Anecdotes-2

Asantha U. Attanayake

Sharing

My husband was brought up by his maternal grandma and grandpa mostly. He was the only kiddo there and they have spoilt him so much so that he ended up not knowing the meaning of sharing. Also, being American, individualism (and free will) at the pinnacle of everything they do must have a part to play, I am sure. (No offence!) On top of that, he was in the service, so it’s all about gobbling up as soon as you could, for God knows when the orders would come to “get set, go!” So, whenever any food was served on the table, he was not used to check whether or not others ate or anybody else would need anything. He just shoveled everything and filled his plate.

Well, this was inconceivable to me, a girl brought up with sharing as the family core value. When any one of us siblings went to a wedding, we never ate that small piece of special wedding cake offered to us. We used to carefully put it into our purse, bring it home, cut it into 7 pieces (5 of us and our parents) and eat one. My brother, the youngest, was caught red-handed a few times eating a piece meant for someone else and got an earful of everything from the four sisters, and he wouldn’t dare even to dream of eating a piece of a wedding cake when it’s sitting in the fridge! Not sure whether he got a smack or two too in addition. He might have. That was the way we were brought up. With my husband’s quality of not sharing, I got into deep trouble not knowing what to do. I didn’t know at first, whether or not it was polite to say, “Please leave some for me.” Or “Don’t finish everything in the dish.”

While he was going for his second helping was when the sharing issue came up. Usually, I serve him first as he likes it very much when I serve him. He has read somewhere that a devoted Sinhala Buddhist wife should serve her husband first. And he wanted me to be one. He further said in fact a “decent” Sinhala Buddhist wife should wait until her husband finished eating to serve herself food from the same plate as per the scripts – Too much reading! Well, I discarded the idea immediately stating that I was not that much of a “decent” Sinhala Buddhist wife but didn’t mind being a moderate one for that matter.

To be honest, I don’t mind being a “moderate decent wife” as it means serving him food first and things like that. How simple that is compared to the serious stuff he does for me: he gives me his entire salary and never asks what I do with it; any indecision would close with a “Go ahead with whatever you like wife friend, no problem” decision. Above all, he is here with me in Sri Lanka, leaving everybody’s dream land, USA. So why on earth I should complain about having to serve the meal first to him?

So, first serving, as said, I did and for the second helping he did not need the “decent” wife always. That was when the disaster happened. So, when I went for a second helping for myself, it was mostly empty dishes that I found myself peeping into. Initially, I thought it was impolite to say this to his face. So, I implied. However, beating about the bush seemed not working with my white fella, hence I entered the topic one day, face-to-face.

So, when he was going for the second helping, to shovel up all what was in the dishes, I asked him whether what he was doing was correct. He looked clearly surprised. I said we were supposed to share everything in life and food was one. Just as I served him food first gladly, because he liked it, he should also try to be a devoted husband by sharing everything with me and being concerned about sharing. He looked non-committal.

One day, I bought a sweetmeat called ‘halapa’ (in Sinhala) home from our university canteen. It was made of treacle and bran powder steamed, wrapped in a leaf. There was only one left at the canteen and I bought it for our evening tea. I made tea, divided the halapa into two and called him. He said he was finishing something and would join me soon. I like halapa and couldn’t resist eating it asap. So, I ate my half of the halapa and left his on the table. Then he joined me. I had to turn away from the table for a minute for something and when I turned back, he was sipping his tea. I could see through the half open leaf that the sweetmeat was still there. “Aren’t you eating this?” I asked him. “I ate. This is for you.” He said. When I opened the leaf, there it was, half of his halapa portion! My heart was singing.

However, still, occasionally, there are instances where he forgets all about sharing. Old habits die hard, so they say. In such instances, his hand would pick the whole thing, whatever it is, and it would make a beeline to the mouth. Just then, just one look from me, would see to it that half of it slips back to the plate!