Boo boo in select company

Boo boo in select company
Something to say?

Sunday 31 January 2021

Confused.Anand

 Confused.anand

I live in a state of confusion, which I happily ascribe to old age, senility and such like. 

   When I attempt to cook, I have to consider my son who is diabetic and cannot eat sugar, starch and all things delicious. Manju is dieting and doesn't like fried foods. Asha does not eat Indian food and will run a mile if curry is mentioned. Her favourite foods are those that get delivered at the door, and need hand-washing after opening parcels. I am tempted to leave the cooking to the picky denizens of my home. And retire with a book. Retire with a book, anyway. I am especially confounded as I grew up in war-time and you ate what was put in front of you, and emptied your plate -- or your banana leaf.

   There is non-stop footies on the screen and Manju, my daughter, can live off a diet of football most days. When football is off for a while, she shows withdrawal symptoms. I like watching Liverpool because that's my team. I also watch matches that might immediately upset Liverpool. But, in general, it is just a backdrop to my reading. And I must add -- love Klopp's enormously toothy smile. 

   However, football also confuses me:

How come you can push people harder, knock them down, injure them for many months ( eg. Van Djike) , and the refs don't miss a beat? Fouling is now an art -- clearly each club employs a special fouling coach. How to fall down, how to stay down, how to show pain by grimacing, how to lift your head ever so slightly to make sure the opposition has been punished before bouncing up and running amok.

   And then there is spitting. Today one footballer started as he walked out on to the pitch. I am concerned it will soon spread to the benches and side-lines. When did spitting become so commonplace? Keralam has just passed a law making spitting in public places punishable. We have a long tradition of hawking and spitting excellence. Walking out from our houses us girls lift our sari hems up and look down for the bobs and globs. We are finely attuned to the tenets of female modesty as well as the state of the lane we are walking on.

   There are many more things. Such as -- the booker shortlist, which never includes the best books about in the year. I read four from the list in the last week -- I shall remember only one next month -- WHERE THE CRAWDADS SING by Delia Owens. The others are all well-written, but don't go anywhere. Forgettable characters, lean plots and self-indulgence. I am at a loss to understand.

I think I must start:

        a book-blog on what not to read;

        elementary manners in public places...

Just so I can confuse others beside myself.