Suggestion III THOU SHALT TRY TO BEHAVE AS THOUGH THOU HAST NORMAL FUNCTIONS “Do you want coffee?” he asks her. “I don’t think we should have coffee,” she says. “We can go back to the hotel room and brew up some of that free coffee that they have left for us.” “The hotel room is almost in another city,” he points out and adds. “I am in need of refreshment now.” “If you drink coffee in Madras, everyone will know you’re a tourist.” “I am a tourist,” he points out, not unreasonably. “Why don’t you just take out an ad in The Hindu ?”
But they do settle on a restaurant, they do sit down, they do order coffee and a uttappam .
He is enjoying his coffee. She isn’t hungry or thirsty or in any mood for coffee. So she says. She manifests this by eating two-thirds of the uttappam he has ordered to go with the coffee and then reaches for his cup, almost casually, perfunctorily.
When he tries to ward her off, she bares her incisors. When he tries to order coffee for her, she bares her canines too. When he asks what all this is about, why they can’t have coffee without things turning into a discussion, she gives him a full dental display. Dazzled, he lets her drink the rest of his coffee without a word.
Suggestion IV THOU SHALT NOT DO WHAT OTHERS HAVE BEEN PAID TO DO “Pick up your towel from the floor of the bathroom,” she says. “I’m on holiday,” he says. “So am I!” she snaps and continues polishing the flower vase until it sparkles with a militant gleam. “Who would guess?” he asks rhetorically, feeling bold. “What was that?” “Nothing, nothing,” he mumbles, dragging himself away from Lavinia, Princess of the Netherworld on TTV (“the testosterone TV channel”).
He goes into the bathroom and picks up the towel. Then he stands there with it, looking helpless. “Fold it,” she snaps as she folds the bedcovers into rosettes. He folds it. “Hang it up,” she says, as she whitewashes the inner lining of the bolsters. He hangs it up. “Not like that,” she snatches it from him. “You call this folding? Take the ends of the towel and measure of the cosine of the label. Then turn the selvedge to the mirror and...’’
“They have staff here who do that kind of thing.” She curls her lip. “Did you see how he tied back the curtains? He used a slip knot instead of a flying-crane-in-dead-of-winter knot.” “I think we should sue,” he smiles. “Now you’re talking,” she smiles back. He goes off to weep.
Suggestion V THOU SHALT NOT SHOP FOR THE FRAGILE She smiles at him. She is holding a lampshade, made of glass and male egos other such fragile things.
“You’re not buying that?” he asks, apprehensively. “I am,” she says confidently, rummaging in her bag for a credit card. “You’re taking that back from London to Mumbai?” he is amazed.
“You’re forgetting that we have a pitstop in Barcelona,” she says, handing plastic over to a grinning old lady who has made a living from selling fragile dreams to indomitable female travellers.
“I was indeed forgetting,” he is alarmed. “Your point?” She is now signing the slip with a flourish. “Do you seriously think that will survive the journey?” he is astonished. “It will.” “It’ll seriously cramp your style,” he is aghast. “Only in the planes.” Three weeks later, he raises his nose out of the lampshade. It has been rubbed there by a firm hand.
Suggestion VI