Category: Thoughts uncut

Flash news

“Hey, Jude! Did you hear? Hilary lost, Trump won!”

Oh hey, Jason. Trump won, you say? That’s such a surprise. When did this happen, anyway? I must’ve been living under a rock or something. I can’t believe I didn’t know he won. Well, it’s not like I had stayed up watching the three debates live or had discussed with my friends in the US about Trump’s chances. No, thanks so much for letting me know that Trump won the election. You’re my only news source. I wouldn’t have known otherwise.

By the way, how’s that project coming along? Do you realise that our client doesn’t care about the outcome of this election? How far are we on that?

Oh, we haven’t started yet? That’s brilliant. No, that’s fine, we can tell them it’d take a while. After all, we were busy watching the US elections and so was the whole world — our Russian client won’t mind at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to my email.

What’s that? Oh, you just watched Trump’s speech on YouTube? Cool. Huh, the comments say he was high? Well, I don’t know. And you know what, maybe I don’t care. He was scary, you say? Sure, it’s not like I watched his speech live or anything but whether he smokes or not is his problem. Nope, I did not watch the recorded version. You think it was better than watching him live?

Anyway, thanks for the chat. I had been working for ten minutes straight and needed a fifteen-minute power break. By the way, since you know so much about the elections, do you know when Trump’s signing in as president?

Well, that’s weird. How come you didn’t know that there would be an official peaceful transition of power? You’ve been so religious about the election news so far today that I thought you’d know. Anyway, never mind. I guess it’s on the 20th of January. Well, it doesn’t matter anyway, check your mail. The client just emailed us asking for the report. Would you reply to them? And don’t forget to tell them you were busy with the elections.

To Visit or Not to Visit

I love my parents. Well, who doesn’t? They raised me all these years, taught me what’s good and what’s not good, tried to teach me to make my own bed, and even instilled in me some values of cleanliness. They are the best parents I could’ve ever asked for, and I even considered giving my dad a “World’s best Dad” mug for his sixtieth birthday—which is all so normal and obvious.

That’s what parents are like; sweet, caring, nurturing, and deserving of our affection and compassion. Nothing wrong with any of those things.

All these aside, though, I still have second thoughts about visiting my parents. I can’t stand the thought of them looking up and down at me with crinkled eyebrows, and commenting I’ve lost far too much weight. I cringe to think of spending two days trying to endure their manipulating talks about saving up to build a house, gaining weight so I look my age, and not cutting my hair any shorter. Home for me is just a weekend of torture.

Is it just me, I often wonder.

And I realise it’s not just me. Most of my friends are like me: Dreading visiting parents. But then I spoke to another colleague. She loves to visit her parents. She plans her weekends in advance and allocates time for everyone that matter to her. She’d set up a movie date with her mother, a dinner with her schoolmate, and a tiny lunch party with the entire family. And when she comes back from home, she’d be downcast for a couple of days in the least.

It was a wonder to me.

And then I realised I don’t hate my parents. Despite being reluctant to visit them, I still care for my parents. So much so that I’d call them up to ensure they take their medication on time. I love spending time with them. I love the little chats my mother and I share while we make a mid-day meal. I cherish holding my dad’s hand while we walk to the grocery store. I crave for those moments when I catch up with their stories, smile at their weak attempts at making jokes, and even when I help them navigate the technology I have trouble with myself. I value those little hours we spend for each other. Nevertheless, every time I enter the house, I also look forward to leaving.

People talk so much about parenting, the rules, and best practices of being a good parent. But not enough people realise the challenges of being a daughter, a child. It pains me to yell at my mother who calls me at work because she’s bored at home. How would I tell her to do something for herself, something she’d enjoy doing (other than talking to me)? That is, alas, a question no one can answer. Good “daughtering” is all about finding the sweet spot between spending too much time and too little time with your parents. And I’m still looking for it. Any advice? Please shoot.

Striving for Simplicity

Heard of the phrase, “Easy reading is damn hard writing”? It’s too familiar to miss. But here’s something (and different altogether) that you may have missed: Simple living is expensive.

Before you think Gandhi, think of the last time you browsed online for a pair of flip-flops. I last did it last night. A solid black rubber flip-flop costs INR 700 ($10) while a fancy, multicoloured, studded pair of women’s footwear costs INR 300 ($4).

True story.

Maybe it’s just footwear I thought, moving onto tee shirts. Again, the plain ones cost more than the printed, designed, and layered ones.

I didn’t understand the difference in pricing. But it’s a fact: Being simple is expensive. And the weird thing is, it shouldn’t be this expensive at all. Look at Gandhi, for instance. That man symbolised simplicity, and it doesn’t look like it cost him much. Except, perhaps, the initial cost of the spinning wheel. Nevertheless, he taught the world that minimalism is simplicity and less is more. And yet, despite all the history and the lessons, it still costs me double to buy simple clothes than it does to buy flashy clothes— or even footwear. Less is more, except in pricing.

I blame Gandhi. He made simplicity the new cool. It’s the trend, the hip, the new classy. Nowadays more and more people prefer classy over glossy. Everyone wants to look minimal. Everyone runs towards a “simpler lifestyle.” And to wear something flashy in the presence of the “minimalists” is uncool and unacceptable. And if the cost of being accepted is a few extra notes, people will pay.

So because the modern lifestyle is the simple lifestyle, brands seize their opportunity. They make simple-looking products, give it a clean finish, and put a hefty price on it. And because simplicity is now synonymous with classy, and classy is synonymous with expensive, anything flashy becomes trashy and cheap. And all this I realised when I saw that cheap-looking footwear had a pricier tag than sleek-looking footwear.

As for Gandhi’s simplicity, it’s a goner, just like the advocate. Simple, now, means expensive brands, single-coloured clothing, and fancy converse. The more expensive your attire, the more casual you appear, and the more casual you look, the classier you feel. Actual casual is now a casualty.

What’s the Point of Small Talk?

No matter where we go and who we meet, there’s always an icebreaker. It’s meant to dissolve inhibitions, help understand others’ likes and dislikes, and even know if they eat pizza with a fork or hands. Sometimes it goes as far as potential philosophy and Zen practices that could save the world. We use small talk to ease people into a situation and make them feel comfortable. Except, small talk doesn’t work.Small talk is often a way to kill time while we’re waiting for someone else.

We don’t care much about other people. When someone asks in a group, “So where are you from, how are you, how’s work, how’s the wife?” We smile and nod along as if it’s interesting, even though we’re far from interested.

It’s common sense. I don’t care how my colleague spent his weekend. I don’t care that my classmate’s mother made her mittens, or that her pet cat laid six kittens. It doesn’t matter to me that the new kid in school had a meltdown or that the principal fired five maintenance staff because the school had too many.

It’s ok not to care. And it’s ok to accept that. The only reason my colleague is listening to me ramble on about my Irritable Bowel Syndrome is because they’re too polite to ask me to shut up. Or too sleepy to get to work. And it’s understandable, too. It’s not their bowels, so why would they even bother?

We’re a clever species. We read articles every day about why small talk isn’t helping us in the long run or how much time we’re wasting at work chattering at the water cooler. And I’ve seen colleagues get irritable when another person strikes small conversations, whiling away time. Yet, despite knowing how futile small talk is, we still indulge in it.

Sometimes, we don’t even realise we’re doing it. When I was new in town, my cousin took me to a party because she said it’d be a great place to meet people. And I met a couple of girls. After asking their names and where they studied, I stopped talking. They were younger than I and not my type. So I didn’t force conversation. But they determined to help me get around and make more friends because my cousin had asked them to.

And so the session began. They asked me where I studied. Why I chose literature when engineering was the more sensible option, why I didn’t answer when my mother called a minute ago, where I’d love to live, what I’d do if money weren’t an object, etcetera, etcetera. I got bored after the first question, but I answered anyway — in not more than two or three sentences. However, besides my obvious resentment, they kept at it until I left without telling anyone.

And that’s what small talk does. It ruins relationships even before they begin. Sure, some people claim that it diffuses tension and helps people find common ground. But if someone forced me to talk, I’d only get bored. I’d lose respect for them because they waste my time. I’d avoid them in future because small talk makes me disconnect.