Kaali Zubaan: A Double-Edged Sword

Everyone else is stupid

What medication is doing is calm me down, keep a check on my emotions and make me feel present. I seem to think clearly and have conversations without any underlying complex which is my default state otherwise. Several people I spoke to over the last few months had nonchalantly said that medication will change my life but I just could not buy into it. It sounded too good to be true, like a magic trick which has an underwhelming secret. I was nervous and anxious to find out if this magic trick was real and it turns out it was indeed magic without any trick. 

On day two of being medicated for ADHD, I started noticing subtle differences in what my normal self would have done under certain circumstances as against what my medicated self was doing over the last two days. I wondered if this is how people went about their lives; thoughts specifically wandered towards my wife, Vikki, who is what I would ideally want to be like, thinking – is this how Vikki thinks and acts? Is that why she is always calm and sensible? Then followed a feeling of pity because she has had to live with an erratic me who is always on the edge, come packaged with extremely swingy moods, take unnecessary financial risks and read a bit too much into what people say. 

Not many though would have seen this side of me for I have my guard up in social settings. A handful of people who know that I have ADHD have shown genuine surprise when they learnt about it. The psychiatrist offered an ego boosting explanation – “you’re an intelligent man and I assume you would have been an intelligent boy to be able to mask it and live almost a normal life for so long”. I lived a masked life in public alright but Vikki and my immediate family being parents and siblings bore a heavy brunt of this condition. Then there is the extended family I grew up around and close friends who put up with me simply because they love me. A thought or two goes out to ex-girlfriends of course. Let's say none to ex-wife because she was a bitch. 

That leaves out colleagues and people I work with, friends of friends, friends of family, in-laws and sundry who I don’t meet quite often, however form part of my social circle because you know ‘it takes a village’ and all that. Those who like me possibly think I am a bit unusual at times and those who dislike me must think I am an idiot. And they will not have been entirely wrong.

In hindsight, it is easy for me to say that they are not entirely wrong but take me back to pre-diagnosis stage and I’d think everyone else was an idiot; which is what I believe got me through all those years. This idea was planted in my head by one of my best friends Anand, around ten years ago, when he realised that I was struggling to understand something someone did. He had said ‘ya toh hum chutiye hain ya baaki sab chutiye’. Chutiya is a crass word to describe an idiot. ‘Hum’ is used as a plural to include oneself, so it appears Anand included himself in saying - ‘either we are idiots or everyone else is’. With the benefit of hindsight now I know Anand didn’t include himself – he knew I was unusual, and he didn’t want me to feel bad for being so. There are many opinions Anand had that became set in stone for me, but none stronger than this. The irony is that I read it wrong – I was convinced baaki sab chutiye hain; that everyone else is stupid.

The modern-day Firaun

I remember the counting of votes for 2014 general elections vividly, like you remember traumatic events in your life; or happy ones; events that stir your emotion. I was up in the night in Chicago and within a couple of hours the mandate was out. There were proud, happy, optimistic messages flowing into group chats amidst one empathy message which said "don't worry Gufran, we're just as scared". It was from a Christian friend.

I was younger, passionate about the country still, hopeful even. "This won't last long", I said to myself, "people will see his true colours soon". I knew my (non-Muslim) friends who never made me feel in the slightest way uncomfortable because of my religion. I knew they were blinded by the dislike towards party in power more than the likeness towards him.

The first big step the new government took was Demonitisation. Some of my friends were the hardest hit. A few days in - one of them told me, "business is hit quite bad, we don't mind though; we will vote for him even if he burnt a steel rod and put it up our ass". It was an unwarranted comment because I said nothing against Modi for rather this was the first thing he did I liked. The friend, however, wanted to make sure I don't underestimate the power Modi has over them. This ironic comment reminded me of grossly uneducated Muslims of the old city who, come what may, supported MIM, a party based on religion, hardly developing the areas they hold. All my friends however are highly educated, or should I say highly qualified because education might mean a different thing altogether.

This was the start of a different view of my friends I get over the next few years. Clear messages against minorities kept coming out, clear support for the party kept pouring through. It was disturbing at first, then it became a norm. It took me a fair while to realise there is a deep rooted hatred in their hearts, the hatred that comes to them naturally because of the system they live in. They love me because they know me personally - but of the general Muslim, they have a degrading opinion. Once I made peace with this information, I found back the love I had for them.

Not all that is is darkness though. Some of the friends who strongly believed that Modi was here for development, saw it right through. One of them, a loveliest man, made me wonder how one can be so blinded when I saw him arguing with people about how great Modi is going to be for India. This was before the general elections in 2014. He is currently actively protesting against the government.

I am by nature a positive person. Though I rant quite often to those closest to me, I have a gift of ignoring negative things in the long run. I'd like to believe I got it from my father. Before the counting for 2014 general elections had begun, my father believed that Modi needs to win and rule for a long time. "Modi needs to win", said he, "if he doesn't, he will end up a hero for only he has the ability to show the world what he is; and surely his end will be akin to the end of Firaun".

Firaun and his army has seen the miracle, how the sea had parted, but being the pretender that he was, Pharaoh turned to his men and proclaimed: "Look! The sea has opened at my command so that I may follow those rebels and arrest them!" They rushed across the parted waters, and when they were midway, God commanded the sea to return to its former state." 

Jo hota acche ke liye hota

I woke up this morning, one day before my birthday, lying in bed thinking about how life has transformed in the past one year. The first thought that came to my mind was my family’s favourite line – Jo hota acche ke liye hota, a very Hyderabadi version of everything that happens (to you), happens for (your) greater good. I detested it when I was young, got used to it as I grew up, but only this morning did I understand the full might of that simplistic philosophy everyone around me seems to live by. I looked back again to the last one year – clearly the most difficult year that went, clearly the best year for me yet. Best not because of its results – if a third person were to look at it, they’d think it was the the worst. Best because of where it is taking me and what it made of me.

Looking back, it started with me going to the psychologist, humiliated at work and home, almost lost the job I dreamt of when I came to Australia, a few visits to the police station and court. What good can come out of it I kept thinking when my family kept repeating relentlessly – Jo hota acche ke liye hota. Before I knew it I started finding the buried hatred for that non-sense of a hope. But like the clichéd saying goes – the night is darkest before the dawn – I was soon to find the love and meaning of what it meant.

Amidst all the tumult, two good things happened to me during the year out of sheer luck. One was joining acting lessons – I had no idea what to expect from it. One of my best friends had suggested a few years ago that I should join theatre/acting as they believed it will bring the best out of me. During the following weeks my teacher, Peter Sardi, repeatedly said – you become a better actor when you become a better person; you become a better person when you become aware of yourself. As I sat in court in front of a magistrate a couple of months later, I became aware of my thumping heart – I asked it to calm down and it did – and at that moment I knew I had become a better person. Henceforth, I searched for what I felt every time I was in a dilemma, and every time I found that deep down I had nothing untoward towards anything or anyone - and that gives me peace.

The second sheer luck is meeting someone. During one of the conversations, a self-aware me said to her – I am not much of a thinking person, you know; I do first, think later (as if to do justice to that line, I didn’t think before saying it out, it just came). Her response – and that is what I love the most about you – was one of the best finds of the year (and life) for me. The ever-troubled, living-in-the-past, beat-yourself-up-for-everything me immediately went to someone who hated me for acting before thinking; while the new self-aware, loving-life, coming-of-age me realised how different people can be and how difficult things can get if you don’t understand and accept that simple fact of diversity. In that split second I grew up, for all these years I have just been growing old.

As I lay in bed this morning, excited for the first time in years about my birthday, trying to stitch together the recent happenings, I realised I am the best version of me yet which wouldn’t be possible without the difficulties (read: lessons of life) of the year gone by. I now understand my family’s never-give-up attitude in trying to impart me, their most troubled member, with the wisdom – Jo hota acche ke liye hota.

Every father is a hero to his child

Every father is a hero to his child - when I read this quote on the back of a motorcycle a long time ago, I couldn't relate more to it. That day forward, answer to every security question which asks - "who is your childhood hero?" has been 'Abba' (not the pop band; that's what I call my father). Now don't go about trying to use it to hack into my bank accounts - you won't find much money for I am not a saving man; I take after my father when it comes to bad finances - as in many other things says my mother. However, if there were one trait I wish I had came close to resembling him - it would be his generosity.

Often times when it comes to generosity, we as material humans mistake it to being generous about money. Boy was he generous in that matter too - for he made a lot of it during his time but has none left now - not because he spent it on himself, but because he spent it on those who asked of him directly, those who came to him for help without being explicit and those who never approached him for they were too proud but he knew were in need of help.

Throughout my childhood and teenage days, he never entertained me in his office (which was the front room of our home) but the few times I managed to take a sneak peak, I witnessed many amazing things. From people being counselled for their problems in marriage going on to name their child after him to people rejected by the society to have fallen in love with someone from the other religion getting married under his guardianship. The most amazing of those things was when someone hysterical fell to his feet calling him God only for him to rock back in utter humility, lift them up and tell them that there is only one God while he is just a means. He is a spiritual man, so he religiously believes he is only but a means - the thought I think humbled him and kept him grounded; but to many he is the Godfather they never had. He could ask anything of those people and they would be ready to do it for him - but the most he asked of them was to pray for him and his family's peace of mind.

Now peace of mind he almost always had; though only a few days ago I realised what made him such a content man was this trait of generosity. He gave and gave more, in money and service, never expecting to get anything in return. If you look at his life you'd think he hasn't got much in return but ask him and he'd tell you otherwise, measured in terms you would never have thought of before.

People who didn't know him enough thought of him as being naive - someone who doesn't save for the rainy day, someone who had three children to look after but is wasting away all his money on people who wouldn't care for him later. What they failed to see was his belief in God and karma. He believes nothing bad would happen to him and construed seemingly bad events as God's will, knowing there is good coming out of it surely. The good, surprisingly to many and obvious to him, almost always shows up. For the times it doesn't, he says is a good sign for God is saving them up to be in his favour on the Day of Judgement. This verse from the Quran sums it up - But perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you; and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you. And Allah knows, while you know not.

I myself have never been a giving man. I am so human, I don't remember much of doing something for someone without expecting returns. One of the few things I remember was to give myself in completely in a failed relationship. A failed relationahip tells a lot about the returns, ironically though this is the only time I remember feeling content despite the result. I can now relate to my hero, at least for once, on his most wonderful trait - and the philosophy that you don't feel content when you receive, but in contrast contentment is invoked from your ability to give. The more you give, the more at peace you are with yourself.

Notwithstanding all the differences between me and my ex, she said one of the most beautiful things I heard about my father: "Abba is Jack Pearson in a world full of Kardashians".

Every father is a hero to his child. This line is true I am sure to many whose fathers have been borderline fine raising them up. You can hence imagine my hopeless case.

The World Cup responsibilities..

I don't remember watching any cricket until the 1996 world cup. Specifically until the India-Pakistan Quarter-final. There was so much hype around it that it had all my attention and curiosity. You get easily influenced as a kid. I remember my neighbours being Pakistan fans. Thank God it didn't influence me. It confused me. In all my innocence of an eight year old kid, I asked my dad - 'why do Indians support Pakistan?' He dismissed their appalling logic in a simple answer - 'they're idiots. We are Indians and no matter what, we support India'. It stayed with me ever since.

The first match I remember watching was this one. I remember the Aamir Sohail incident. I remember being ecstatic after the win, and equally heart broken after the Semi-final. Even at 120 for 8 chasing 251, I thought India could win it. 'Why are people such Idiots?' I thought. Why would you stop a match which India was going to win anyway. Kumble would give company and Kambli would finish it in style. It would never happen, but I wasn't learned enough. But even when I learnt a thing or two about cricket, I have always been hopeful. And superstitious.

When I watch a match and India wins, I make it a point to watch the next match, because if I don't, India loses. And when India loses even after I watch, I stop watching, and guess what? India wins. This is how India won the 2011 World Cup. When it started, I was in 'you watch and India loses' zone, so I avoided watching any of the group stage games until things had to turn around after India lost to South Africa. I knew that was the cue. I had to watch the remaining matches and I made sure I did. The rest is history my dear friends. And all this while you thought Dhoni or Yuvraj or whoever took India to world cup glory. Hah.

I'll be honest here though - I'm not always the hero. On the contrary, I am a villain sometimes. I had to watch the 2014 World T20 final against Sri Lanka, I had to watch it for India to win! India was bowling decent until I decided I'd go buy something from a super-market real quick. I went. I got stuck in traffic. And by the time I reached, India had lost. I still haven't forgiven myself for that disaster.

With the 2015 World Cup about to start, I am very excited. Not that India has a great chance but I firmly believe I can take them through. The ultimate strategies are being played in my mind. And what better a match to start with than an India-Pakistan clash again. I am formulating a brilliant strategy to help India win. This time I am in the 'watch or India loses' zone. Thank God the match is on a Sunday, I won't have to fake one more of those sick leaves or come up with a reason to work from home. I'm going to wake up early, warm up a little bit and sit in front of the TV and watch the proceedings. However, if by any chance India loses, remember this, I would have done something stupid and I will take full responsibility.

PS: I like to believe that I am a reasonable gentleman, but Cricket definitely brings out the kid in me.

'Do the thing you fear most and death of fear is certain'

I’ve been on a few bike trips lately. I wasn’t too fond of riding, the liking towards which I developed when I went on the Manali-Leh trip in June 2013. It had been more than a year since I rode a bike by then and never did I ride on a highway except for the 100 KM stretch from Hyderabad to my hometown, as a pillion with my brother some 8 years ago. My mom recalls that I slept that afternoon like I rode a thousand miles, hence never tried anything with motorcycles after that.

A few months before we set out, I remember when Srinivas mentioned about the Manali-Leh tour, I gave my consent without a second thought. I was always fascinated about riding a bullet, which I never did until I was in Manali. When we left for the tour, I was nervous, I was scared and nowhere close to being confident. My bet was that I wouldn’t ride for more than a couple of days and was only happier about the fact that there will be a mini-truck accompanying us, so when any one of us are tired or hurt, we can put our bikes inside and rest. That was my plan A. Plan B was to ride. Surprisingly as it turned out, I took the truck break once, when I felt I just couldn’t ride that evening (and I regret to date having taken that break). But I rode the remaining 9 days. As much as 8 hours a day at least, and the last day I felt like I could have easily done a few more. I was sadder that day than I was when I flunked terribly in my first attempt at CA final.

There were other rides as well, the one me and Abhijith took. Having worked almost 60 hours that week in the midst of the busy season, one fine Saturday evening, two of us, frustrated, wanted to just ride into oblivion. We decided on riding to Chirala, 350-360 kilometers as per Google, turned out to be around 450. We had decided on a simple plan. Leave by 10 that night, reach Chirala in 6-7 hours, chill at the beach, ride back and reach Hyderabad by Sunday night, and well, back to work Monday morning. It sounded fairly simple. But by the time I reached home from office, I realized what a stupid plan that was. No practicality at all. I went to the loo twice (I do that when I get tensed). When Abhijith called at around 10 to ask me if the plan is on, I said I’ve never been more ready. I had given my word, and I wouldn’t back out. I was feeling low, out of energy, scared. But then we went. We rode. We started at around 11 and we rode through the night. Reached at 9 in the morning, slept, got up at 4, went to the beach, got bored, decided we’ll ride back, started at around 6 PM, back to Hyderabad at 3 AM, and well, back to work Monday morning. A little over 900 kilometers in less than 30 hours. Like a boss.

The recent one I went on was with Srinivas. He was so excited about it that he had come all the way from Bangalore to go to Machilipatnam and back over a three day period. I said I’m in. But then I was hoping he won’t come. I was thinking of all the things I can do to avoid this trip. I was scared. I was tired. I had so many reasons on not going. But I went. And when we took our first stop after a hundred kilometers, I was as fresh as I could be. We rode till 3 in the night and I was still fresh when I reached the hotel. We did 750 kilometers in around 36 hours this time. And I would not have been more confident when I was coming back.

The thing I could not help but notice after this ride is that I love riding, I enjoy it to the fullest, but not before I am scared of it, EVERY TIME! I can connect so well to those lame dar ke aage jeet hai advertisements. But the more I think about it, the more sense it makes. Lalli had told me once – fear is a comfort zone that most people live in. It feels good to be there because you have nothing to lose, but when you get out of it, you’ll know exactly what you were missing. Fear kills you, but it is the only thing that can keep you alive.

There are other things as well, like when I am scared of studying a subject, I enjoy it more when I start studying (only because there’s no other way out). I was scarred for life when I got 006 in a useless subject in my first attempt to pass CA Final. YES, IT IS ZERO ZERO SIX OUT OF ONE FULL HUNDRED! I thought I’d never become a CA because I’d never pass that subject. But I studied it every day. And I started enjoying it. Though I passed it with a border mark of 40, in the third attempt (if you’re curious – 26 in the second), I did not fear it. For if I did, I’d have failed even before I gave the paper. The inspiration, however, was a quote by Mark Twain, which I tell myself even today when I’m scared of something – “Do the thing you fear most and death of fear is certain”.