Of late, I have been talking to a lot older, mature individuals – people who have felt grime up their sleeves, and are in a constant struggle to wipe it out and move on with ‘this thing’ called life.
I was particularly affected by the observation of a terrifically talented individual, who perhaps due to wrong decisions in life, finds himself at the start line even after running one helluva marathon of a life.
“Who can define whether we have succeeded,” he asked. “Who knows if we have crossed the half-time or if the final whistle is a few seconds away? Who knows if there will be extra play time or even the room for that winning golden goal?”
So when the whistle blows abruptly and you lie in your stately best (or whatever), will your kid spit on your memory for passing him/her a legacy worth two copperpence, or perhaps kiss you on your forehead and thank you for something, anything?
That sense of having arrived is what they call is success.
And how and when do you realise that you have indeed arrived?
I was listening the other day to one of the most respected entrepreneurs of our times, who told the interviewer something to this effect. “You know what,” he said, “I have seen some tough days, and God lifted me out of them.” He then turned, almost gave a menacing look at the camera, and snarled: “Don’t mess with people who have God with them.”
I am religious, not overtlly; and I do my usual bribe sessions to tide over hard times. Above all, I do believe in karma.
But what the man told made sense. Once a person has reached that benchmark of success, whichever way you measure it, just leave him alone. There is no need to be envious, or as the Tao saying goes, do not compliment on someone’s success so you can keep your mind free of envy.
In that logical scale of average Indian life expectancy, I have indeed played my halftime. I look back, and all I see are desperate manoeuvres that never really got converted into a winning goal.
In that logical scale of average Indian life expectancy, I have indeed played my halftime. I look back, and all I see are desperate manoeuvres that never really got converted into a winning goal.
I guess it had a lot to my attitude of going with the flow. I guess it was about being carried away by people, places, things. Perhaps it was because I never really set any goal, purpose…
So when a friend asked me, if I do dream of being rich, I was unequivocal in saying no. No, riches really haven’t been a fascination.
For a long time, I had believed that playing the fool, bending over backward, pleasing others – these mattered. Wrong.
I think of what I have been scribbling, sitting in the Metro, today having decided not to look up at my co-travellers, and I sense the tone of a defeatist on whining mode.
Trust me, it is on the contrary.
That is where I come back to the success factor – sometimes, for reasons that we will never realise, and for reasons we like to attribute as luck, God makes some fine choices. You could say of counting your blessings and all that, but come on, luck is bloody well luck.
Why else do terrifically talented people struggle? Why else do mediocrity triumph in relish? But then what is mediocrity or excellence anyway? Isn’t it all relative? Don’t we all live in our ballooned up hype of self-importance? Of that feeling that we are always right?
As Lucy Kellaway writes in FT today, these lucky sods aren’t indeed all that worth emulating, but what you defintely ought to do is stay away from envy or for that matter praise.
Nonchalance is the name of the game.
And what is yours is written.
Will my folks spit on my memory? Or will some stranger – that breed of people who come into your life between the duration of a hi and a bye – shed a tear? When you lie sprawling out impervious to judgment, does it matter?
I am entering a new realm. That much I know.
I thank thee all, my co-players, the coaches, those who cheered and jeered…
You taught me that nothing really matters.
The game has been played out already.
