The sweetness of Salt.

Ever since my doctor diagnosed that I had entered the high risk, high B.P club, my life took a turn to the worst. Alas! What I feared was about to materialize, my taste buds were under the radar!

I never expected that the doctor of many years’ friendship would do a “ye too Brutus” act. He informed my wife regarding my condition (or so he likes to call it), violating medical ethics and the sacred doctor-patient relation-ship. He told that I had 90% chances of cardiac infraction, 80% chance of arterial cloud-bursting, 70% chance of heart enlargement etc etc., giving me very high probability percentages. He has clearly drawn blood - as classmates I had excelled in studies.

I love food and my wife is an excellent nutritionist. Google, Geetha Kandasamy, Rama Desikan and Andipatty Chellathayee are her reference sources on culinary art.

When my doctor friend let my blood pressure frighten my dear wife, her nursing instincts came to the fore with dire consequences (for me). Feelers were sent to the reference sources asking for details under (1) long term (2) middle term (3) near term and (4) instant remedies. Oh yes, I forgot to tell you people that my better half, is a great fan of all the economic experts in India (you might have guessed it by now from words such as long term , medium term and  near term).

When the need arises, my wife takes totalitarian control over matters and her subjects, especially me. Our children have worked out a diplomatic immunity deal and manage to get scot free. How I envy them!

How surprised I was, to find that my wife had targeted both my brain cells and taste buds!

My book shelf underwent a drastic reshuffle. All blood curdling novels were given away.

First row was neatly stacked with books on ‘How’, ‘Why’, ‘days not weeks etc’,self motivation titles to master the art of living with blood pressure. Subjects covered read like the list of who is who.

The second row was stacked with titles on nutritious food & blood pressure. Hard cover (or) paperback, the books invariably had a photograph of invitingly poised heap-full of either crystal (or) table salt over a cooking pot. Boy! Being a Cancerian, at my home base, I did not just like salt, I loved it!

The administered food, like controlled price of commodities, was devoid of salt. Mouthwatering dishes minus “natrium chloride” tasted like chicken65 without chicken.

This regime followed by a diurnal BP check made my life miserable and the mere sight of SALT made my saliva glands go tizzy.

My mother-in-law, dropped in for a month’s stay. She being alone (my Father in Law had departed this world a few years back), stays with her daughters on a round robin basis. With us the stay is usually a little longer and her scheduled departures always get postponed owing to a flimsy or an imaginary reason (or so I would like to believe).

The real reasons being - comfortable understanding between us, along with a sense of motherly onus to safeguard me (from her daughter’s overbearing attitude). Her three daughters were endowed with equal or varying levels of this attitude. Being the first Son in law, she reserved the best of the sympathies for me. Many a times she had cajoled me to stand up and be counted.

After quarter century of married life, I decided it was high time to honor my 75+ Minlaw’s maxims.  No longer was I able to stay tuned to the salt-less & tasteless healthy diet, I gathered all the pent up angers (plural, 25 odd years multiplied by 10angers/day) and marshaled them as stout courage. That was the day I decided to revolt and seek my freedom. All I had to do was to time it nicely.

As we sat for our meal, I let loose my dislike for the SALT less & tasteless food being served. Taken aback, my wife launched into a litany of diet-ages (adages on diet). The 75+ could not hold the strafing attack of her daughter any more.

She recited the family history of people who had lived dangerously close to catastrophic systolic and diastolic pressures. “Stop nagging the man & give him the salt cellar – nagging increases the blood pressure much more than the salt intake”.

Finally, I was able to (f) ea(s) t!

Pls. Note: The muser fancies himself as a humorist, despite not having formal training or opportunity in journalism. The writing is devoid of emotion (dry) and dour (prickly). I have named it as Atacama desertumour.