forms of music ranging from classical Carnatic to Hindustani to film music and  even the  jingles in TV advertisements  like the one on Rajasthan’s march of progress.      

During our morning ritual of sipping coffee  at the dining table when the social distance between us is narrow, the wife sits like Rodin’s statue ”The Thinker”. The invigorating coffee sets me  on my talents exhibiting one or the other of the many things mentioned above. and she sits there as if to prove the old adage that No Man is a hero to his Woman. At the most,  her response on these occasions is confined  to listing my  tasks for the day such as  buying  vegetables and groceries including broomstick and mop cloth or getting the Society electrician to repair the non-functional geyser switch in the bathroom.  As if this was not bad enough, she would ask me to secure  the dhoti tightly with a belt so that I don’t walk like Mammooti and Mohandas in Malayalam films always holding one end of the dhoti.

This sense of deep desperation  has landed me in  a new pastime  during  my sleepless hours on the nights when I compose  in the third person singular what I crave  to hear about myself  from others. I find this a jolly good exercise for semi-insomniacs.  For instance, I would imagine that my wife would tell others that  I am the only person with the gift to appreciate the different beats of the dholak player in film music  while others go for the voice of the singer, the beauty of the lyrics, or the symphony of the instruments.  Similarly, I visualize her admitting to others  that but for me  she would not have  learned the use  of correct prepositions  and other English grammatical niceties. I even would imagine as if she  praises me  for my immaculate and  cultivated dignity, respect, and politeness in my conversations with others, especially with those from her side of the family.  

Now,  tell me, readers,  am I wrong in presenting to  myself those adoring  words of  praise for me but don’t  get them anymore  and therefore choose the  “ Atma Nirbhar “route to compose them myself?