I was on a casual visit to an acquaintance, 30-year-old Ajit, who worked as a mid-rank official in a private company in a city that had yet to catch up with fast-developing cities in the neighbourhood. The place was dusty and had many half-built houses and unkempt surroundings. But Ajit, along with his wife Roma and their five-year-old son Arun, lived in a house that stood out in the locality with adequately furnished living room and bed rooms.
Given the limited resources of Ajit, the house wore an impressive, rather majestic look. I later found that the credit for the upkeep of the house should go to Roma, who was very meticulous about details. Everything was spic and span.
Amusingly, this was in sharp contrast to Ajit’s disorganised life — a happy-go-lucky type. Both nurtured their own strong views in many matters, which seemed hard to change. The diametrically opposite mindset of the couple often led to bickering.
While having tea, I could not help complimenting the couple for their aesthetic sense and admiring some of the lovely decoration pieces adorning the house. Roma could not digest the praise for her husband that, in her opinion, was not his due. In a subtle manner she made it known that her husband had little role in the matter and that it was all a ‘one-woman’ (not one-man) show.
I told them that what surprised me most was the fact that despite the tonnes of dust and dirt pervading the area, it had not been allowed to settle anywhere in the house. My compliments had made her feel elated. Finding a willing audience in me Roma said: “Bhai Sahib [elder brother], I cannot stand dust or dirt. I am allergic to both. Have you not heard, ‘Cleanliness is next to godliness’? That’s why ...”
She had not completed the sentence when their son Arun appeared at the door. Seeing a stranger in the house he stood still for a few seconds. He was smeared from head to toe and knew he would be reprimanded. So, he looked at his mother, seeking her permission to come in. But raising her voice she commandeered him with a big ‘No’. The boy froze there.
His mother had noticed that he was barefooted and had returned home in a dirty vest and smudgy shorts, indicating that he had been playing at the wrong places and in the wrong company of children. In one second, the lad had put to naught the values his mother had built up so assiduously.
She was embarrassed and would have thrashed him if it weren’t for the presence of a guest. The boy then looked at his supportive father for permission to come into the living room. He nodded with a smile, but was vetoed by his angry wife. Ajit told his wife, Roma, not to be so harsh towards Arun who had done no wrong. The boy’s direct contact with dirt and filth would make him stronger and immune to diseases. Roma frowned at this oft-repeated assertion of her husband. He used to say that in fact children brought up in protected environments were prone to all kinds of afflictions.
Roma could not take it anymore. Setting aside her inhibitions, she burst out saying that even during the winter, her husband was buying chilled soft drinks, ice creams and the likes for the boy. “That, he says, would give the boy immunity against throat infection. Has he gone crazy?” she asked in sheer desperation. There were many more such instances, she said. For instance, her husband would ask the son to roll on the ground bare-bodied “avowedly to develop immunity”. Roma went on: “All the time, I keep hearing ‘Immunity, Immunity’. It is too much ... Can anybody give me immunity against such absurdities?”
Ajit came from a semi urban background, having spent his childhood and adulthood in such surroundings. He had known different kinds of parameters of health and hygiene. On the other hand, Roma, who had her schooling and upbringing in a class-one city, looked at life in a different light.
I was bemused. If Roma was right, Ajit was also not wrong. But I was disturbed to see that the divergent views of the couple were having a detrimental effect on their child’s psyche. The little boy must be asking himself whom should he listen to — mum or dad? Were his own parents making him rudderless?
Lalit Raizada is a journalist based in India.
