He is at it, again! - 323-

Unsettle him a little, or when he does it to others or when he tries to be helpful, his anger boils over instantaneously, starts to mutter and utter before editing his audio files. Being wiser and ascertaining the background details before wading was not his strong point. Becoming trapped, he took to mutter loudly while iterating issues and scenarios within himself. 

Since there was no 'for your ears only' prohibitory order, these words, just loud enough, took to the air. It reached the ears of persons who took it as an indirect criticism. By this act, he always managed to let loose a cat among pigeons. They took note of it and came back at him with their own cats to stalk his pigeons.  Yes, he was aghast. No, he did not curb his intemperate, verbal missives (musings) at all!

His friends (I know a few of them), used to lob one liner jibes like this at him, "when in anger, you catch faster than a sodium vapour lamp or You tend to react for every incident, curb it or you will become a mental wreck.” They closed up like a clam when he came back with two liners “You don’t get to judge the depth of an ocean by standing on the shore or by measuring the height of waves. Remember, relationships are built with T-sand (Trust) and not M- sand (Misgivings)”. His friends stopped their one-liners! 

With his mutterings and then uttering of opinions, he had created a lethal combination and a sure-fire catalyst to generate hostility and painted himself as the willing target. His muttering and then uttering of opinions have become. Pity him! His brain circuit has been wired for compulsive and repeat mode. 

I will start with a personal experience. A news item about hackathon had triggered him. He came up with other words like walkathon, marathon, sleepathon, speakathon, workathon etc. He felt proud that he could contribute the last three words to enrich the language. Unable to check the enthusiasm, he came rushing to share it with me. Lo and behold! His glory only lasted a few milliseconds.  I, for the heck of taking a sweet revenge on him for his habitual two-liners, punctured his balloon by reciting a dozen more *-athons. Deflated and angered, he left without taking leave of me.  This made me to narrate whatever had happened because of his huff and puff tactics. 

For clarity’s sake, I have used italics to spot the footloose cat and the reaction of the pigeons. 

Let us see, what his footloose cat did among the pigeons. It was amongst his own family members. Undeterred by my letdown and unable to curb his anger, he started to mutter, " People would happily be lazy and then trot to a gym with a load of fat to burn.  Instead, can't they find household chores to let off steam, get things done, save money and keep fit?" 

Theis muttering unerringly found the ears of his just arriving home with a head filled with problems crying for workable solutions. He had been asking for a small help and was getting nothing but a “I will do it" as a reply from his son. He was getting upset because he had already collected seven such "I will do it' in a span of four days. 

Not a very complex task requiring rocket science. His collected notes and notebooks are stored in the attic and wanted to check on them. They have endured that many apartment changes and transplant operations along with the family. They had to give up the ground floor space to things considered more valuable, from utility point of view, and presently refugees in the attic. This “I will do it” became a flashpoint because he was unable to and prohibited from attempting to bring them down 

Iteration fueled by irritation, he started with the usual mutterings. As if on cue, his son dropped a dinner plate with a loud clang. No sooner he heard that sound, he uttered, "An unfulfilled promise will ring louder on the conscience."  

Reacting quickly, his son brought a step ladder, reached and pulled out a carton box. The wonder tape Heavily bandaged with the wonder tape, the carton box gave up hope and disgorged the contents through the bottom flaps. 

Down came his treasure and as a final instalment a BW photograph falling face-up completing the deluge. The phot had captured the father and son smiling like sunshine, years ago! Looking at the photo, the son boiled with anger forcing him to feel the heat of shame. The son having put up with these mutterings of one-liners and two-liners, decided to pay his father back in equal measures and said in a clear voice, “At least the dropped plate stops or breaks, and the floor has no conscience. Some people don't learn, is it not?” 

In a role reversal, he counted the pigeons set among his cat – plate stops; plate breaks; floor has no conscience. The message from these pigeons was an admonishment to stop or break the habit of muttering. He understood that along with the floor, his son had also indicted him on the photographic front. Honestly, he did not know why he had not got the photo fixed in a frame. 

This is about another footloose cat. He possessed a cherished souvenir from his school days.  During assembly, the headmaster (old school) lifted aloft the article mounted on a wooden plank, and said, " Look at this. If you work hard, your handicraft also will be appreciated like this." 

The credit really belonged to the craft teacher who had encouraged the students to use their imagination and make whatever article they wanted to.  He urged them to do their best and not to be weighed down by expectations. The one that came up for appreciation, in front of the entire school, was a dining table set made using bicycle spokes. Though it looked spindly but, in his eyes, it was a Picasso in bicycle spokes! Not a mean achievement for a thirteen- to fourteen-year-old! 

Now and then he would take hold of it in his hands, just to relive that euphoria and try to forget the lackluster academic performance he had managed.  On a particular gloomy day, he needed an ego boost and badly needed to hold that souvenir in his hands. It was his elixir to shore up his sagging mood which brazenly continued its downward swing.  To make the matter worse, that memorabilia had now gone missing from its usual place. 

In the house nobody had a clue about the missing souvenir. He was horror-struck at the state of security and wondered if an item can walk away just like that, then what guarantee is there that many other things had not followed suit? Distraught and irritated, he muttered, "If everyone has missed this one, then there could be many more that everyone has missed as well.” This muttering fell into the ears of his better-half and she promptly retorted, “before making sweeping statements, tell me how many things you could catalogue which we all have missed?” Confronted with the ‘catalogue challenge’, he found himself in the not-so-friendly hot water! 

His misfortune, and misadventure never came alone. From a simple handshake to a humble offer of help, he believed the other person would be equally courteous. Sadly, exceptions always existed along with the rule of etiquette. In reality, he had observed this kind of one-way traffic when his better- half went overboard to be of help and did not whine about it when being taken for granted.

He abhorred this ' taking for granted' attitude coming on top of the non-reciprocative gesture. As bad luck would have it, he muttered within earshot of his wife, “why people think getting help is just a one-way street?” His wife, refusing to join in an argument simply said, “why do you bother, you don’t even walk in a one-way street!”

Instead of keeping to his own counsel, he muttered “Why people have this insane predilection to deposit money in a hibernating account!” Even at the peak of his anger, he patted himself for coming up with a new word -hibernating account. The trigger was a news item which detailed how due to a fat-finger syndrome a bank managed to transfer lakhs of rupees into an inoperative account. Annoyed with his asides and besides, his better half, still on the scene asked him, “Do you have any account like that? Mutter and utter the number, now! Poor fellow had unwittingly set a flock of pigeons among the mother-cat! 

Another day and another of his footloose cat. His grandchildren came down from the bus with disappointment written all over their faces. Without ascertaining the context, he hurriedly framed the words that he hoped will take the sting out of their dejection. While walking with them, he started muttering, “For every winner on the podium, there are many losers on the ground." Instead of addressing their disappointment, he had managed to add fuel to the already raging fire. But our muttering-in-chief did not notice that the children’s usual chatter and banter had abruptly stopped. 

At home, the grandchildren revealed the real reason. They were sad not because they had lost in a competition but by the sharp criticism they had received from their Science and Mathematics teachers. Tutored and encouraged by yours’s truly, they had attempted to arrive at the same conclusion by a different approach. The teachers thought it was an out-of-the- text book excursion and promptly awarded question marks instead of marks! He, not knowing the background, had jumped too many guns and fired his muttering cum uttering, to further upset the kids. 

The whole family ganged up against him and said without mincing the words, "If you can't teach as prescribed and match your utterings with the prevailing situation, then stop making others getting more upset." 

In the end, it was the grandkids who chose to utter the words the elders dared not – “Grandpa, you need a factory reset!" He started to blame his ‘muttering before uttering’ for losing face even in front of his grandchildren 

Did he mind? Not to my knowledge, as he keeps finding himself in one mess after another.  Wonder, how do I know all these things?  Because, I happen to be a decade long neighbour, though he has been trying to forge a close friendship, though I neither got close nor strayed far. For courtesy sake, I had been wishing him the occasional good mornings and tin this narrative did not refer him by his name except as “he”! 

 why am I keeping him at a distance? Two reasons - I am allergic to pigeons and cats. I was also politely trying to avoid reding the dumped many drafts on my lap. He is a prolific writer, bent upon seasoning and aging the alphabets as far as he could push them. I am sure if are forced to read his so-called literary efforts, you would also come to the same conclusion!