Tag: society

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.

Corporate Culture

My cousin rolled her eyes at me over her cup of cold coffee. When she lowered her glass, I saw she had developed a chocolate-cream-covered mustache.

I had just asked her how she liked her new job in the big city. In her first week, she had sent me about a hundred messages, all photos of her new workplace, the free meals, and unlimited candy, and the dorm rooms with their cozy bedspreads. The company even gave away free gadgets to employees.

Yet here she was three months later, the life drained from her eyes. I’d expected her to be more excited to talk about the new startup in the block.

She explained. And when corporate employees confess, it’s not pretty.

She got free food three times a day. And unlimited coffee, snacks, and chocolate (dark, too) anytime she wanted. And if she wanted to blow steam off, she could go next door to the playing area to shoot darts or pocket some carrom coins.

She spent over ten hours at work. She didn’t while away or go for tea breaks across the street. She could have anything she wanted from the pantry. And she could bring it back to her desk, working between bites.

She didn’t have a proper mentor either because most startups don’t believe in micromanagers and hierarchy. And with flexible office timings and unrestricted internet access, the only thing that stopped employees from watching porn all day was the creepy open-office setting. But no one felt bad about scrolling through Facebook because that was a part of a healthy productive day.

At first, she loved her job. With no boss to boss her around, it seemed like paradise. However, a few weeks later, she realised she was going nowhere. The company was doing alright; they had received foreign investments and decided to upgrade the playing area with a badminton court. But despite the fresh startup fever, work had become rather dry.

She thought about work while eating, she talked about work while playing, and worked while she travelled, too, (on the company’s free shuttle services) to and from work. Her colleagues stayed over at the office because they’d work all night, and the office beds seemed more comfortable than the one at home.

But they had the weekends off. So they could feel like they had a life. She knew she had none, though.

Just three months into a job, she wanted out. She couldn’t imagine giving up the benefits, but she knew she wasn’t growing where she was. However, if she made the move, her family wouldn’t understand and pressure her to go back in. She felt stuck, wishing they’d fire her.

As she paused to take another swig of coffee, I smiled at her. The lure of corporate culture. Fancy on the outside, finicky on the inside. I’ve seen a few of them myself.

Nature Transmogrifying

When we say change, we often think change for the good. However, sometimes nature forces us to change despite our reluctance. We grow up, we mature, we learn new things, and meet new people. We transform from naive kids into knowing adults.

But then sometimes, we force nature to transform. Like in this case, a hundred-year-old tree had to morph its roots because we built a wall or two.

transmorgifying-nature

I took this photo in Vandalur, a national zoological park in Chennai, India.

What’s the Point of Fireworks?

For once, I’m glad the weekend’s over. For two whole days, fireworks have been cracking and popping outside my window and all I could think of was what’s the point of it all?

It’s funny that people work hard all year and throw away all their bonus cash on rolled up gunpowder that could blow up a finger. It happens too, at least five times every year. And most of the time, it’s more than a finger. Sometimes even entire houses near a fireworks shop go up in flames just because some random guy lit a cigarette. Fireworks are unstable, risky, and they turn cash into ash right in front of your eyes.

As if wasting money weren’t enough, there’s the nuisance of noise and smoke. I kept jumping every now and again — and not because of the plot twist in the book I was reading. One kid’s thrill for roaring rockets and blasted bombs made the two-month-old next door wail all night which in turn kept me up all night. The noise even drowned out the environmentalists who orated ozone overtures on television. Not even an hour of silence.

But there’s another side to fireworks. A side that’s as pathetic as the aftermath that garbage collectors have to deal with.

About three months before the festival season begins, Sivakasi and the rest of fireworks-producing areas rejoices. Fireworks are their livelihood. They’d lock themselves up in a dingy room, stuffing charcoal into sulfur and sickness into children. And with every pack of fireworks they sold, the lights in their houses would burn brighter and their kids would get a better chance at primary education. The lighter our purses become, the heavier their stomachs become. These people feed on fireworks while people in white coats argue for boycotting the poisonous epidemic.

Nevertheless, fireworks aren’t military. There’s no point in pretending they are a necessary evil. We know the destruction fireworks cause, but we also know the families that hinge on them. And that’s the saddest stature of Indian society. A large portion of our people would die if the larger portion doesn’t kill the environment (in a way).

Unless we take a stand. Unless primary school textbooks refine their definition of Sivakasi being synonymous with fireworks. Unless we do more than boycotting fireworks. Unless we find alternative employment opportunities for those who survive in charcoal, we won’t rid ourselves of pointless fires.