Monthly Archives: September 2010

On Why It Is Good To Grow Old

Well, it is quite possible that I am only trying to console myself, but there is plenty truth in what I say. It is good to grow older. Of course you have to trade your sharp, angular features for more rounded ones, but it’s a reasonably fair trade. There are much better treasures to be scooped up from the deeper end of life than when you are in relatively shallow waters.

I’m going to write about a few things to substantiate my argument. When you get older, there are certain good things that happen. I define “older” as above 29.

(Now I’d like to add a disclaimer that I do not intend to sound preachy or condescending, this post is not supposed to be about personal development or how to live life. These are merely my observations. Things that have happened to me and changed me for the better, only because of Time. )

Hothead turns cool

The temper that can so be easily sparked off in youth is replaced by a calm mellowness. Temper can be your undoing. I think that anger can be quite addictive. It gives you a rush, I don’t know how many other people feel it, but I often have. The sudden rush of blood to your face, the heightened senses, tensing of mental and physical muscles for a fight – all these are somehow appealing in a way, though they do come with their own destructive outcomes. I used to imagine Anger as my faithful stallion – with a blazing red mane, flared nostrils and relentless hoofing that unsettles the dust. I would write about how “Anger, my faithful steed, makes me feel alive.”

It is not to say that I don’t get angry now. I still do, and it can still blind me to the objectivity of the situation and consequences of my actions. But I am able to control it more, and funnily enough, when I do, it only makes me feel better and more alive, not worse off and dead.

You’re more forgiving

What is ironic about your expansive forgiveness when you grow older is that had you been more forgiving just a few years back, you would have been able to avoid many sorrowful situations in your life. Aristotle said that it is impossible to teach ethics to the young. What he meant was not that the young cannot intellectually grasp the principles, but that they just lack the necessary life experience that puts several concepts into perspective.

It is such a joy to forgive. And to be able to truly forgive instead of trading pardons is almost surreal in the happiness and peace it gives you. Life is such that people will hurt you. They betray, they leave, they prove themselves unworthy, they make you suffer. There is no escaping it. But like Bob Marley says, you just got to find the ones worth suffering for. And you realize that there indeed are people worth suffering for. You forgive their transgressions and accept their follies more easily, because they are worth it. You let go of deep hurts, or at least make significant progress, because you actually see the futility of hanging onto it all. It harms no one but you. And that is the truth. Most of the things that we are unable to forgive are seriously not worth it.

Clarity – about life, relationships

This is possibly an offshoot of what I said earlier, you gain more clarity – about life and relationships. Since labels can easily elucidate, I am going to say that there are two types of young people – idealistic and opportunistic. The idealists will enter into a relationship all guns blazing, both ends of the candle burning and with complete and utter devotion to the divine notion of love. They inevitably get hurt. The opportunists use. And throw. And use again. They get caught up in the need to be in a relationship, with anybody, because they end up closely associating their own worth with their ability to overpower, control and dominate another individual. And there definitely is a third kind, the meek and docile ones, the ones who will not flinch even if a truck runs them over. I have no respect for this kind, they are just the living dead, so I am not going there.

It is rare to find a young person who is not idealistic or opportunistic. Clarity about life and relationships come only from the experiences of youth. The idealists gain better clarity on whom and what in life are worth submitting themselves to. The opportunists realize that it really is not good to serially use people and that controlling others only prove how desperately low in the rung of humanity they are on. Of course, people are quite capable of holding onto their fanatic idealism and opportunism well into their old age, but most of us do grow up. Hopefully!

Fearlessness

Fearlessness is an unexpected side benefit of growing older. This is quite different from the recklessness of the youth. You really do not fear, or rather you can easily control your fears and still do what needs to be done. Perhaps this is because of what I call “The Gift of Rock Bottom” – which I have to blog about one of these days – but Time makes you understand that there is nothing to fear, except morons, fanatics and terrorists.

Self assurance, no more rebellion or explanations

Young people are rebellious by nature. They cannot, will not listen. Now, I don’t mean to say that as you get older, you just die inside and go meek (or get ‘tamed’). Far from it. Just as I could not, would not listen to anybody when I was younger, I still cannot, will not listen. But with a key difference. Now, if I don’t listen, it is not to prove a point, it is merely because I do not agree to the proposed point of view or course of action. And if somebody tells me something that is good for me, I do listen, and easily execute what he or she proposed. Like an obedient little child. There is no need to tell myself that “I’m the shit” just because I am capable of pooh-poohing all well-intended advice.

You also develop a sort of self-assurance that will let you fearlessly do what needs to be done, without having the need to explain anything to anybody or even rebel against anybody. You don’t have to explain anything even to yourself, because your sense of self-worth does not depend on what anybody else or even you yourself think about you. I think this is one of the greatest gifts Time gives you. Self-assuredness.

You love deeper

I often wonder why people are pressured to enter into serious relationships like marriage during their twenties. That is so not the right time. As far as relationships are concerned, twenties is like the Perfect Storm. It will attempt to destroy and decimate and more often than not, succeed. People who are able to get past this rocky phase develop an appreciation for each other. They do love deeper, they love the beginnings of crow’s feet and the softness of the flesh. Their love loses the edge of arrogance, it becomes more fulfilling and they wonder why and how they could not do it before.

You may also lose your significant other to the perverseness of youth. But if you are lucky, you find someone else you can love deeper, without making the same mistakes again.

I think only a near-death experience can otherwise bring such clarity and appreciation of important people in your life. There is this song of Tim McGraw called “Live like you’re dying.” It talks about what a man did when he learnt he had only a few weeks to live. He went sky diving, rocky mountain climbing, and did 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu. And he loved deeper, spoke sweeter and gave forgiveness he’s been denying. Beautiful beautiful song.

Better appreciation of Time

Ironically, it is only when you waste about half your life making mistakes you realize that you do have time to live a good life. What you do with your time is entirely your choosing. You may choose to brood, hold grudges against everyone, rue the lost time, unrealized talent, missed opportunities or trampled heart. Or you may choose to enjoy Time better. There is plenty of time. Plenty. And what you choose to do each moment is completely under your control. Your mind creates whatever feelings you desire. Getting older teaches you to use your time better.

I am again reminded of another song – If Tomorrow Never Comes by Ronan Keating.
“If tomorrow never comes
Will she know how much I love her
Did I try in every way
To show how much I care
That she’s my only one…”

And getting older, makes you tell her (or him). Because if you ignore this moment’s urge to tell her, you are losing the precious gift of time. Precious Time that lets you create a moment of beauty.

A Puzzle Five

Five chances. I counted each undeserved act of benevolence. I knew it was four too many.
Five halves. His half, my half, his half, my half. And our half-formed deformed love.
Five raindrops. He said they were like pearls as he kissed them off my brows.
Five images. One for every year, the fifth froze mid-frame.
Five seals. The fifth broken seal revealed my name, to be martyred for my faith in him.

What Does Alexander the Great Have Against Me?

Before I elaborate on my pet peeve with His Majesty, I want to briefly talk about Cilantro; also known as coriander, dhaniya or malliyila.

About twenty years ago, this herb was not used as extensively as it is done now; not at least where I live. But then, it was the good old times of pre-globalisation when it was okay to be unfashionable. The introduction of cilantro as an omnipresent garnish coincided with the widespread establishment of eateries that were slightly more upscale than the local teashops and “Meals Ready” Hotels[sic]. I suspect the liberal sprinkling of chopped cilantro over everything was conceived as a tactic to mask the unpleasant taste of the gravy base that was used for every single dish. You go to a restaurant, order vegetable curry, egg masala, bhindi masala or whatever other masala you can think of – out comes a bowl of the appropriate vegetable (or non-vegetable) steeped in a thick tomato sauce based gravy, garnished heavily with finely chopped coriander.

The good old sambar does not require cilantro, but nowadays where can you find sambar without this leafy monstrosity? It seems Indian cooking is incomplete without cilantro. If it is not used in the dish itself, at least they make do with garnish. I for one, hate, abhor, detest the taste of coriander; I cannot imagine how a human being with normal taste buds can consider this awful thing to be edible. I cannot imagine biting into the chopped up leaflets, and the stalk God have mercy, is vile.

If you go to an Indian restaurant and do not like cilantro, you are in for big trouble. Order Biriyani, there it comes, with a liberal sprinkling of coriander on top. Chopped into miniscule bits and blended into the raita. Spread over plain kulcha to give it that extra tang. In chilli chicken to suit the Indian palette. In bhel puris, paav, and all kinds of chaat. Cooked into gravies, rubbed on the meat, mixed in the meat puff filling, added into the cutlet mix, and why, these small bakeries even use it as pizza topping! Cilantro, is like God. It is everywhere!

To think that this herb is not even native to India, makes me wonder about the unfairness of it all.

Cilantro is a Meditarrenean herb. The ancient Greeks used it extensively in their cooking. The new age Greeks have wised up and they don’t use it much anymore. When Alexander the Great invaded India, he brought cilantro along with him. My guess is that he used it in strategic warfare to render the Indian warriors unconscious! He took our brinjals alias aubergines alias eggplants with him, and gave us the nasty cilantro. Alexander Sir, why, I ask, why?

Did you know that Greeks and Romans used Cilantro as an aphrodisiac? An aphrodisiac?! I mean seriously! I can’t imagine how they used it. Perhaps it was an early version of Rufi?

This nasty thing got its name from the Greek word koris, which means bug. Eminently suitable, I must admit. Anybody who has had the misfortune to inhale its pungent, offensive odour can vouch for the fact that the stinky shoe fits, so coriander must rightfully wear it.

In the village where I grew up, during rainy season an insect called Ezhiyan (I don’t know what it is actually called, never seen the little fella, only smelt it) would make its appearance. Ezhiyan is the long lost twin of Cilantro. The smell is identical, and sadly, no, I am not exaggerating.

Research has also shown that the flavours of cilantro leaves are similar to that of stink bugs (Pentatomoidea family) whose distinct smell comes from the aldehydes in their stink glands. Some percentage of the human population is apparently genetically averse to the chemicals, and that explains why some of us will run a mile away from the nastiness and others relish it in their food. There are many people who do not have the stomach for the disgusting taste of cilantro, there is even a community of cilantro haters. Fancy that!

I once went to this place where they served Bloody Mary garnished with cilantro. Now c’mon, I didn’t order salty lassi, did I? And the celery stick is a great accompaniment I must say because it closely matches the taste of a cilantro stalk, only it is 20 times thicker. So when you chew on that celery stick and enjoy your drink, I sit around stuffing my face with fries…in case you wonder why…it is all because of Alexander the Great.

The Laziness Gene

As excuses go, this one takes the cake. Pardon me as I struggle to manoeuvre my lazy butt off the couch to reach the keyboard, cough cough a little and heh heh a little to express my displeasure and contempt. The truth, my dear friend, is that you are in a rut, you are plain lazy. There ain’t no lazy gene, it’s all balderdash, you are just addicted to that feeling of pleasure as you lie there like seal on an ice floe. Laziness gene, my fat a**!

BUT I am also a pretty damn lazy and apathetic person myself. I’m not proud of it, but there, that is the truth. I take the easy way out of every single little thing in my life. I prefer not doing something to actually doing it. Results not withstanding. I like to think that I am driven, that I go after something till I get it, that I am persistent, this, that, and that I possess all the other habits of highly effective people, but it is all hogwash that I feed myself and I buy it quite willingly. I can be sold excuses in the blink of an eyelid.

Sometimes my laziness reaches such an extent that I don’t do even those things that I actually enjoy. I like to write, I do. But I don’t. I have these two people in my head (I would have said voices, but my self-preservatory instincts have kicked in), one is the Observer and the other is the Teacher. They are just there, I can’t do anything about them except meekly submit to their wild romps all over my brain. Whatever I see, hear, feel, smell or taste is observed, translated into sentences and fed to the Teacher. The Teacher proceeds to tell me what it is all about, till I understand. And these are in words, written words that I see dancing around my head.

Since there seemed to be a surplus of words in my brain I wrote. That is why I still do. But Laziness is more powerful than even the Observer and Teacher put together. The Observer gives me some beautiful phrases, 2 out of 10 of which are quite okay, which should be captured before they fly away and be preserved for eternity, because beauty (or my idea of it) must be preserved for my own selfish reasons. Else there is no purpose to this life (speaking of which, there really is no purpose, but I can’t rant about it here).

People do things due to two reasons – because they have to (work to earn a living, scratch when it itches etc.) or because it gives them pleasure (engage in artistic, gastronomic or physically gratifying endeavours). Painters paint, writers write, singers sing… because of the pleasure factor. My problem is that my extremely sensitive pleasure cells are tickled quite easily, I don’t even need to write on a piece of paper to derive that pleasure. When I write in my head I get happy. And this is not because I settle easily but because I am lazy.

I have read about and also observed this about men: they zone out, and that makes me go livid with anger and jealousy. This ability to just sit motionless and stare into space with nary a thought in the brain! That is meditation! And I can’t get the Observer and Teacher to shut the eff up even when I’m trying to sleep. Zoning out is the pinnacle of laziness, how does one learn to do that?

Now researchers say that the propensity to laziness is encoded in your genes. That may be true, but so is the propensity to do a lot of other things which (some) human beings control and overcome. Why? Well, to be a better human being. I daresay that’s a good enough reason.

Laziness, as far as I have observed, is due to
• Being in a rut and you get really used to it. Life goes on, even in the lazy state, reasonably well. You do things that you want, when you want and how you want them. This appears to be just the way life should be.
• You are so bogged down by the burden of life, it has defeated you. This, I think, is not even recognized by most people. When you lose the strength to fight, and you resign yourself to what life dishes out, you display all behaviours of a lazy person and finally end up becoming lazy. Well, to put it in the right perspective, you are clinically depressed.
• Lack of desire. There is nothing big enough or attractive enough to make you think that there is a better way of existing. A very sorry state of existence. This lazy a** is better off dead.

And if you ask me why a person should NOT be lazy – that, my friend, is the right question. The Teacher has no answer for that, and the answers that people have given me so far are quite ridiculous because they are either based on the concept of Utility or Grand Purpose of Existence. Neither real, but if it rocks your boat, don’t diss it, keep the hope alive.