Tag: people

What’s the Point of Buying a House?

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For people in my parents’ age, buying a house — or building one — is the ultimate goal. Life had a basic structure: education, job, house, EMI, marriage, EMI, kids, EMI, kids’ education, and (phew) retiring into the house they built all those EMIs ago.

By the time they move into their home, they’d have grown too old to climb the spiral stairs they’d so wanted. Sure, it would’ve looked sexy in movies or when Holmes darted up a stairwell with Watson at his heels, but the knee ache would be just too real.

It’s funny how my parents still think that that’s the way to go. Build a house, they say, and you’re set for life. It’s a good investment, a future-proof solution for when you’re much too old to work any longer. According to them, we need something we could fall back to when things get rough and soreness starts to show.

With the way my generation lives, with all the soda, the extra-cheesy burgers, and sitting on our asses, I doubt we’ll even live long enough to hit retirement. Besides, what’s the fun in spending all your youthful vigour saving for an unforeseeable future?

I’d rather spend my money and time on a road trip I’d enjoy now than agonise over interest for the next 5 years. I’d rather spend my money on a good bottle of wine than go over patterned tiles for the bathroom of a house I can’t afford.

And I’d choose Netflix today than fretting over a 27-inch television that would’ve gone off-style by the time I’m ready to kick back, debt-free.

Even though I explain all this to my parents as I’d explain the art of cereal-eating to a toddler, they still fall back to, “Buying a house will free up your future.” Our society has hammered the idea into their skulls for far too long.

And as I look into the eyes that plead me to save more and buy a house, I end up smiling, “Sure, mom.”

In my heart, though, I know buying a house is the last thing I’d do.

I’ve been living in my current rented house for almost a year and I’m itching to move already. If I’d have to spend hoards on a single house and live in it forever, that’d be punishment and not freedom.

Honesty Is the Best Policy

honesty

From primary school to middle and even in high school, we’ve vouched for honesty countless times. It’s embedded in our heads even without our consent.

But we also know they’re just empty words.How honest could we sound about being honest when we know so well that it would squash us? It’s how life is. Nowadays, no one can be honest and have a peaceful life at the same time.

How honest could we sound about being honest when we know so well that it would squash us? It’s how life is. Nowadays, no one can be honest and have a peaceful life at the same time.

Because once you realise the truth leads to misery, you wouldn’t want to take that route.

It starts small, like students telling their parents they finished homework, when they hadn’t. It’s so common that it’s not even breaking the being honest rule. Besides, telling the truth is too much trouble to deal with.

Likewise, a self-respecting adult wouldn’t walk up to a cop and declare they’ve hidden a stash in their car. You can’t do that and expect the law to let you go — just because you were honest.

Or perhaps this: “Honey, you look hideous. But I love you.” That’s a good punch line. And in the current state of our society, the guy may be charged with body shaming and sexism as well.

Being truthful is painful. And as humans, we try to avoid it. So much so that we don’t even feel guilty of being dishonest anymore. Why bother? It’s not as if there’s a SWAT team outside a thirteen-year old’s door sniffing for a whiff of beer.

It’s easier to hide the wrong stuff.

And we’ve landed an intolerable society because we chose the easy way rather than the right way.

For far too long, we’ve been telling children to be honest, without teaching them how. From the small things like forgetting to get the report card signed, to bigger things like forgetting to pay the taxes, it’s all about honesty — or the lack of it.

We’ve said it too many times. As a result, we nullified the meaning of it. Like when Mark Antony called Brutus an honourable man. By the end of that speech, no one thought Brutus honourable.

It’s no different with honesty. What was once a moral became a proverb, and is now a cliché. And we avoid clichés like the plague.

The government doesn’t go through every individual’s tax payments. The police don’t scour every college dorm for narcotics. And there’s no FBI breaking down doors looking for illegal weapon holders.

We shouldn’t enforce honesty but introduce it early.

We don’t need teachers reading out to students from a book that says, “Honesty is the best policy”. What we need, instead, is for them to explain the truth and the reality of facing consequences.

Let’s Talk Money

Some say money is irrelevant, and there are things more important in life. Like human relationships, for instance. Or trust or humility.

Which is all fine, but how often do we find ourselves starving and rummaging amidst pennies, while staring through the window of Subway or Starbucks?

At that moment, nothing matters more than a few currency notes. Never would we appreciate paper more than we would then. It’s just paper, but it’s also the world. No one’s got time for humility when they’ve got a rumbling tummy.

It’s not as if Subway would handover a sandwich to an under-nourished kid living on the streets. Or as if Santa would bring us lifetime supply of basic necessities for Christmas if we’re good this year.

Life’s not school where the teacher would give you a gold star for attending class every day. Nor does life give you a tree of golden leaves you could pick any time you want some.

Life is harsh. While for some it’s painful to live without familiar faces around them, for some others living is painful in itself. No single mother who scrubs pans to feed two sons and a daughter would declare money is irrelevant. When you’ve been alone, penniless, and helpless for far too long, family and human relationships mean less than rain water puddles.

Life is ruthless. Every 20 something graduating with a degree he didn’t want in the first place, buckles under the weight of an education loan that’d tie him to a desk job for the next ten years.

Life is mischievous. It gives you countless options and yet stumps you with a catch. You could be a doctor, a teacher, an artist, even. But before you become anyone, you need to turn out your pockets to our great education system. And then frees you up to do that creative writing course you yearned for.

Catch, though: The Humanities are dead. You go down that path, and you’re future’s lost for ever. The Dead Poets Society makes it worse.

No one struggling to keep their head above water would say money is secondary. Sure, we all know the importance of being a good citizen, and that our values matter more than our lives. But when it comes to reality, nothing is louder than the voice of money.

Besides, if you notice, almost all those who care naught for money have too much of it already. We hear only their voices. Because when you’ve never struggled to make ends meet, when you’ve grown up oblivious of a Pay Day loan, money isn’t the most important thing in life.

It’s That Day Again

Last day of the month. And we all know what that means.

A month-long they spend toiling. Shuffling into the office each morning, hatred oozing from a not-so-cheery hello and the compulsion to work.

Every dying ember of a Friday afternoon would feel like the beginning of a carnival. And Sunday evenings, a dousing of spirits.

They bear it all because there comes a day — the last day of the month — when they would make up for all they’ve lost. A day to give money away to an unknown face behind computer screens and cash counters. A face, though smiles, relies on secret one-time passwords to check they aren’t cheats.

All that to acquire material stuff.

“A hat with a lion on it! I so need it to show off to my friends.”

“That grey converse looks good. I could alternate it with my blue and black ones.”

“Wow, I have a shirt that’d go so well with that scarf.”

“It’s almost December, shouldn’t I get a new pair of gloves? My old ones are…old.”

“He got a phone and I need to get at least a new cover for mine.”

For the next two days, shopping malls and online sites will flood with young people. They’d spend hard-earned remuneration on flip flops designed like Mickey Mouse.

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And as they surf stall after stall, retailers stalk them with delightful deals. Buy one and get something free. Ah, yes! I’ll take a pair of designer shoes, please. And a cake of soap to go with that. It’s good it’s free. I need that soap because I can’t get it elsewhere.

And since they bought something and got something free with that, they get another offer: Shop for more than 5 percent of your income and get 2 percent off!

Well, why the hell not?

At the end of the day, spending all that money makes them feel so much secure and good about themselves. If that’s what it takes to take on Monday at the work, then so be it.

Dear Colleague,

I just met you a while ago.

We stepped into the same lift. I was getting back to my place having escaped from an impromptu gossip gathering at the food court. It was 11.30 in the morning, and I had a memo to send out before lunch. That’s when I ran into you. And if I remember right, you were just signing into work.

I smiled. Not because I was happy to see you, but because I believed in keeping up with social niceties. I never thought for a second that you’d take it assume it was an invitation to make small talk. Alas, my bad.

Sure, I’d be thrilled to hear about your trip to the western coast of Australia. Oh, so they’re 6 hours ahead of us? Wow! Those bastards could’ve warned us about the twin towers, huh? I feigned laughter, forcing myself to look stupider than your narration.

And then I realised that the lift had stayed stuck on the 9th floor, and me with you.
As you moved on to the story of the lasagna you made last night, I chanced a glance at my watch. What had started as an innocent break had transitioned into forty-five minutes of wasted time. You didn’t notice, however, and I locked arms across my chest praying for the lift to move. I’d have only been happier if the lift had broken a chord and hurled us both to the ground. At least then you’d stop talking.

From the greasy dinner, you went on about your love life. Oh, why wouldn’t I love to hear how the hot guy on the block asked you out? And I’d be happy for you if the two of you hit it off well. No no, I care about your date night. And no, it wouldn’t be inappropriate at all for you to ask about his previous relationship.

I’m not sure if you had noticed my tortured smile, but I had one plastered on my mouth ever since my first smile. How I regretted getting into the same lift as you. But you go ahead. I’d love to hear you talk about… something.

And a while later, the lift started moving, taking me — a dragging inch at a time — to a place far away from you. We stopped on your floor, and you were oblivious as usual.

Isn’t this your stop? Oh, shoot! Shame I couldn’t hear more about your new boyfriend. He seems like a nice guy. Oh yes, we should catch up sometime. Coffee? Sure. This afternoon? Er, well, I can’t think of anything else I’m doing, so–ok. Ciao.

As the lift closed again, I breathed a sigh of relief. Before I knew it, the lift had reached the topmost floor — mine. I walked back to my place, too drained to finish that memo, but lunch was around the corner, and I had to get it done soon.

For the next fifteen minutes, my fingers flew over the keyboard. I hit send and leaned back on my chair when I heard my stomach rumbling.

Dragging myself to the lifts, I pressed the button for the ground floor. I had skipped breakfast and wish I hadn’t. As I walked into the dining hall, who should I run into but you!

Oh hello, how nice to see you again!

But I just met you a while ago.

Also published on Medium.