The passion for improvement

It is fascinating to note how often people try to improve their fellow beings. I wish I had a penny for every time someone has said, “Oh so-and-so is a wonderful person but you know, his grammar sucks.” Of course, you can replace “grammar” with “fitness,” “attitude,” “driving,” and several other things. The principle is darn simple – a person may be very good but well, needs to work on a certain front.

Some might call this a rage for perfection. I think it is basically a waste of time and an attempt to undermine the poor chap’s confidence. Why not cherish what one has instead of trying to change what works? And especially on someone else’s recommendation? Believe me, if someone keeps telling you to change a certain part of yourself to achieve success, that person is more fond of what you could be than what you are, and therefore, deserves to be treated with caution or maybe even with some violence! If you need to change, you will know it and won't need someone else to tell you about it.

I mean, one of my oldest friends is a marvellous doctor, but keeps getting criticised for not being ambitious enough (“You should have had your own hospital by this age, instead of working for others, if you had more drive!”). He is more than content with his earnings, and likes to work with his patients and pursue for further studies – both of which he is doing. He should be content, and people should be proud of him but nah, they keep telling him that he is failure in life. There was a phase when he actually neglected his studies and tried to get investors for a health product company – he was no good at it and promptly went back to what he does best!

And then there is the person I call my best friend (although she turned down the designation, alas! But that’s another story – and maybe another blog entry) who is a perfectly decent professional but keeps getting criticised for her attitude. I mean, yeah, she could perhaps be a bit more patient and polite at times but hey, she is pretty good at her job. Unfortunately, everyone seems to be more obsessed with her “attitude” than what she does. Needless to say, she is pretty upset and ironically, this sometimes does affect her motivation to work – the one thing she is very good at!

And of course, there is the little matter of Yours Truly who has been accused of not being aggressive enough, being too meek, too quiet, too shy...I will compile a list some other day! And while I did get severely rattled at one stage, I think I have more or less worked out that I should stick to doing what one is good at rather than trying out stuff that I am uncomfortable with. I am never going to be a party animal, but heck, I think just about pass muster with a pen in my hand! It might take more time to get information by smiling politely at someone rude but that is easier for me to do than scream back at the blighter!

It’s all very well to try and improve. Heck, one should try to iron out one’s rough spots (the Lord knows we have stacks of them) but should we do so if it distracts us from the things that we do well? I am reminded of one of my favourite cricketers, David Gower, who made batting look like poetry. He was forever accused of being too “casual” and “irresponsible” because he did not practice often and well, liked to be out and about town. He refused to change, in spite of being mistreated by the team management. By the time he retired, he had scored more runs than anyone else for England.

I rest my case!

Ah! The joys of neglect!

Sometimes you get the feeling that your friends are doing their best to infuriate you. It could take various forms, from casual to pretty obvious (or, make that ‘not at all pretty’ obvious) neglect.

And of course, you don’t have the foggiest notion what you have done to deserve to be treated that something the cat brought in.

What the blazes do the chumps hope to achieve through this? Honestly, I don’t have the foggiest notion. It is plain bad manners and a pretty poor advertisement for themselves. Perhaps they want to be seen as less than perfect – weird!

Ah, no prizes for guessing that I am getting the “you know that in terms of importance, you rank pretty low in my personal esteem rankings” from one of my friends. And to be honest, I am torn between the wish to give her a size 10 boot on the seat of her trousers or to just burst out laughing. Being inclined towards non-violence – officially because I am a fan of Gandhi, really because I don’t do well in fights – I am currently inclining towards the latter option.

And heck, all said and done, she is a friend. Kicking friends with size 10 boots is not a good idea. Generally.

Will I change my mind? Uh-huh! Watch this space, fellas! I can only laugh for so long. It might be kicking time soon!

Spooked by a book!

One often tries modelling oneself on leading characters of the books one reads. The lord knows that I have at different times tried to assume the airs and manners of Sir Launcelot, Psmith and Lord Peter Wimsey. I have failed spectacularly, of course, but that’s another story.

But what on earth do you do when you come across a character in a book who is just like you? Well, the person who recommended the book did say that the lead character bore some similarity to me and warned me not to identify too closely with the chap, but hell, obeying that has been tough.

I mean, apart from the fact that the lad happens to be rather handsome, likes his (sadly expired) dad and is a good baseball player, he seems remarkably like me (I forgot to add, he does not read too much either!) . He roots thoroughly for the underdog, has a keen sense of right and wrong, seems hyper-sensitive, lives with his mum, has not exactly been a winner with the ladies and has a colossal ego! And yikes, he is even the same age as me – a masterly thirty six. He also has the same number of eyes, arms, legs, ears and nostrils as me! Alas, he does seem in better shape and has more cranial fungus than Yours Truly but those are minor matters.

I was well and truly spooked. And some of my assumptions about myself took a bit of a beating too.

Needless to say, I am doing a serious rethink on whether I have as many screws loose as this feller did. Will keep you posted on progress on that front.

Just in case you are curious, the chap ends up married to a wonderful lady (the heroines are always pretty, dash it!), conquers his weaknesses and, while doing all that, manages to play a major role in having his best friend reduced to a crisp!

Hmmm....some of that I would not mind!

(No, I ain’t telling you the name of the book.)

A fraternal questionnaire

How do you tell someone that they mean the world to you?

How do you tell them that you feel comfortable when they are around? Even if you don't say so?

That the world seems a much better place when they put in an appearance?

That you can talk to them of just about anything without feeling self-conscious? (except this, of course)

That you want them to know whenever something good happens to you, because you know they care?

That you want them to notice you when you are annoyed or feeling depressed – because you want them to be concerned and cheer you up?

That you feel terribly possessive of them at times and feel just as terrible for feeling that way? (For, perhaps you have no right to be so.)

How do you tell someone all this, without appearing to be a sentimental idiot, a horribly jealous blighter or an emotional moron?

How do you tell someone that he or she is your best friend? And that the appointment comes with no medals or decorations but just a lot of headaches because you are going to bug him or her at the first excuse?

Do you need to tell them at all? (heck, if not, then how on earth will they know?)

Let me know if you have the answers.

All mixed up!

How often does one feel delighted and sad at the same time? Well, I felt both for a short while earlier today. A friend of mine might finally be getting her chance to go abroad and settle there.

That is terrific because it is something she has been planning to do for a while.

Of course, on the flip side, it means that I will not be seeing her ever again once she does go. And that is not exactly the best thing I have heard all year!

All of which translates into a rather complicated mathematical equation:

Fifty per cent of me is happy for her.

Twenty five per cent of me is sad for me.

Fifteen per cent of me is rather proud of the fifty per cent that is happy for her, as it shows I place my friend’s happiness above my own grief.

Ten per cent of me thinks that the fifteen per cent bit is a pompous idiot that is trying to appear noble, while actually being a selfish dolt.

And all that adds up to: a rather confused individual!

Boy, Kipling sure knew what he was talking about when he advised people to “Meet with triumph and disaster, And treat those two impostors just the same.” You said it, Rudy!

About a friend

It’s a strange friendship.

Logically, we should not really be friends. It’s not as if we share a sackful of interests. In fact, we differ on a lot of things. And although we have known each other for almost a decade now, we have met but a handful of times, except for a short period when we were working together.

In fact, we have been out of touch for long periods of time – sometimes not talking for an entire year. Mind you, it never got more than a year, because I always remembered to call on her birthday.

And yet, I think we are good friends. Even though she almost always forgets my birthday.

I think it is mainly because of her. She believes she has a bit of a temper but somehow has never lost it with me. And when I do call, she generally manages to get to the phone and carry on a conversation in between doing just about every chore imaginable – from cooking to washing to the Lord alone knows what!

We talk of all kinds of things – films, people who propose (and do not propose) matrimony, work (yes, we work in totally different places but still talk about work), music and well, we talk a lot about me. Because I almost always turn to her when I am feeling low. I am sure she gets depressed too, but she somehow never seems to talk about that – and she has had more than her share of problems.

I once pointed out that it was not fair. I mean, I always ended up going to her with my troubles. What did that make me?

And she said: “It makes you my friend.”

You know, I feel like putting that in my Resume´.

The sound of silence

Sometimes you don’t want to talk.

It happened to one of my friends yesterday. Extremely upset about something that had been said to her (by me? I wonder...), she had just wanted to be left alone, preferring her own company. She shook her head determinedly, blinking back tears (she will deny their existence, of course) when I offered to sit with her for a while.

She didn’t want to talk at that time. Though the Lord alone knows what we could have talked about – what can you say to a dear one who is one the verge of tears but is determined not to weep in front of you?

Sometimes words are not enough.

I met her again today and she was noticeably quieter. We chattered a bit of this and that. Exchanged notes about friends who somehow never kept in touch and walked down to a cinema hall where she had to meet someone.

The person she had to meet was late. So we just stood there. It was kind of strange. We were watching the traffic, watching people leap in and out of buses, grinning at careless motorists getting booked by the police.

And not saying a word.

It was almost a while before she noticed the silence and said, “Why are we not talking?”

I replied, without really thinking, “We don’t need to.”

And it was true. We just stood there, watching the traffic. A couple of friends on an October night. Not speaking much. And yet, at least in my case, just happy to be near someone who cared. Honestly, I don’t think she was unhappy either.

Sometimes you don’t need to talk.

Highly ‘effect’ive advice!

“Our presence should not affect you.”

Those were the words of wisdom that a friend mailed me when I was feeling a bit low because someone I rather liked was going away.

Now, that’s interesting! I mean, basically it implies that one should not be affected by other people. Sounds wonderful on paper. And it would yield some wonderful results. Just consider what would happen if I did not let others affect me:

1. I would not be bothered by financial matters. Hey, I am a professional and I get paid by others. I cannot let them affect me, right? Even if they pay me peanuts or not pay me at all!

2. I would become extremely popular with criminals, because I would cheerfully give them all my money. You see, I cannot let them affect me.

3. I would be a joy to work with. Colleagues could do just about everything or anything and I would just smile – cannot let them affect me.

4. I would become self-dependent. Because all my friends would dump me – after all, who wants to keep in touch with someone who is not affected by you and is not concerned whether you live or die?

5. I would become a perfect model of patience. Nothing would affect me at all.

Sounds pretty good, no?

Incidentally, I forgot the best point of all – if I did not let others affect me, I would have a much better chance of meeting God. Because you see, I would need to be dead to let others – specially those I like – not affect me.

Nice advice, luv! But know something? I am not going to follow it. You will have just have to put up with affecting me for some time!

And I am not complaining.

Thanks, fellas!

Take it from me - seeing your mum faint and fall off a chair is not the best way to start a morning. Well, that’s how my day got underway yesterday and believe me, the sight of my mum’s bleeding face did not improve matters. Fortunately, she had improved considerably by the end of the day. My uncle (her younger brother) had come over to hold the fort and things seemed to be drifting back to normal.

I was honestly a mess myself in the morning. And while my mum’s feeling better did a lot to improve my own state, so did the efforts of a number of others, who made their presence felt in the nicest way possible. To them goes my sincere gratitude.

So, without further ado, here is my vote of thanks to the following (in no particular order):

• Donna Jane Clark: For telling me to keep calm, while seeming rather flustered herself. It worked, you know! I calmed down in no time at all. And for calling me time and again to check if I was OK and for advising me on how to cook khichri. And she says she does not know what to say to people!

• Ruchi Hajela: For offering to come down and help and not letting a dwindling mobile balance stop her from calling me up twice - once to advise me to give mum lots of coffee, and the next time to tell me not to. As if that were not enough, she called Rajat too and asked him to come down and visit me. That busted her balance, I reckon. Owe you one, little lady.

• Rajat Agrawal: For offering to come down and help, no questions asked, even before I had told him about mum. Does it get better than this?

• Nidhi Singal: For patiently enduring hours of editing by me over the phone, in spite of not having the smoothest day herself. And for insisting I stay home and bravely offering to do the editing herself. Finally, for looking genuinely pleased when I did drop in for an hour late in the day.

• Pranav Kumar Singh: For six words : “if you need anything, tell me.” I will, believe me.

• Anannya Nath: For advising me to give mum Tomato or Sweet Corn Soup. Unfortunately she hates both, but the sentiment was appreciated.

• Reshma Sanyal: For ordering me to get a grip and ‘take care of the sweet thing.’ Aapka hukum sar aankhon pe, madam!

• Kalpana Sharma and Preethi Jayapathi: For expressing concern and doing something that they had not done for MONTHS – call me. I was not able to take either of their calls but they proved that out of sight was not out of mind for them. Mind you, I am going to go back to sulking about why they don’t call me in a few days!

• Someone I work with who I unfortunately cannot name: For NOT calling. I would not have been able to tolerate any arrant and idiotic nonsense today!

Thanks, fellas. You were awesome. Who says being an only child is lonely?