A matter of manners ...
This 'n' that
By Renee Ranchan

I SHOULD be grateful since it is the phone that has started off this piece but I cannot get myself to glance thankfully at the instrument which sits on my desk. I somehow am not too fond of the phone ... there are a number of reasons. To name a few: Before the morning is out, I attend to dozens of calls. The services of the alarm clock are rarely required. The first call is generally around sevenish. (I am sure you are curious about the frequency of calls? Cannot really get into it, it would be too time-consuming. But yes, all these phones are for the better half. I just play secretary.) Secondly, the phone always seems to ring itself hoarse when I am doing something that requires no distraction or when I sit down to watch something on TV. On Mondays from 8.30 pm to 9 pm, I have the phone securely off the hook.... How else do you think I manage to see Saans.

Another reason why the phone and I are not the ‘best of friends’ is that more and more people have taken to phone-meetings. ‘Why meet in person when you can drop in via the phone?’ explained a friend. The same friend also informed me that soon there would be a screen that you could affordably hook on to your phone so that you could see your phone friend when you chatted ! (I, for one shall positively not buy one... imagine beaming on a screen at seven in the morning with a dopey-eyed, unwashed look. Get the picture?) But back to these phone-visits. Agreed that time nowadays is in short supply and it is easier to catch up on the phone but... call me old fashioned but in my mind there is no way you can visit via phone. A letter may be fine but phone, no way! To stop such visits, I have an answering machine but using it really does not work. The machine gets cluttered with messages and eventually I do have to return the calls. It would be rather discourteous if I decided to turn a deaf ear to them, no? Manners, yes that is what we have to talk about.

Manners, where have they gone? The other morning, I picked up three calls in quick succession — why must the other half (yes, at times like this you cannot get yourself to say better half!) have to always be bathing or having his breakfast or be anywhere but near the phone? All three callers gruffly, hurriedly asked for him. ‘Can I speak to so and so? Where is he ?’ were the queries. My question: when exactly did ‘can’ replace ‘may’ and ‘please’ has it become redundant? ‘May I please speak to so and so and when may I call again?’ That is not it. Some callers get the information they require — say, like your address to send you a New Year card but when you ask them their name, they hang up. It takes a fair amount of cajoling or a harsh stance from you to know the reason for the address-query. And how come giving your name, even after repeated requests, is difficult? This is my domestic help’s question. I usually do not let him pick up the phone because the lad has a way of jumbling up messages or feels obliged to tell the caller the exact goings-on of the house.

The phone saga does not end here..... Answer the phone and invariably the caller (this happened when I picked up the third call and you know what they say about it being fresh in your mind!) demanded to know who I was? Excuse me, but should it not be the other way around? Should not you be told the caller’s identity first? After which the caller may ask, ‘And may I know who am I speaking to?’ And so often the caller may be a stranger, so what difference would it make if your name was Sonu, Monu or Tonu? When confronted with this name-please (actually I should say name-now) demand, I told the caller to tell me his name first. You know what happened? He promptly hung up. There is more but let’s get off the phone to move to other manner-free issues.

It is the marriage season... I have a stack of invitation cards on my desk (yes, next to the phone.) It is amazing how lovely most of the cards are. I think wedding cards are much more prettier and imaginative than before, no? Of course, they are designed for effect, one upmanship, but that does not mean you cannot be appreciative. I, of course, shall not be able to attend more than half-a-dozen... no, do not get that wrong, I do love weddings. There is something heartening about them, two people starting out together with hope in their heart. Embracing life with enthusiasm. Coming to weddings, have you seen how people pile up their plates at wedding feasts? First there is a stampede for the food and Mummy dear does not mind (even encourages) her baba or baby to quaff two, three colas. Yes, the same lady who disallows the fizzy drink from finding its way in her fridge because it is bad for health! And if the child wants a second, third helping of ice-cream, she’s all smiles. Tummy-trouble? Her iron-instincts tell her nothing of the sort shall happen, she informs you with a sugary smile. And if drinks are served then it is a wedding made in heaven and solemnised in paradise... ask the men with their cat-that-swallowed-a-canary look. There will be a beeline for the liquor counter and who cares about exceeding the ‘normal quota’. The happy reasoning: it is free, marriages are for merry-making. Exactly in that order. Remember when liquor was served on domestic flights? Beer before breakfast had become the norm.... Hang-over, what is that, is their sloshed-to-the-gills counter question to your concerned query. And food, why should it be heaped mountain high? Second helpings, has everyone forgotten there is something like that. And yes, food, so what if half of it is wasted.... now how were you to know you were not exactly as hungry as you thought you were? And it was only wrong management, lack of foresight that the food fell short for other guests. But as they say, it is only the early bird that catches the worm. What business did they have to be late in the first place is the logic! Once the feast is over, the banquet hall or lawn resembles a large trash-can ... broken glasses, plates, crumpled paper napkins strewn all over and food mopping the floor.

Last to last Wednesday, I went to see Zakham — yes, Mahesh Bhatt despite his foot-stomping protests made the ‘necessary’ cuts. It was the late night show... so what if the next morning you are bleary eyed? My motto: when opportunity knocks, open the door. It is not everyday you get film passes. So what if it was way past your bed-time? One other thing about 9.30 to 12.30 screenings.... you do not have to worry about appearances. Wore my cuddly black shawl, the one I take with me to bed... it is old but really warm. And nobody will bother if you wear those really comfortable shoes — the ones that look like they have been munched by your mutt. But the scene at the movie theatre despite the timing was the same. Unruly queues. Cellular phones beeping away and loud phone conversations in the dark precincts of the hall. There should be a ban on these mobiles, do you not think so? And there was also the regular, always-20-minute-late crowd that sputters in unselfconsciously. These people trample over your toes, sit down with a thud and demand to know what has happened so far. And if the little muffin asks you what he is supposed to do with the empty coke bottle, you instruct him to bowl it under the seat.

Why parents bring their kiddies to a night show, I have never been able to understand. And an adult film (?), may be they think sonny will just sleep the movie away.... Last question: How come more than half the audience heads for the exit five minutes before the film ends, blocking the view of the viewers who want to wait till the curtain falls?Agreed that you do not really have to see a Hindi film to know its story but....

From movies to restaurants. Aah, but I have one question. Are queues for pushing, shoving, jumping, anything but patiently standing in and waiting for one’s turn? I have seen jostling even in temple queues. I guess it is all about I-me-myself and the win-at-all-costs culture.... At restaurants is it really essential to noisily thump the table... the waiter has seen you come in and as soon as he finishes removing the dishes from the table next to yours, he will be with you. And why flick your fingers to show more than a flicker of impatience, irritation when the meal doesn’t make a ‘presto appearance’? The menu card usually says it shall take 20-25 minutes for the order to be served. And when your waiter slightly jumbles up the order — in the mattar-paneer instead of tamatar-paneer vein — should you not shoulder some responsibility? You had revised the order a few times over. Why make a noisy scene, ask for the manager? And in case you did not know, propriety demands you give your table-server a tip of 10 per cent of the bill.

And what about those who sneeze and cough in your face? It is said one is taught to cover one’s face in school. Then there is unselfconscious and prolonged public nose-picking. (Over 10 days ago, I met a union minister, who thought nothing of doing so, nor wiping the snot on his sofa’s arm. Exercise done while wearing his patent wide-mouth smile that you could easily mistake for a laugh. Can you guess who?)

I know, you know, but there is no harm in saying it out loud: this article has not been written from Miss Manners’ view-point! And nobody wants fluffed up manners that stick out like a plume. But how about sheer basics?