The husband complains that I often use my column to spank him and he usually waits for Tuesday with bated breath to find out what he has done this time. He is also convinced that through the column, I am trying to build a support group for myself by making me out to be the poor thing and him the incorrigible.
My argument is— what’s the point being married when you can’t even generate enough material for a gender column? Plus he can always write a counter column to mine, I tell him—nothing is stopping him.
I also assure him that he has enough supporters too, like men and women who write to me saying, “How sweet of him to actually think of a Play Station game that you both can play,” and “How cool that he wants to watch football with you and not with a bunch of rowdies in the bar,” and ‘I wish more men celebrate their women like your beau does..” etc etc. So no worries on that count—enough brownie points have been accrued.
He says no more and grins his famous grin. But a few weeks ago he appears on national television to discuss what men want and propounds that every woman treats her man as a life-long science experiment. I am intrigued.
Now, I am a science junkie. I loved proving the Archimedes’ principle, synthesizing Aspirin and Para-amino-benzoic acid in the lab, understanding the hues and complexities of Azo compounds or even studying the effects of Castor lipase on Curcumin. I love the fact that there is an objective, a supposition, a procedure and a deduction for every experiment—that’s how science works (at least that’s how it did when I was in it)
But can there be something more fatalistic and unrewarding than the experiment of fixing a man? Why would we want to do that? I would rather study why cats don’t fetch and dogs do.
Let’s just assume for a minute that my experiment is to find ways to make the husband game less, eat on time and sleep more.
If this were an actual science experiment, I will go about it by proving that the intensity of gaming is inversely proportional to REM sleep which is scientifically proven as good sleep. Or I will demonstrate how the body’s metabolic activity reduces by 10% for every hour after 9 pm— hence, later the food consumption, more the load on the digestive tract, less the coefficient of metabolism, more the cumulative disorders of various kinds.
But this is not a science experiment. It is a husband. So I have to find non-scientific ways of making a point— like suggesting to him other ways of recreation or unwinding. Unfortunately, cooking, reading, yoga, swimming or gymming seem to be more of a production and require a time, space, posture, discipline and above all, props much more intense than his favourite antidote which only requires a gaming throne, an ash tray, a can of beer and a controller. It’s minimum pain, maximum gain, and there’s no way science can counter that argument.
Science loses. I sleep on. Life goes on.