Whenever my wife and I call on any of our friends, we have a great time chatting and exchanging news about careers, children and connected issues. While the menfolk slowly shift the topic of conversation to financial and political matters and juicy office gossip, the ladies excuse themselves and form a huddle, shuffling through every room of the house, going ooh and ah over every new acquisition or redesigning. The group then drifts to the kitchen to view the bill of fare and suggest or exchange recipes and assist with laying the table for the meal. After savouring dessert, the menfolk utter words of appreciation to our hosts, and drift to the balcony for a smoke or a nightcap.
Running out of any fresh material to talk about, we then begin uttering polite goodbyes and head for the exit as a cue to our wives to follow suit.
Take it from me, this process never happens. At that exact moment, the ladies seem to get immobilised at the doorstep and become very animated. The high-pitched decibel levels becomes a buzz and snatches of sentences like “You must give the recipe for those corn samosas!”, “Did you hear what happened to Mrs Talwar the other day… whisper, whisper whisper”, “ Migraine? You must avoid this, this, this and try that, that and that”, can be heard above the din. Addresses and contact numbers of cooks, tailors, masseuses, drycleaners and bargains shops are exchanged like there is no tomorrow.
I shuffle about and try to catch my wife’s attention and point at my watch. She signals a request for an additional minute with her finger, flashes an endearing smile and nonchalantly continues with her conversation like I don’t exist. Minutes drag into a quarter of an hour, sometimes a half hour.
The ladies ignore the restless menfolk, tittering and picking up new threads of gossip or topics to mull over. The worst is when all of them begin to look in my direction. I break into a sweat and nervously shuffle on my feet, not knowing what intimate aspect of mine is under discussion. Sometimes my wife will signal for me to approach and prompt her the name or names of acquaintances that are the subject of these chats, and even drag me to narrate some long-forgotten episodes from our travels and experiences. Once done, I am shooed away unceremoniously, to ensure I do not eavesdrop!
If the mobile phone of one in the group rings, the call is taken, but not before a signal is made to the group to put the discussion on hold until she is done.
The interruption gives others a chance to discuss another matter in the interim, before returning to the topic of their earlier discussion with renewed enthusiasm.
Only when all the topics are exhausted does the group begin to show signs of really leaving. Even then, the goodbyes are drawn out, ensuring that every member of the host’s family is recalled and taken leave of.
My back begins to ache, having carried my sleepy six-year-old in my arms for so long. As the waiting becomes an agony, I am forced to resort to some of my more aggressive tactics. Getting into my car and beeping periodically, or sending missed calls to my missus sometimes succeeds. In apartments, I resort to getting the lift to the host’s floor and shoving the tip of my shoe as the door slides shut. The shrill beeping or the drone of the recorded message to close the door, becomes agonising and sometimes disrupts the assembly. If that fails, I play my trump card and rouse my sleeping ward and provoke him or her into screaming for his momma until she excuses herself and scurries over.
After repeatedly enduring the torment at departure times, I have realised that it is better to settle comfortably on the host’s sofa and tune into some television channel of my choice and sip a beverage until the good lady is absolutely raring to go and tugs at my arm.
Even after getting into the car, some issues will be recollected in a flash and dissected in a cryptic telegraphic exchange until I shift gear and crawl forward, almost deafened by the bye-byes and dialogues. On my wife’s countenance I can discern a smug smile.
The great Indian doorstep conversation seems to be the ultimate tonic for society women. Husbands have no choice but to take it in their stride.
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