Shhhh...Don't ask...

 Some questions are just too rude to be asked...

It’s been a while since this incident occurred but I still find myself thinking about it many years later. A colleague of mine (on the newspaper I then worked for) hung up on a phone interview with one of his sources, looking completely shell-shocked. On our asking what happened, he reluctantly shared the story. Apparently, once the interview was over and it was time for small talk, the man had asked my colleague, “Any children?” When my colleague responded in the negative, the comeback was swift: “Any problem?”

None of us could believe that anyone could be so crass as to respond to a virtual stranger like that and yet these kinds of intrusive, bordering-on-rude questions are par for the course in India, where nobody seems to recognize personal boundaries of any kind. Most commonly, relatives will ask young women (and men – though it’s mostly women) why they are not married yet – adding that if they leave it too late, they may not get to snag a husband at all. Those who are married will be asked when they mean to start procreating (“Get a move on if you want two kids; you are not getting any younger, you know”). And so on.

The worst part of these encounters is that the people asking these questions don’t think that they are doing anything wrong. In their minds, this is normal social discourse. And, in any case, they are only asking this stuff because they care. 

Well, I am here this week to assure them that they are totally wrong. And that there are some questions that should never be asked in polite company – no matter how close you are to the person you are addressing these queries to. And for the benefit of these Nosey Parkers, here’s a ready reckoner of questions that are best left unasked.

• Fertility issues: I would have thought this was a no-brainer – and I guess it is, in the sense that only people with no brains ask questions like, “When are going to give us some good news?” or “Isn’t it time Junior became a Big Brother?” The truth is that nobody knows what fertility issues a couple may or may not be facing in their marriage. And frankly, it is nobody else’s business, anyway.

• Questions about medical conditions: The same goes for other medical conditions. So, if you find yourself in a doctor’s waiting room, don’t turn to the person on the right to ask what they are in for. It is not your concern. If someone announces that they have been diagnosed with cancer, don’t follow-up with questions about what sort of cancer it is and what the prognosis might be. If they want to share something with you, they will do so of their own volition.

• Financial matters: Money is a sensitive topic for everyone so it is good manners to tip-toe around the issue as much as possible. Don’t ask anyone what they salary is; what they pay for rent; how much their last holiday cost; or how much their new piece of jewelry set them back.

• Personal appearances: And while you are at, please cease and desist with all those personal comments. If you must say something, tell people how great they look – not that they have lost/gained too much weight.

The Big C

 When someone is diagnosed with cancer, lead with help not curiosity

 

No sooner had Buckingham Palace announced that King Charles had been diagnosed with a form of cancer than the speculation started. What kind of cancer was it? At what stage had it been discovered? What was the first line of treatment? Was it chemotherapy or radiation? Would he need surgery? Was he going to try some alternative therapies? What was the prognosis? How was he feeling? How was Queen Camilla coping?

 

The questions came fast and hard, even though no answers were forthcoming. But then, that’s how it is for lesser mortals as well. Anyone who announces a cancer diagnosis can expect to be inundated with these questions, in varying tones of curiosity and concern (which is, perhaps, why some people choose not to disclose their condition at all). Not only are questions like these intrusive and unhelpful, they also put an unnecessary strain on a patient who may be clinging on to his or her medical privacy because it is the last thing he or she has control over.

 

Sometimes these questions come from a place of love, but too often they are just a form of prying. And on occasion, they are also asked with a view to getting reassurance. Oh he had lung cancer, did he? Pity he smoked a million cigarettes! (I don’t, so I’m okay.) Both her mother and sister got breast cancer as well? Ah, it must run in the family. (Not in mine, thankfully!). And so on.

 

If you ever feel tempted to ask such questions, I have just two words of advice for you: please don’t. Nobody will think you unfeeling and unsympathetic if you don’t probe deeper into anyone’s medical diagnosis. They will give you as much information as they are comfortable with – and you must be content with that.

 

What you can do, if someone shares their cancer diagnosis, is to make yourself helpful. And no, it is not helpful to mutter cliches like, “If there is anything I can do, please do let me know.” They will know you don’t mean it; and no, they will never let you know. 

 

Instead, do something off your own bat that will make their life easier. Make a batch of meals they can bung into a freezer and heat up for the rest of the week. If you know their reading tastes, buy books that you think would appeal to them, something that can occupy them during sleepless nights. Offer to drive them to their chemotherapy sessions and keep them company while they are there. Take the children off their hands for a couple of days a week and allow them the space to heal. Listen with a sympathetic ear if they want to vent. 

 

And here’s what you don’t do. Don’t suggest some quack remedies that worked such wonders for your aunt. Don’t send them links of articles of experimental therapies at the cutting edge of science; they’ve already googled them. Don’t tell them that everything is going to be okay; you don’t know that. Don’t tell them the cancer stories of other people – even if it is one with a happy ending. Everyone’s cancer journey is different; respect that.   

 

Just be there for them in practical ways. That’s all you need to do; and it’s all they want.

 

Either/Or

Nothing annoys me more than questions that involve this phrase

If there is anything – or more accurately, anyone – I can’t stand it is the Either/Or people. You know the kind I mean, don’t you? They are the ones who are always peppering their conversation with Either/Or questions and trying to analyse your personality on the basis of the answers you give.

Of these questions, the most annoying is the one that is usually at the top of their list. Are you a beach person or do you prefer mountains? Apparently, if you say ‘beach person’ it means that you are open, fun-loving, sunny by nature and entirely wholesome. If you say you love mountains, then you must be a closed-in loner who revels in isolation and has little time for other people.

No, the psychobabble makes no sense to me either. But what makes even less sense is why we should be expected to choose one destination or the other? Why aren’t we allowed to say that we like both? That each one fulfills a different need in our psyche. That there are times in our lives when beach holidays are just the ticket, and others when the call of the mountains is hard to resist.

Speaking for myself, I can’t bring myself to choose one over the other. Both the beach and the mountains appeal to me at different times of the year and at different times of my life. When the Delhi cold is seeping deep into my bones, I dream of setting off to a sunny beach somewhere, walking barefoot on the warm sand, and letting the sea waves ripple against my ankles. When the summer heat is getting me down, there is nowhere I would rather be than at some hill destination, losing myself in solitary walks among the mists and fogs that give the landscape a certain dream-like quality.

So I don’t see an Either/Or in this equation. And I really don’t understand people who regard this as some sort of binary choice.

The other Either/Or question that gets asked a lot these days is: Do you prefer a Kindle or do you like An Actual Book.

Well, first of all, a Kindle contains An Actual Book – or rather Several Actual Books. So, I don’t understand this bogus distinction. Oh yes, I know all that stuff about the feel and smell of physical books, the actual sensation of turning a page, and so on and so pretentious. But if you are a genuine lover of books, a committed reader, then frankly, it should not matter to you in which form the book is actually delivered to you. Whether it is a hard copy, a paperback, or an ebook, the story remains the same. And a genuine reader’s enjoyment would not be debased in the least just because the means of delivery has changed.

At least, this is the way it works for me. I love dipping into a physical book at home, nestled on my couch, with a cup of steaming coffee close to hand. But when I travel, I find it more convenient to download a few books on my Kindle. Not only does this make for lighter travel, it makes for easier reading on planes and in hotels, where reading lights are often less than optimal.

Do I enjoy either experience more than the other? Not really. All I am interested in is the story. And that doesn’t change whether I am reading it on paper or on a backlit screen.

The other perennial question that comes up all the time is that old chestnut: Do you prefer Delhi or Mumbai? This is usually posed to people who have lived in both cities. And the correct answer depends on where you have spent your childhood. If you have been brought up in Delhi and moved to Mumbai, then you are supposed to declare your undying love for Delhi and your distaste for Mumbai. And vice versa.

Well, that makes zero sense to me. As someone who has, over the years, divided her time between the two cities, I have discovered different virtues in both cities. If Delhi has beautiful parks strewn with historical monuments like Lodi Garden where you can stroll on a winter’s afternoon, then Mumbai has the beautiful expanse of sea at Marine Drive where you can watch a beautiful sunset every day. If Delhi is the ultimate outsider’s city with no one community being in a position to lay claim to it (no, not even Punjabis), then Mumbai is the city of dreams where people from all over the country arrive to find their fortunes. What’s not to love about either?

The only Either/Or question that actually elicits an answer from me is: Are you a Heels person or a Flats fan? On this score, at least, I have no doubts at all. I am a Flats Person all the way. Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against heels, or the women who choose to wear them. But the older I get, the more ridiculous I find the notion of spending life balancing on a tapering five-inch stick and teetering around precariously, while my knees and back spasm with pain.

Give me a pair of ballet flats or even some comfy loafers any day. And please, for God’s sake, stop with the Either/Or questions.

Drawing the line

Your privacy is worth protecting; even at the cost of being thought rude

So, there I was in an airport lounge, sitting quietly in one corner, minding my own business. My husband, who was travelling in a wheelchair, wanted some water so I went to the buffet counter to get it. Barely had I reached into the fridge, than a voice behind me said, "Excuse me." I turned around, thinking it was a staff member offering assistance. But no, it was a complete stranger, smiling brightly at me. "Yes," I asked.

"I just saw that your husband is in a wheelchair," he said. "What is the problem?"

I suppose the easiest response would have been to explain that he was suffering from a bout of sciatica. But I was so appalled by the blatant disregard for my privacy (not to mention my husband's) and the barefaced effrontery of asking about a stranger's medical condition, that I had to pause while I got my temper under control.

So, I counted to ten and then asked in the most icy tone I could summon: "Are you a friend of his?"

Impervious to my annoyance, he responded cheerily, "No, no, I was just wondering what had happened to him."

I could have made the obvious comeback: "How is that any business of yours?"  But my manners got the better of me. "He is in pain," I said tersely and moved away.

But he was not done. "Anything serious?"

That's when my reserve of patience ran out. I turned my back to him and went back to my quiet corner, fuming all the while at the intrusiveness of strangers.

Thinking back on the encounter during the flight, I began to wonder why I had been quite so annoyed. After all, as an Indian, I have grown up in a culture where the concept of privacy doesn't seem to exist. Where even the most personal matters are the subject of public discussion. And where intrusiveness is such a fact of life that most of us cease to even notice it after a while.

Growing up, as the youngest of three kids, with a brother and a sister who were more than a decade older than me, I lost count of the number of times I heard people joke about how I must have been an 'accident'. After all, my parents had 'one of each' so the third one could only have arrived because of a failure of contraception. It was probably said good-naturedly but ever since I began to understand what it meant, it always came as a shock to hear that I had never been wanted in the first place.

More recently, I have seen much the same scenario unfold with a friend of mine. She has three daughters, all born with a year or two of one another. And every time she goes anywhere with all three of them -- whether to a PTA meeting, a family function, a birthday party, or even on a routine trip to the dentist -- she is sure to get one of the following three responses (and sometimes all three). "Three daughters? Oh, you must have been hoping for a son." "Is the shop shut? Or will you try one last time for a boy?" "How lucky, girls are the best. But doesn't your husband want a son too?"

I can only imagine how those three young girls feel when they hear these careless remarks thrown about within earshot. Do they feel worthless because, apparently, a family is never complete without a son? Do they wonder if their parents are disappointed in them because of their gender? Do they feel like failures for no fault of their own?

But somehow, everyone feels entitled to comment on other people's personal choices, or even query their life decisions. Here is just a random sample of questions that you grow up being asked in India -- not just by parents, family members, neighbors or friends; but by complete strangers in doctors' waiting rooms, on the train, and yes, even in airline lounges.

* How come you are not married yet? Divorced? Oh, what happened?

* How many kids do you have? Just the one? He is 5 already? Isn't it time you had the second one. You know, only children can grow up to be selfish and lonely.

* How long have you been married? No children? Any problems? You know, I can recommend a specialist. He helped my cousin conceive -- not once, but twice!

And then, there are the questions that are asked so that you can be placed in the social order:

* Where did you go to school?

* Did you go to college in India or abroad?

* Where do you live? Do you live in a flat or a house? How much did you pay for it? Oh, your parents left it to you? How much do you think it is worth now?

* What car do you drive? Do you drive yourself or do you have a driver?

* Where did you go for your summer holidays? Where are you planning to go for Christmas/New Year?

The questions just pile on and on and on till the intrusiveness becomes such a part of your environment that you don't even register it, let alone find it offensive.

But then comes a moment when a complete stranger walks up to you and asks you about your husband's medical condition as if he has a perfect right to do so. And that's when you begin to lay down boundaries in your own head. And promise yourself that you will safeguard them even at the cost of being seen as rude. Because, sometimes, offence is the best defence.