Dumb and more dumb
By Amrita Dhingra

IT was a beautiful Sunday morning. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, there was peace all around. I, however, was not at peace. Disregarding all the data which tells one that it takes only 17 muscles to smile and 47 to frown, I was definitely frowning. I was puzzled, perplexed, bamboozled.

"Why," I asked of my best friend in the world, "are men so DUMB?"

"Excuse me?"

Okay, so I’ll agree that it wasn’t the most tactful thing in the world to ask my best friend since the said person also happens to be a man and my husband. "No really. Look at men they go around pretending to be architects and engineers and doctors and what- have-you, but if you ask me beneath that veneer lurks their truth. It would be better if they just came out and said it, "Hell we’re dumb!"

"You make it sound like a confession," said Richard sitting up on the couch where he had been sprawling lazily, "Hell, we’re dumb! Kinda in the same league as someone coming out and saying "Hell, we’re dumb! Where," he said crossing his arms, "is all of this coming from?"

"Martha. Frank hasn’t called her for a month. What does he think — she’s going to hang around forever? Serve him right if he comes back and finds her happily married! Dumb," I said reiterating my point in case it hadn’t gotten through to Richard, "because I know he loves her and would probably be shattered if she left him in the lurch!"

"But she won’t, will she?", said my better half making it all sound perfectly reasonable.

"That’s because she’s smart. She is a woman."

She’s a woman, hence she’s smart? Aren’t you being a little sexist?"

"Sexist? It’s a fact, a scientifically proven fact." I sat down on the couch opposite him ready to throw scientific data at him. "For one, we use both our brains, there’s better communication between the left and the right brains. We’re better communicators..." "...or jabberers ?",he said interrupting me. I shot him a dirty look and carried on undeterred.

"We think, we reason, we feel. Our emotional intelligence scores soar, yours never even get off the ground. We juggle roles with dexterity, competence, we use more areas of our brains simultaneously. We can think about 10 different things at the same time and come up with the answers."

"Is that why you can never make up your mind?" said Richard, saccharine sweet. "Or does that explain why there are times when I have to ask you a question thrice before you even realise I’m talking to you?"

"Are you," I asked narrowing my eyes, "getting personal?"

"Well yes! I didn’t know I was married to a sexist man-basher. Men are dumb! Ha!," said Richard taking up the cudgels on the behalf of his much wronged gender.

"All right then, tell me of one man, just one man who got things right in a relationship?"

"Simple," he smirked, "me!"

"Ha! Like hell!"

"You married me."

"And you think that’s because you got everything right?"

"Okay, so you’re smart woman, you know what you want, why else would you marry anybody?"

"Because," I smiled, wisdom fairly dripping off my visage, "I am a smart woman and I realised that you are a dumb man and you needed rescuing."

"Like a damsel in distress!!!" he retorted.

"Exactly! Like a damsel in distress with the important difference that a damsel in distress does not need to be rescued from herself." Simple. Logical.

"I needed rescuing from myself." At this point Richard couldn’t seem to make up his mind whether to be aghast or infuriated.

"Yup!"

"You had better explain yourself," he said, settling for infuriated.

"Case in point, " I said ever willing to oblige, to explain and enlighten, "All the times I’ve been mad at you, you never even knew I was mad at you. Going by your way of thinking things couldn’t have been better. So I got madder and madder till I couldn’t stand it anymore and then I’d decide to dump you!"

"Several times if I remember correctly," he said dryly.

"And what was your reaction?" I asked continuing to explain and enlighten, trying on the way to make the class interactive, "It hit you like a bolt from the blue. You couldn’t for the life of you figure out what was going on? You behaved like a child whose favourite toy has been cruelly snatched away!"

I paused for a brief moment to see how he was taking it. He seemed to be bearing up though one couldn’t really tell what was going on beyond that deadpan face. "It had to happen a couple of times before I figured out that you actually didn’t have the slightest clue about what was going on. And since it would have been clear to any woman straight off I just jumped to the conclusion that you didn’t know because you didn’t care!"

"That’s a very woman thing to do, isn’t it?" bristled Richard, "Jump to conclusions!!!"

"Maybe," I said coolly, refusing to be side-tracked, "just like it’s a very man thing to do, be dumb."

"Ha!"

"Any smart man would realise what a world of good it would do to him to open his eyes and ears and really listen once in a while, because we say things all the time. But no! Men must go around like oxymorons, deaf, blind and dumb in the bargain!"

"We listen," said Richard deciding to go all calm and dignified on me, " of course we listen and we see."

"Sure, only when we hit you over the head with it!"

"Come on be reasonable. Most men grow up with the idea of making the woman they love happy. Ladies love warm sunshine, sipping on sweet red wine and dancing at least twice a week. Flowers and perfumes, silk and satin and fancy things."

"Dumb! Dumb! Dumb!"

"Why?," he said, suddenly anguished.

"If only you’d chuck the silk and satin once in a while and talk instead. You were so busy planning on that thirty-point solitaire for me, working like mad that I barely got to see, you, sometimes I thought I barely knew you."

"You know that’s not true! Anyway a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do!"

"A man has got to talk," I said, refusing to be swayed.

At this point the phone rang. It was Martha. Frank was back behaving predictably as if nothing had happened, he had also asked her to be his wife. Martha, smart girl, had forgiven him and made him the happiest man on Earth. I told Richard.

"See," he said accusingly, "the poor guy was probably agonising over it night and day and here you go doubting him. Why would men do all the things they do for women if they didn’t care? Why would they change their flat tyres, get their vehicles topped up, be ready to snap the head off anyone who dared insult their girl? Why," he said, pulling out his trump card, "would they take their girls dancing?"

"Dancing?" That, I have to admit, stumped me.

"Yup, dancing. While you float around the room in a mist of music, romance and perfume, we men have a bad time of it. For one thing, the waltz, the two-step, the tango don’t come easy to us. Given a choice most of us would rather run a mile in tight shoes than learn all that stuff. But we do it. And make it seem effortless while our shirtcollar is probably too tight and we’re sweating. Why? Because we care. Because women, insidious things that they are, manage to become a part of the woodwork in our brains and in our hearts!!!"

He seemed exasperated with the whole thing. I could see that he was troubled. The sun had been replaced with a cloudy sky, it was already raining somewhere. He informed me that he was going for a walk and left.

Shrugging my shoulders I settled back down on the couch. Clearly, Richard did have a point. Okay, so men did care. But I’d never said that they didn’t care, just that they were too dumb. Sooner or later, Richard would come around and see the point. I have, after all, been working on him. He, thank God, is not so dumb anymore. I closed my eyes still convinced about my point of view. Till I was struck by another thought.

I jumped up, grabbed my jacket and raced out after Richard. I had to catch up with him. I had to tell him. There was flip side to the whole thing — because if women were smarter than men and men could still get women to do most of the work on a relationship, even rescue a man, then surely somewhere men must be smarter than women. A case of dumb and dumber?