During the course of a seemingly regular dinner conversation with my wife the other night, we veered towards the topic of television serials. One thing led to another and, before I knew it, we were in this hot debate -- though my neighbors swear it was yet another rematch between Joe Frazier and Mohammed Ali! -- on whether Ramayana was better than Sex And The City. We ended up not speaking to one another for most of the next day, until I begged forgiveness in order to be fed. This, on a topic which reads something like: Who's the better actress, Sarah Jessica Parker or Deepika (aka Sita)? The biggest culprit, in our home at least, comes attached to a remote control. It makes me wonder: Why does a man's addiction to his television set intensify with marriage? Add to it a belief in not sharing the remote during prime time, a bucket of potato chips, a couple of gallons of soda, a resultant increase in waistline ('the executive bulge') and we are talking about a potential throw-frying-pan-at-hubby's-head situation. It got me thinking. Is there any topic I can't expertly convert into an eligibility criteria for domestic violence or am I just dumb enough to not to submit to arguably the ultimate authority on all issues, broadly classified under the term 'wife?' I understand I gave up all my right to opinion when I consented to lifelong 'companionship,' but even I deserve the occasional emotional outburst, don't I? What makes matters worse is the fact that the Almighty has blessed my better half with sleuthing abilities that would shame even the legendary Holmes. All it takes is a moment of intense concentration, really. She can take me to task at the exact nanosecond when my subconscious chooses to shut out her portion of the conversation to pay attention to what Chandler is telling Joey in Friends. To add injury to insult (literally), she will ask me to repeat exactly what she just said and, at my creative best, I come up with something uniquely tangential and unless, of course, I actually manage to change the conversation's topic... The frying pan scenario, under these circumstances, is always a source of inspiration! The thing is, I have always watched any screen (my computer at work doesn't count) with intense concentration. These days, though, the natural instinct for survival has taken over. From the corner of my eye, I now keep track of any lip movement next to me on the sofa. If so, my ear tunes itself to grabbing a catchword here and a catchword there. When I'm taken to task, these buzzwords are put together and, more often than not, a brilliantly absurd reply results. Which, of course, means it is time to wear protective headgear again! I am what I am. I admit that. My physical and psychological constitution is built around satiating my addiction to films and television. I have a photographic memory when it comes to remembering even the supporting cast of age old movies. Ask me, on the other hand, to name anyone from the wife's side of the family from our marriage album and I draw a complete blank. But that, believe me, is not intentional. As far as television is concerned, though, matrimony has been a wake-up call. Weekends are no longer movie marathons. Evenings are no longer dedicated to The Simpsons. Sienfeld reruns are a distant memory. Horror movies are history. Heck, even cartoons are not spared. Instead, the sappiest of romances are rationed out as my meager weekly quota of 'family viewing pleasure.' I might as well forget about watching Pulp Fiction for the ninth time. In fact, if it were up to my beloved marriage partner, You've Got Mail would've swept the Oscars... three years in a row. There's a ceasefire at home these days because remedial measures are now in place. On my part, I do not watch television for more than half an hour each night. I've removed all the premium movie channels from our cable lineup and spend 'quality time' with her (she has been watching too much psychobabble on Oprah these days), listen to every single word she utters (take notes if required) and, as a additional measure, take her on a grand tour of all the local clothing malls every alternate day. On her part, she lets me hide the frying pan! Anand K is sure he will watch Pulp Fiction for the ninth time. Some day. Illustration: Dominic Xavier Do tell us what you think of this diary
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