Six Thousand Something

There are two kinds of achievements in the world - the kind that you can put on your CV and the kind you can't. Worked on a project and brought some bombastic result lauded by your peers and your fellow professionals? Straight on your resumé. Organised that huge conference at your workplace - gotta wanna put that in for the world to see. How about successfully conducting your son/daughter's wedding in a glitch-less, flawless, smooth manner? Watching on with pride as you're surrounded by friends, family and to be in-laws, all smiling and commending. All well within budget too. Or helping your close friend through his depression - speaking to him everyday, empathising, rationalising and advising as he sobbed on and on until he broke free and is now a man reborn? Can't say "Helped best friend through a rough patch" as an achievement on your CV can you, now!

It's tempting to say it's the achievements that don't make your CV that stay in your mind. It is aligned with the narrative of the shallow materialistic pleasure that plaster a smile over your face for a day against the true, humane pleasure of helping others or making your family smile that can summon a genuine smile to your face in the darkest of times.

Some achievements, of course, can be really satisfactory personally and can go on your CV. Pulling off the perfect performance at your play that you and your team worked so hard on. Yet, even there, the closer knit unit your team and fellow performers are, the greater the satisfaction.

There are some "achievements" that you needlessly remember and are needlessly proud of - scaling that hillock next to your picnic spot when you were 12 and coming back unscathed perhaps. Or that time when you were 6 and pulled a complex somersault perfectly.

I'll give you my narrative - adulthood is a journey of difficult realisations and rationalisations. Those people who were so nice and smiled at you - they're just waiting to rip you off. That person who offered to help you - he wants this particular favour in return. The world isn't too nice but we shouldn't forget, the world isn't too terrible either - most of the time. We often feel we have the bad end of the stick, the wrong end of the deal. There's uncertainty. All our plans seem doomed to failure. The probability of winning the Nobel Prize in Physics is so low, you'd rather buy lottery tickets every morning.

We want to be logical. We try not to get too attached emotionally to anything, lest it (it most probably will) lead to disappointment and failure. Keep your hopes low and you'll never be disappointed. At least that's what we're told - that's the narrative.

And so I found it necessary to reject this nice sounding, romantic narrative - shallow-materialistic-short lasting-not real and non materialistic-deep-soulful-true happiness-what really matters.

Narrative - What really matters is how many people's lives you touch, not your bank balance.
Rational Adult - Yeah, but it's nice to be rich as well.

Narrative - You may go all over the world and do great things, but coming back home, hugging your parents and eating home food, that's true happiness.
Rational Adult - It's alright, I really love that far-away land with all its riches, not this objectively bad, simpleton village.

Narrative -
Rational Adult -

But the RA fails to ask one question - why does it all go on despite these damming facts? We still endure, persevere and persist. And I think it's only because we've heard the narratives. And deep down, we want to believe these narratives. And the slightest indication we get that this narrative is true, we hold on to it and cherish it. Thus making the narrative come true.

And why am I having these thoughts? Because I'm back home, mainly. And the skies opened up and it rained like the old times in Bangalore. Cold and damp and somehow uplifting. And that made me irrationally happy. Reminded me of all the old things. And I tasted my mother's cooking.

Perhaps my greatest (and only?) achievement that can go on my CV is obtaining a rank in the JEE exam. And I'm not proud of the achievement because it's so hard or anything - it's because it's something I worked hard for, went through the whole cycle of believing I could do it, then realising I can't, then thinking I won't, then wondering if I would, then being sure I will, then giving up, then realising there's no point giving up, then convincing myself it's worth the effort and when the exam drew near, giving up all thought and studying for the sake of studying - and while I was not studying, I stopped thinking about studying and JEE and life after school. It somehow happened and it worked out. I did work hard though. And remained focused. And I give myself great credit for it. A grand achievement. Perhaps my greatest. So much satisfaction! My rank! Not bad by any means. A number I would cherish for ever. Six Thousand, ........ something.

That's right. One day recently, I realised I've forgotten my JEE rank. The great number is erased from my mind. I remember the exact words of friends, relatives, family, teachers at various points in my life - times when I felt a slight fluttering pride in my chest for a little thing I'd said or done. Made another smile. Remember running to our school music teacher and director of the school play and embracing him after the show I was cast in - months and months leading to that moment. It was greater because I shared the joy with so many people.

And so, here is my narrative - the same old narrative. It's about people and joy and happiness and how many lives you touch - not what you alone accomplish. At least that's how I see it. And because I see it that way, I will continue to see it that way. Or that's my theory. At least.