Kishore Singh: Some families do have fun

I’ve often wondered what people find to talk and laugh about when they’re with their families at a restaurant or bar. Do they genuinely find things funny? Can gossip be so uproarious? Are they actually even interested in things they’re saying to each other?

“We must look happy and talk about things we enjoy,” I told my wife and children, “instead of looking like we’re choking on our starters, which by the way are very good,” I added for my son’s benefit. “What’s to be happy,” he grumbled, helping himself to more prawns than must be healthy for a young man, “when you have such grand meals here in Delhi, while I have to fend for myself in Pune on the measly allowance you send me.” It is not true that the monthly transfer to his bank account is in any way parsimonious, and I know for a fact that he remembers the restaurant menus in that city better than his college syllabus, but since I was determined not to argue, I let it pass.

“I hope,” I said to my daughter, “that you’re enjoying your evening out with us.” “I ought to tell you,” my daughter snapped, “that I think you’ve deliberately chosen this week to take me to dinner when I’m on a diet.

Now, I can either eat, which will make me put on weight, or I can not eat, which will make me miserable, and since I’m not a hypocrite, I cannot pretend to be happy because you want me to, so I’m going to sulk instead, and I would be grateful if you would leave me alone as I have no intention of talking to anyone.”

“Perhaps,” I said to my wife, “you can put your phone away” — for she had been busy receiving and sending messages — “so we can have a conversation about something amusing.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” my wife shrugged, “you’ve never said anything remotely amusing in all your life.” I could have reminded her about the time she said I was the funniest thing on the planet, but thought better of it since it might have resulted in an unseemly squabble.

To break the ice, I said to the children that just because we were out enjoying ourselves, they must not forget they had their exams coming up, and that I expected them to study for at least a few hours once we got back home. “Oh, puhleez!” my daughter gestured theatrically. “Dad,” my son asked, “can I go back to Pune tomorrow instead of next week?” “Nag, nag, nag,” my wife murmured in a low voice, “nag, nag, nag, nag, nag.”

I suspected a little coldness had descended on our table, while all around us laughter swirled and dipped and lit up conversations.

When my wife’s mobile rang, she pounced on it with such obvious glee, I could not help thinking that perhaps she was not enjoying herself very much. I turned away to order our main courses, which took a couple of minutes, and by the time I turned back to the table, the children were busy on their phones as well. For a moment I hoped they might be talking to each other, even if on the phone while seated beside the other, but it was soon clear that they were otherwise absorbed, and though I’ve never been one for eavesdropping, I couldn’t help wonder whether the stray snatches of “boring” and “tedious” and “godawful” might have something to do with the circumstances of our family meal.

So it was with relief I grabbed my phone when it rang. “Where are you?” asked my sister in her strident, demanding tone. “Out with the family, having dinner,” I announced in my happy voice, “we’re having so much fun!”