Compulsive Clickers

“We’re visiting a museum this evening,” my Korean colleague announced grandly during a recent meeting in Seoul.

“What kind of museum?” I asked, excited at the prospect of perhaps seeing ancient Korean relics.

“That’s a surprise,” she said.

Aha! I thought, we’re going to the National Museum of Korea, known for national treasures like the Pensive Bodhisattva statue and the Gyeongcheonsa Ten-Story Pagoda.

Therefore my disappointment was acute when we entered a building filled entirely with gruesome objects: drawings on the floor, portraits with parts jutting out in an unseemly manner and sculptures in grotesque postures. It is called the Trick Eye Museum, the trick being to place yourself in close juxtaposition to each object and have a picture taken by your companion and then reciprocate the favour by taking their picture. These pictures will capture you doing odd things like picking coins being poured on to the floor by a character in a picture; standing on top of a huge can of Coke; interacting with an animal protruding from the wall; and eating food being offered by some idiot in a portrait. I had myself photographed in a couple of silly situations but on the whole, the Trick Museum left me feeling tricked.

A bright disaster

While I have sometimes been led astray in my shopping – like when a careless flight attendant recommended a watch for my daughter without first ascertaining her age – and therefore made bloomers that have provided merriment to the family, my wife has always had the devil’s own luck in shopping. She manages to buy stuff that, somehow or the other, turns out to be really nice (eliciting responses like “Oooh! What a pretty dress – thank you, Amma!” from our daughter).

But a few days ago, she compensated for years of chic sophistication with one mighty blunder when she had the light in our living room changed. We were expecting guests for dinner and I had dutifully stopped on the way back from office to buy drinks and nuts. It was dark outside when I reached home, but when I entered the door it was like stepping into the afternoon sun.

“Whoa!” I said. I looked up at the ceiling light in the living room and was blinded.

“Hi!” Normally my wife’s voice clearly rings through the house and into the corridor outside. But I barely heard her this time – her voice was so subdued. And thanks to being blinded by the light, I could barely see her too. The vague blur in front of me might have been her or the cupboard.

I took out my sunshades from my bag and wore them. “Ah, there you are. Why the razzle-dazzle?”

“Is it too bright?” She sounded distressed. “I called Achai –” our electrician-plumber-handyman and frequent house visitor “– because the earlier light wasn’t bright enough. He suggested we change to a more transparent lampshade and brighter bulbs.”

The living room was lit up like a football stadium on the night of the Champions League Football finals. I could almost hear the roar of the crowds.

A good reason to laugh

Today many people employ the iPad to start, and sustain, a social conversation. As the host at a party I attended recently pulled out his iPad, the people sitting near him moved over and clustered around him like thirsty deer around a small pond. I walked over too, my curiosity aroused.

“What are you discussing?” I asked.

“Laughter,” said the host, turning to me briefly, “I was showing them something on the subject.”

“Fantastic!” I said, excited that I could casually mention that I write a humour column. It’s usually difficult to bring up this subject because the typical party conversation topic is cricket or politics or that killer combination, the politics within cricket. If someone says, for example, “When Australia put on a spinner in the fifth over, I knew we would win,” I find it a little odd to say, “Same here. And talking of spinners, did you read my article last Saturday about how I missed my flight by acting too clever?”

So when the opportunity was suddenly tossed plumb into the middle of my lap, I was quick to take the cue. “Talking of laughter,” I said smoothly, “did you read my column last week about how the English whinge about everything?”

“No,” said the host, “Where is it posted?”

The challenge of buying gifts for the family

As soon as I returned from my business trip, I opened my bag, took out the three packages that were on top, laid them carefully on the bed and shouted to my wife and daughter to come over to examine the loot. If you’ve ever had the chance to observe the way a lioness, after capturing a wildebeest at the end of a long and arduous chase, calls her family over to enjoy the spoils with her, you will get the idea of how I was feeling. I too had captured these articles after a long and arduous chase. The gift coupons I had received from Singapore Airlines to purchase items from their inflight shop were due to expire in a few days and I had forgotten to buy anything on my last two trips. If I had let the opportunity slip by again on this trip, the coupons would have to be squandered. Nothing is as heart-wrenching as forfeiting a freebie, but I had not let that happen. Like the lioness, it was only natural that I should feel triumphant.

“What is this?” my wife asked in a manner that reduced my triumphant mood by 73%. She was holding the elegant watch I had purchased for myself by the tip of its strap as if it were an unsightly worm.

“It’s a beautiful watch,” I said coldly, “It includes a chronograph and, when you change time-zones…”

“Ok, ok, whatever,” she said. “It’s ghastly but if you’re going to wear it, no one will notice.” I was confused about whether to feel insulted that she found the watch ghastly or flattered that she felt I could still carry it off with my personality.

“It’ll go with the rest of your appearance,” she continued, making my choice clear.

“You don’t know a thing about men’s watches, woman,” I said, “So please focus your attention on what I bought for you.” I handed her a box.