The Agonising Aunts...

The doorbell rang just when I was about to step out of the house. My neighbour, from one floor up, stood there nervously with a note pad peeping out partially from under her shawl.
“Didi, can you give me five minutes please? I don’t know how to say this, but I’m sure you’re the only one who’ll understand my predicament. Please didi? I want to send a letter to the magazines…”

Even before I’d nodded, she hesitantly drew out the note pad with the following text:

“I am a 27 year old woman, married for three years. I have a happy loving family with a healthy toddler and a loving husband who doesn’t even look at other women. I am a caring wife and provide very tasty meals to my family. My husband praises my cooking before others, which makes me very happy. But for the last three months, I’m facing a peculiar problem in my marital life. Whenever he touches me these days, even my forearm, he quickly jerks his hands away, almost as if something inside him tells him that I’m an untouchable. I come from a high caste family, and have a fair complexion. My husband says he finds me pretty. Then why has he suddenly started treating me like this? I have been passing sleepless nights. Please help.”

“Hey Neetu, haven’t you confronted him?”
“God, didi, no. How can I ask him this? What will he think of me?”

I kept a straight face, and nodded, and told her she did have a serious problem at hand. But then, I was the least suitable person to offer proper guidance.

“But didi, you are also a woman and a wife, tell me please. I cant talk about this with anyone in this world, hence the magazine route.”

I couldn’t have told her I was dying of both mirth and impatience, but maintaining that same graveness, I explained my high (un)fitness quotient. Told her would not quite be able to identify with her situation: I’m more than a decade old in the game of marriage, so things don’t bother either party; I’m not exactly a wife who could be termed ‘caring’, or the mister ‘loving’; I have mostly male friends, and he, mostly female; since I don’t cook, not even when faced with an imminent death-by-starvation threat, I do not quite know what being lavished with praises for ones cooking means; ditto on the prettiness factor.

She saw reason. I didn’t quite fit into her agony aunt mould. I made a few changes to her text, wished her good luck, and then forgot about her and her problem for over three months, until last fortnight, when the heavens above my head began to shudder, groan and become painfully noisy, with incessant hammering and drilling and dragging of what seemed like, the entire concrete structure from one end to another.

When it became unbearable, I decided to have a word with our lady of the house.
“Getting flat renovated, Neetu?” She still looked just as depressed, so out of courtesy, I asked if all was well with her, and the problem sorted.

Oh, why did I have to ask? For, she ran in to return with a whole bunch of magazines. Turned out, our lady had sent her problem to a number of agony aunt columns, only to be inundated with conflicting ‘advice’! Sample a few:

“…have faith and patience. He sounds like a genuine person and loves you a lot. Your current problem may be due to his stress at work. Recession time, you see? Everytime he comes near you, a sudden sense of guilt grips him for not devoting enough time to work, or maybe, even the fear of a layoff, and therefore, the sharp recoil reaction. Continue to love him, be a loyal devoted wife, and show him that you’re his, come what may. That will relieve his tension at work too, and soon you’ll see the positive results…”

“…you may have had a sudden change in your hairstyle, or dress sense, which may be repulsing him. Or a strong perfume, maybe? Ask him, but not directly, what his ideal woman would look like…”

“…is taking you for a ride. He sounds too good to be true. Find out if he has another woman tucked away somewhere. Seek her out, and ask her to leave your property alone. That done, see the way your husband becomes yours again…”

“…a man will not look at another woman only under two circumstances: one, if he’s suddenly turned gay; two, if he’s putting on a Shree Ram act, and making an ass of you. To me, he looks more like a scoundrel. Dump him…”

“…have you checked if it’s not a bad breath problem? Get dental help, immediately…”

“…you have not given your sun sign, so the current position of the harmful stars on your raashi cant be ascertained...”

“…wait until the coming Karwa Chauth. Everything will be all right. Your husband maybe trying to test your devotion…”

“…some spirit in the house that’s distracting him? Get a havan done in your house immediately. Has he ever indicated that flashes from his past life pass through his mind?…”

I was speecless! Could this be true! Our lady sounded as if she’d actually gone ahead with each of the suggestions, but was still waiting for the blessed elusive touch!

She had more replies to share, but I excused myself. Getting up, I wished her luck, and glanced around the hall enquiringly.

“Oh didi, this is my last resort. This magazine you see? It’s an interiors magazine, and I’d sent my question there too. They suggested some basic changes. Am trying to restructure this flat as per the vaastu aesthetics. But then, I’m losing hope. The reply said I’ll get instant results from the day work starts in my house, but…”

A week is a long time in a woman’s life.

This morning, she came in gushing, delirious, fainting, “Didi, you wont believe this, but my problem is solved!”

“Aha, so Vaastu worked, great!” All said, I did genuinely feel happy for her.

“No no, my grandma came visiting us yesterday, and she instantly knew something was terribly wrong with me. So she probed. I had to tell her didi, I simply broke down, and sobbed and told her all.”

“Hmmm…and?” I couldn’t believe I was actually waiting to know the plot denouement!

“You’ll not believe it, she simply touched my arm, shook her head and said, coconut oil my girl. Nothing but static electricity, look at your skin, its so dry. You silly girls will not use it in the name of being all modern modern, and then wail and whine.”

“And…?”

“Didi, it worked!”
Phew! Could this be true!