Sunday, October 27, 2013

Constructive Criticism


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 ...No one ever accepts criticism cheerfully...The only two categories that a writer or a musician recognises are those that admire and those that do not have the wits to understand...The democratic machinery is kept going through the exercise of the critical faculty. If someone should ask, "How should an opposition function?" the best answer would be, "In the manner of a traditional mother-in-law who watches the performance of household work by a daughter-in-law and follows her about with her comments."

...RKN in The Critical Faculty


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RKN lost his young bride (15) barely 6 years after their marriage.  So I guess he drew his eminent conclusions from a shrewd observation of his own mother-in-law who must have survived her daughter for quite a while.

My mom didn’t have to suffer the intense scrutiny of her M-i-L who was a widow by when my mom got married and so was living with her eldest son who had lost his wife early.

And my wife too was living at KGP a 1000 miles away from her M-i-L at Gudur. And she too was a touch-and-go-D-i-L.

But not me…

My M-i-L (bless her soul!) got widowed barely 2 years after I got married to her darling daughter, and survived her hubby by a quarter century. And so she was a frequent visitor to KGP staying for a month and more on each of her trips, and once for as long as six months. During these spells it was I that was under her intense scrutiny.  We never crossed swords or words. But there was this very palpable tension whenever we faced each other, mostly on the dining table. She usurped my wife’s kitchen as soon as she arrived. And my wife naturally liked it…mom’s own food for her tasted better than her own.

But I got so used to my own wife’s cooking that I didn’t quite enjoy my M-i-L’s dishes. For the simple reason that my wife knew what I loved to eat, and cared for it…but my M-i-L didn’t care even to know…I was in a hopeless minority of 1 in 4 (my urchin son loved his granny’s cooking…any change in taste is liked by kids).

Apart from what I felt were her cooking excesses, I had this terrific inferiority complex with my M-i-L…I felt she always looked down on me silently…her father was an engineer while my father was only a poor teacher;  her daughter was a medico while I was merely a physics teacher. I felt she didn’t like my dress sense, my eating habits, my speech, my attitude, my outlook on life, and my very unfortunate but unavoidable existence. And she didn’t, I felt forlornly, realize that these feelings were mutual, rather.

My mom never missed her D-i-L…she has half a dozen of her own daughters and they are all gems and pearls and emeralds and rubies set in pure gold in her eyes. And she resembled my own M-i-L in thinking poorly of her sons-in-law...compared to her dear daughters.

My eldest  B-i-L (IAS) was the only son-in-law of our household for a good 7 years. And so he had a monopoly. Whenever he used to arrive at Father’s place in Gudur,  Father stood up and kept standing till he was permitted to sit down...Father had a terror of bureaucrats…they had the power to spoil his CRs (Confidential Reports) and may transfer him to remote villages and stop his pension on trivial grounds.

But not my mom…she is never scared of anyone at all. Her self-confidence is supreme and I guess it is because her daughters are all highly educated and employed (or employable) gainfully and so didn’t need to kowtow to their hubbies’ whims and fancies...she was a budding feminist when this term was not yet in vogue.

So, one day, after all her daughters got married and assembled for a function at her place with their hubbies, and all were seated on the dining floor, my IAS B-i-L, who by then lost his cherished monopoly, lost his discretion as well and asked his M-i-L in public:

“Which of your six sons-in-law is your favorite?”

…expecting the answer:

“Why, yourself naturally!”

But, to his consternation, he got the impromptu reply:

“The second”

“But why...why???”

“He respects his wife and me most”

The IAS met his match...

My mom told me that she got it once from my Father on the dining floor. Father used to keep a vow of silence during eating except when he had to offer 'constructive criticism' like:

"The rice is over-boiled", or, "under-boiled"

Or

...The salt in the curry is too much or too little; the sugar in the payas is too much; the pickle has gone stale; sambar is too viscous....

Once mom got wild and shouted at him:

"You always speak when something has gone wrong with my cooking...you never have any good words to say about it at other times"

Father kept his cool and said:

"When I finish my eating without speaking it implies I have no complaints...that's all" 

It was mom's turn to grin and bear it...


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