It was in late eighties. My father was looking out for a suitable alliance for the twenty-three-old me who was also a closet feminist. To paraphrase the old advertisement, I was dreamy enough to want it my way, but not daring enough to find a partner for myself. I was caught between the romantic life that I learnt through books and the real life when the world was in the cusp of changing from the deeply-entrenched patriarchal set-up.

I made my father’s life miserable by saying that a Taurean and a Gemini can never get along well as per Linda Goodman’s Sun Signs. The then world of horoscope depended on matching alliance based on our natal charts and the stars that we are born into which many times did not align with Linda’s world.

Every alliance that my father discussed with me was met with, “they seem to be old-fashioned,” or “he appears to be a mama’s boy.”

It was then my tired and spent father, rifled through a whole lot of Reader’s Digest and finally let out a shout of triumph and gave me a book to read marking a particular page.

The rather short tale titled Borrowing Jacks written by J.P. McEvoy, goes like this:

A man was speeding down a country road at night and bang goes his tire. He realizes that he had no jack. He says to himself, “I will walk to the nearest farmhouse and borrow his Jack.”

 He sees a light at a distance and says to himself, “Well, I’m in luck; the farmer’s up. I’ll just knock on the door and say I’m in trouble, would you please lend me a jack?”

  And he’ll say, “why sure, neighbour, help yourself – but bring it back.”

 He walked a little further and he realizes that the house is farther than he thought. He tells himself, “Now the farmer will be upset that I disturbed him and maybe he would want some money for his trouble.”

 He walked on a little farther and the light went out, so he says to himself, “Now he’s gone to bed and he’ll be annoyed because I’m bothering him. And I’ll say, all right, it isn’t very neighbourly – but I’ll give you a quarter. And he’ll say, do you think you can get me out of bed in the middle of the night and then offer me a quarter? Give me a dollar or get yourself a jack somewhere else.”

 As he goes on towards the farmhouse, he works himself into quite a lather. He turned into the gate and muttered. “A dollar! All right, I’ll give you a dollar. But not a cent more! A poor devil has an accident and all he needs is a jack. You probably won’t let me have one no matter what I give you. That’s the kind of guy you are.”

 Which brought him to the door and he knocked – angrily, loudly. The farmer stuck his head out the window above the door and hollered down, “Who’s there? What do you want?”

  The fellow stopped pounding on the door and yelled up, “You and your damn jack! You know what you can do with it!”

I laughed uproariously at this and my father asked me, “Doesn’t it remind you of yourself? You know nothing about the family, nothing about their life but you have already decided that your life is going to be miserable. And you and your husband will spend the rest of your life arguing.”

Years have gone by. I have shared this story with all my students during my teaching days and with my children too. My father is no more. But when Reader’s Digest announced its closure of its UK office recently, my parental home with its treasure house of books and my father who made me see how I was jumping to conclusions with as little information at hand still resonates with me. Can’t say I have overcome this particular habit..but each time I do, this story gives me a pause and I chuckle remembering my father.

This blog post is part of the blog challenge ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’
hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla
in collaboration with Dr. Preeti Chauhan.