Some people love to give advice – it can be friendly, unfriendly, wanted, unwanted, helpful, unhelpful, warranted, unwarranted, useful or even futile -the occasion or circumstance does not seem to matter. There just needs to be someone gullible enough to listen to them, and soon they are gushing forth on what to do, and how exactly to do it.
When I was younger, I thought it was the only way the world functioned because everyone older to me generally guided me and told me what to do. To a child’s mind, telling and suggesting was one and the same thing.
So, I followed it all and this pattern persisted into my youth as more people popped out of nowhere to offer me advice. However, as time passed and I became a parent myself, I thought the pattern would stop.
But surprisingly, it did not. Though great insights came from asking trusted and caring friends for advice, sometimes it was extended even when I did not ask for it. This troubled me because I did not know how to let them know that I did not want unsolicited suggestions.
I often wondered whether I had an invisible sign around my neck that solicited strangers for advice because during a recent routine trip to my favourite cafe, no fewer than four people offered me advice on crossing the street and choosing a pastry. Believe me, it’s true! Maybe I had one of those faces that invited all manner of advice from strangers, who knows? Some of it was well meaning, mind you, but most of it felt like an aggressive judgment of my entire being.
Curiously, this did not stop me from speculating about the strange habits of compulsive advisors because there had to be some kind of psychological advantage that they got – a sort of feel-good factor – that made them reach out and deliver counsel to all and sundry.
Maybe they had an inner voice prompting them to provide guidance to entire humankind. But somehow the very fact that the person they were giving advise to might not want to be advised, and be squirming in discomfort, escaped their notice entirely.
The usual precursor to unwanted advice were opening statements like “Don’t mind my saying but your car/hair/garden/eyes/gate (you could add anything here) looks run down”. This would be the introductory charge which was then followed by a generously lengthy advice. One would scramble around and try in vain to find a pause in this never-ending monologue, but there was no getting away from the barrage of remedial guidance fired your way.
Over the years, I found the tools to protect myself from unsavoury advisors, but occasionally I slipped up. Last week, at an upmarket Italian restaurant in Lisbon, I stared in dismay at the terribly expensive dish I had inadvertently ordered. The meat-balls swimming in tomato slush looked pinkish brown and tasted like leather. As I tried to hide my look of dismay, the cook, who was a large matronly woman, presented herself at my table.
“What is the problem?” she asked, placing her hands on her ample waist.
“Ahem, nothing”, I said clearing my throat.
“Speak up. Vamos!” she prompted.
“I am not hungry”, I squeaked.
“This is good animal protein”, she scolded.
I nodded and put a spoonful in my mouth.
“Don’t mind me, but if you want my advice”, she started.
“Wow! It is delicious” I lied before she could elaborate further.
By Nickunj Malik
|| features@portugalresident.com
Nickunj Malik’s journalistic career began when she walked into the office of Khaleej Times newspaper in Dubai thirty-one years ago and got the job. Since then, her articles have appeared in various newspapers all over the world. She now resides in Portugal and is married to a banker who loves numbers more than words.
