Getting an earful

The handicap of deafness is not in the ear; it is in the mind. Actress and activist Marlee Matlin, who was deaf from early childhood.

Over the past few months, I am being warned and mildly admonished by my better half that I am probably suffering from incipient deafness; ‘Deaf as a doorpost’ being a frequent refrain. Consistent with the stand taken by most people who are ‘accused’ of being hard of hearing, I am into stout denial mode. ‘What me, deaf? Why don’t you speak clearly instead of mumbling to yourself?’ To which the good wife’s response is swift. ‘This morning, I asked you to bring down the Venetian vase from the top shelf of the kitchen cupboard. And what have I got? The medicine box. And not for the first time. We need to consult an ENT specialist.’

‘Well, it certainly sounded like you were asking for the medicine box. You are always asking for it. And please stop saying “read my lips,” a task beyond me when you speak sotto voce with your back turned towards me. No lips visible to read from the back of your head.’ I can be quite sardonic when the mood takes me.

I did not get a response, from which I could deduce that she might also be going deaf or that she was just giving me the cold shoulder. Probably the latter, as she seems to hear every sibilant syllable I utter, even when it is not intended for her shell-like ear. Then again, fair’s fair. I do sense a slight, just teensy-weensy drop in the efficacy of the functioning of my auditory canals. Put it down to a normal, age-related malaise. Nothing to get into an almighty twist about, but I do find myself saying ‘Sorry?’ or ‘What?’ with an alarming frequency when somebody makes a simple conversational remark; with my head deferentially cocked towards the person making the remark. A tell-tale sign, some might say of trouble with the tympanum. In fact, my wife says it about 27 times every day, if you leave out the tympanum bit. On a good day, I can catch it clear as a bell about 15 times. Which is just about par for the course. There’s plenty of ambient noise around where we live – schools and construction work topping the list. That is my defence and I am sticking to it. I am sick and tired of listening to the school kids mauling the National Anthem daily at 9 am, just when I am taking my shower. At least, soapsuds notwithstanding, I am standing for the Jana Gana Mana!

The others – friends, relatives and so on – will be too polite to comment openly, though they might whisper to each other about what they feel might be an embarrassing issue viz., my hearing disability, real or imagined, each whisper ornamenting the previous one. These Chinese whispers do not bother me one bit, because I can’t hear a word they are saying. Which can hardly be classified as a sign of deafness, incipient or advanced. Whispers, Chinese or otherwise, are by definition, not meant to be heard. As the old toothpaste advert promising to rid you of halitosis would say, Your Best Friends Won’t Tell You. So, I go into the Alfred E. Neuman mode, ‘What, me worry?’ Those from the present generation, born after the millennium and wondering who this A.E. Neuman is – think gap tooth, think Mad Magazine. Failing which, put your trust in Google or Yahoo! Not that you needed to be told on that score.

Anyhow, I have been successfully, if unwisely, putting off this visit to the ENT doctor for some time now but it would appear that the sands of time are running out. The chickens are coming home to roost. The issue was precipitated a few nights ago when my wife asked me if I would like the fan to be put on at the speed of 2. I was probably half asleep as I replied, ‘Yes you may switch the lights off, if you wish.’ The explanation that I was half asleep carried no conviction. I thought she said something about a deaf adder under her breath, but it could so easily have been ‘I am getting madder.’ Tough to pick up verbal nuances when you are just about to drop off.

It is a bit of a mystery why many of us get coy and into a self-denial mode when we are asked if there is a problem with the hearing. After saying ‘What was that again?’ and sidling up to the person with a ‘Sorry, didn’t quite catch that. Those blasted Air Force jets are doing some aerial exercises what with the air show coming up and boy, you can’t even hear yourself think. You were saying?’ See what I mean? Somehow, one does not seem to have this issue with other handicaps. You are quite happy to drone on about your astigmatism, rheumatism, lumbago, diabetes (‘My fasting sugar is acting up, but I am into millets, red rice and sugar free tabs’), not to mention neuralgia, osteoporosis and lower back pain coupled with cervical spondylosis. Puts me in mind of a delightful episode from one of Wodehouse’s short stories. Major General Aylmer Bastable is in high dudgeon when one of the toffee-nosed earls at a cure spa mocks him for making a fuss over a mere bout of gout. ‘Snob! Thinks he’s everybody just because he’s got telangiectasis.’

We can talk endlessly, even with a sense of pride, to anyone within earshot about all these afflictions but when it comes to hearing-related ailments, we become palpably shy. A close friend recently inquired politely if I considered getting a hearing aid. To which my response came quick as a flash. ‘My wife deals with all matters to do with hiring maids, so you had better ask her.’ My friend and my wife exchanged knowing glances.

All said and done, it looks as if that visit to the ENT chap is inevitable. He will try and push some new-fangled, state-of-the-art hearing device (‘so cunningly tiny and embedded so artfully it cannot be noticed by anyone’) at a throwaway price, including special manufacturer’s discount, of Rs.6 lakhs (‘We are giving it away really’), German technology made in China; but of course. What is your cut, Doc? It occurred to me that I could buy a decent second-hand car with that kind of money, but I must concur with my life-partner that a second-hand car, however decent, will do nothing to improve my hearing. Assuming always that I do have a hearing problem, a point on which I believe the jury is still out.

Shakespeare’s play, Julius Caesar was prescribed as part of our school syllabus at the Senior Cambridge level. There were many memorable quotes from the play which we keep referencing from time to time in conversation and in our writings. One of the lesser-known quotes, but one that is relevant to the topic under discussion is attributed to Caesar when he urges Mark Anthony, ‘Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf.’ When the Emperor so commands, you move swiftly to his right hand without making any snide comments about his hearing disability – if you knew what was good for you. The great man was already suffering from epilepsy or ‘the falling sickness.’ Clearly, he had just the one functioning ear in an age where they had not heard of hearing aids. At Caesar’s funeral, Mark Anthony commences his speech with that immortal line, ‘Friends, Romans and Countrymen, lend me your ears.’ There can be little doubt that the entire citizenry of Rome was all ears.

Finally, one must accept that there are degrees of deafness. If one is stone deaf, one can only offer sympathy and speak in sign language. In Tamil, insensitive kids employ the word damaaram, a somewhat pejorative term suggesting, onomatopoeically, the sound of a loud fire cracker going off which the poor afflicted person can barely hear. I grant you that that is beyond the pale, but kids will be kids. Speaking for myself, I am fully confident that my problem, if indeed there is one, is but a passing phase. I intend getting my ears dewaxed first. After which you can drop a pin, and I guarantee you I will hear it, clear as a bell, falling on stony ground.

Postscript: Beethoven composed his monumental 9^th Symphony, and pretty much everything else, when he was profoundly deaf. Chew on that.