Growing in the Middle
“Baba, tell me once and for all,
am I a grown up girl , or not , or what ?”
Mukta, my 11 year old wants to
know . While its perfectly natural to be curious and inquisitive at her age, this
seemingly innocent question comes at me
with a look on her face that is not so innocent. Her little mind has figured
out enough to know that this could be a
check-mate move for her. She completely knows that any firm answer
from me puts her in a winning position. Either way , it gives her a free
license to do things she is either not allowed to do, or, not to do the ones
she is told to . I know this calls for some diplomatic, sitting-on-the-fence
answer that both gets me off the hook and gets her out of a dilemma that is far real
than she suspects at the moment. I tell
her she is as much of a grown up person as she is supposed to be at 11, just as
I am at 46, and that the growing up never stops, and one way of doing a good job of it is not to repeat the
same mistakes as you go along.
Just like any diplomatic answer ,
this one too works well enough for her to nod her head a couple of times, and
retreat with a look that makes it plain
she isn’t convinced at all.
I know most of the people would say my answer to her
was correct and exactly what they would have come up with themselves. They
would also insist that diplomacy had nothing to do with it and that is exactly
the way one is supposed to live. Scriptures would be quoted, passages from
ancient holy books, quotes from sages and philosophers would be produced in support of the argument.
But the reason I myself am not sold on
my answer , is that all these arguments would be right, and just, in their own
place. Its my mind that has always rebelled against anything that comes
with a tag of ‘supposed to’. It shuts out anyone who tells me that I should or shouldn’t act
in a particular manner in any given situation, no matter how right they may sound.
I honestly don’t put too much stock in this thing called ‘growing up’. I think
the roots of this mindset go back to the 70s , my formative, impressionable years. The time when the social scene was all about
being ‘in’ with the anti-everything movement. The economic scene at home too was
such that even electricity was beyond our means right up to my 6th
std. The schoolbooks every year were
hand-me-downs from my elder sisters. The outcome of this conditioning was a mind that was not exactly bitter, but not
one very keen to follow any prescribed set of rules either. Of course I had my
own definitions of good and bad that were not too alien from the rest of the
world , but I loved breaking the rules even if to arrive at the same
destination as the rest of my fellow-travelers. I also follow all the
rules and regulations of my chosen profession as often as is prudent. I mean, lets
face it, a maverick accountant has only as much of a chance at survival as a kamikaze
pilot might have.
Now, mind you, this is nothing
more than a passage of introspection
that might just help me get an insight on why am I the way I am. Getting any
deeper is strictly loony tunes time , because the mystery that is human brain
is actually intimidating to even contemplate. It’s the most complex thing there
is, and the toughest task it can undertake is to understand itself. So, lets
just go exploring into this thing called “growing up”
Here are a couple of instances
that underline the fact for me that no matter what you do , life has a funny
way of doing its own thing in return, the result of which may earn you anything
between a kick in the family jewels and
a peck on the cheek. Call it the luck of
the draw if you like and see if you can decide if I acted like a grown up in
either of these two incidents.
It was 1989. I had just resigned
from a job I had held for 5 years , because my employers wanted me to think about my work even when I
was traveling in a bus, watching a movie,
or having a hard-earned beer on a hot June Sunday afternoon. That made
me ask myself why don’t I go freelancing
and do all this for myself, if at all I had to do it. And I resigned without any concrete
future plans. In other words, I took the plunge feet first and then started
thinking about buying a swimming manual. On one
hot June afternoon I picked up some tax forms from Tax-print and was walking towards Churchgate station.
You might know the Mocambo Café , near GPO on the left sidewalk of P.M. Road
that serves beer among other things. Those were the good old days when a
chilled beer was yours for only 26 bucks. Job or no job, that price-tag was right up my alley. You have
to take my word for it that it was not the beer brands advertised in bold
letters on the blackboard placed on the side-walk that drew my attention to it,
but the words right at the bottom of it that said “Accountant required”. I thought here was an
opportunity as good as any to kill two birds in one shot. I might just be able to sell the management the
idea of hiring a professional accountant
on assignment basis rather than appointing a full time one, and also be able to
quench my thirst that had gone up several notches at the site of my favorite
watering hole. I walked inside, and was quite proud of myself for heading straight to that little cubicle they used for
office, and not to a table under a fan. I gave my newly printed visiting card
to the owner, a middle aged Parsee bawa and laid out a spiel on how wonderful an arrangement it
would be for them if they hired me in a professional capacity. The bawa asked
me a few questions, offered me a glass of water and generally looked impressed
enough with my experience, not to mention my awe-inspiring personality . He gave
me one of his own cards and asked me to call and drop in again. So far so good,
I said and hurried to a table , telling myself the deal was almost in the bag
and a celebratory beer was very much in order. Cups, lips and slips happened
only in fiction and movies, right ?
After one refreshing cold one, as
I was settling down, convinced there was a God up in the heaven and everything
was alright with the world, I heard a
commotion from the table behind me. A quartet of musicians that looked straight
out of a college band had been having a few since I had walked in . An argument seemed to be brewing up directly
in proportion to the quantity of the good
brew that was going down their hatches. I quietly worked on my pitcher,
idly wondering what could the argument be about. Was it purely a musical issue
of F minor being the more appropriate scale for a particular song than G minor ? Or was it something even more
basic and obvious like which one of them got the first go at a particularly
cute groupie ? Well, whatever it was, by the time I was through my second one,
it had ceased to be an argument and had turned into a nice fracas. Mind you,
even with a couple of cold ones inside me I knew enough to ignore it and mind
my own business, which at the moment should have been the third one. But when I
saw the fracas turn rather quickly into a free-for-all, I decided the third one
would be a waste of time and money. I got up to settle my bill but then I saw the brawl unfold with a 3
against 1 ratio. The good ol’ Samaritan
in me jumped to the fore and right into it even before I knew it.
I will spare you the gory details
, although I suspect some of you are
actually salivating at the prospect. In a nutshell, there was a lot of give and
take among the participants, the minor details like who was on which side long
since forgotten, and at the end of it all , yours truly had ended up getting a
lot more than he gave . The Parsee bawa , with a bit of help from the waiters
succeeded in tearing all of us from each other. And after a spell of temporary
insanity lasting about 10 minutes, sanity prevailed. The bawa , once again with
a bit of help from the waiters, helped all of us on our way out after the bills
were settled to his satisfaction. He then singled me out for some special
attention , threw my card back at me and yelled “ Don’t bother to call, son ! I
am not planning to sit by the phone”. Needless to say that put paid to my
chances of garnering my first ever client as a freelancer.
But now, as a man to another,
tell me , beer or no beer, client or no client, wouldn’t you
jump to rectify the 3 to 1 ratio in a brawl ? I know I would, every single
time, and that’s where I think my answer to Mukta was a diplomatic one.
Now , lets jump over a few years
to 1993. I had just walked out of a clients office at Wadala, and was on my way
to another near the Five
Gardens , Matunga. It was
an afternoon too , but a pleasant ,December one. It’s the only month in Mumbai
when we Mumbaikars bring out our long sleeves,
pullovers, scarves , caps and other such stuff to convince ourselves
that Mumbai too just like any other city has its winters. If you think I am
just making a case for myself about not feeling thirsty and finding a place
that serves the cold ones, I cant stop you , can I ? But the fact remains that
I talk more about my beer than I actually consume it. But why am I explaining
this ? As the old adage goes, never explain, your friends don’t need it and
your enemies will never believe it.
So, I was walking , formally
dressed under a jacket , briefcase in hand.
A cricket game on TV that evening
that I did not want to miss was more on my mind, than the client I was on my
way to. Well, wasn’t that exactly the reason I had resigned from employment and
had decided to go solo ? My time was my own to think about cricket or the price
of a condom on Mars for that matter, right ? As I passed the first of the five
little gardens and was about to take a left turn from the second one, I
stopped. I had to , for the opportunity was too great , the time just right,
and urge too irresistible. I glanced furtively to both the sides, over my
shoulder and told myself its now or never. I rested my briefcase on the nearest
bench, rolled up my sleeves, took another couple of sideways glances and with a
carefully muffled “Yippeee” jumped on the vacant swings . I swung back and
forth , high and low, fast and slow to my hearts content for at least 15
minutes. Now take it from the one who knows, that the high those 15 minutes gave
me can out-swing at least 2 cold ones any day. Just don’t ask how I figured that
ratio out ok ? It’s a skill that needs to be acquired over a period of good times.
I got off the swings, unrolled my
sleeves back, picked up my briefcase and stepped into the building next to the
garden, with the cool confidence of an extremely seasoned accountant that I
was. Of course I was 15 minutes late, but honestly, the city was going to the
dogs with its traffic getting worse by the day, right ? Right , said my client
and we went about our business for the next hour or so. After a cup of tea, it
was time for me to leave . As I was about to put my shoes back on, the doorbell
rang and my client answered it. Back he came with a beautiful lady of about 38-39,
exuding sartorial elegance with her
impeccably tailored business suit. My client introduced us. She was his
neighbor, a high ranking official with Air France. After the perfunctory
pleasantries, as I was about to take my leave, what she said made me want to
dig a hole and bury myself then and there. My client threw me a look with
raised eyebrows when she said “ Didn’t I
see you out of my window about an hour ago, enjoying yourself on the swings in
the garden ?”
It was one of those situations
when your tongue weighs a ton, you grin like a retard , shake your head in a
manner that says neither yes nor no, and generally want out and quick. She
seemed to understand my plight, took pity on me and came to my rescue. “
I liked it the way you did what you did, simply because you wanted to do it. I
have wanted to do it myself but haven’t had the courage so far” She said. She
followed it up with sharing a few more of her experiences when she hadn’t been
able to summon that courage too. And then , as both my client and myself were
warming up to her candid and completely informal monologue , she asked me if I
would be kind enough to take care of her accounts and tax matters please. Still
tongue-tied , I nodded eagerly as my client smiled at me benevolently as if he
himself was single-handedly responsible for my getting a new client out of the
blue. The lady and I exchanged cards and since then have shared a warm friendship, not to mention a healthy
professional relationship.
Again now, as a man to another,
tell me , December or June, garden or side-walk, swings or slides , wouldn’t you jump at the chance to revisit
your childhood no matter what your age is
? I know I would, every single time, and that’s where I think my answer to
Mukta was a diplomatic one.
Its said that middle age is the
age when a man stops growing at both the ends and starts growing in the middle.
I wouldn’t dwell too much on that, lest this talk once again turn into
beer-talk. This is the way I look at it. Middle age is the time we can best
enjoy by juxtaposing the past and the future as the two ends and the present as
the middle. Since we have absolutely no control over our past, and very limited
control over our future, why not put more life into the middle that is here and now ? Screw the rules,
regulations, manners, netiquettes, protocol and all such limiting words. Just
say yes whenever life presents you with
an opportunity to sing, dance, play, and laugh . So long as we are here,
growing up is mandatory. The only choice we have is whether to grow happier or
grumpier. Lets just make the right choice, and then, beer or no beer, we can
proudly shout out loud from the rooftops “ Yes ! I am growing in the middle !
Who needs the abdominal six-packs when the other kind can be had with a lot of
fun thrown in to boot ?
By the way, Mocambo of today has
really jazzed itself up with some spanking new decor, air-conditioning and a
cellar that is second to none among the places in its class. Please don’t take
my word for it, just give me a call , and lets make it a three hour lunch date
on a hot afternoon……. Lets grow in the middle…..
