Friends of Words

Author: Swati

  • “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in” – The Godfather

    “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in” – The Godfather

    I keep watching and re-watching the Godfather trilogy; I must admit that the third one isn’t as regular of a re-run for me as the other two. 

    There are plenty of timeless Marlon Brando dialogues – delivered with immaculate precision in the movie. 

    But the post is not about him. 

    The post is about Al Pacino’s Michael’s iconic line:

    Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.

    Years of guilt from killing his brother burst out of Michael, alongwith the anger and frustration around losing control of the empire he had so painstakingly built. 

    Pacino was so true to the character in that scene. His facial expressions, his voice- everything was so spot on! You could feel his emotions. 

    In short, it was quite the scene. In my book, it’s the best scene in the last installment of this trilogy.

    Well, I watched the movie when I was a kid (or at least I thought I was). That’s the world of a don, I thought. It happens to dons, their stooges, and maybe some other people. All in fiction, though. I didn’t see myself ever saying these words in my life. 

    And the kid that I was, of course, I was wrong.

    Since I grew up, saying that I might have used this sentence at least 500 times would not be an overstatement. Plenty of WhatsApp messages, gifs, Teams chats, Google chats, and inadvertent emails are a testimony to that. 

    No no, this is not restricted to formal/informal friendly settings. It has flooded over to engulf my work life too.

    Don’t you hate it when something you did for someone as a favor gets added to the list of your regular responsibilities, and then eventually you become the only person responsible for the work? 

    Years pass by, and you continue to be accountable for it. 

    You are frustrated with all your requests to move on to other work, learn new things, and fall on deaf ears. You are bored after all, and why wouldn’t you?

    Then one fine day, your good karma pays off. Your manager is in an excellent mood, and you restrike the iron when it is hot. Things go unexpectedly well. 

    Et voila! The albatross is finally off your neck. The ancient mariner has been saved.

    Or so it would seem.

    The desk phone rings; there is an urgent issue that they need your help with. Heart races in reflex and then plummets to the depths of hell when the albatross strikes again. You help and it is resolved. But apparently, you have impressed them so much that they can’t see another person taking the work on, at least in the ‘near’ future.

    And that’s precisely when an image of Michael Corleone flashes before your eyes- extremely agitated.

    Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.

    You understand him better now. It is challenging to cope when your end goal is, deceptively, just whiskers away before disappearing into dark oblivion. 

    That ‘I was almost out’ thought consumes you to the core. As you continue to see the scene unfolding in your mind’s eye, you see Michael having a heart attack soon after.

    And a switch flips on.

    You are mature. You are an adult. You can do better than Don Michael Corleone.

  • Satiety or Sobriety: What would you choose?

    Satiety or Sobriety: What would you choose?

    Time and again, I find myself returning to the age-old humor classic Jerome K Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat. I have sometimes wondered why that might be but have not pursued that train of thought for long in a desperate attempt to avoid paying any cognitive taxes. 

    the cover of the book 'three men in a boat'
    One of my favorite books

    I must admit that it has been life-transforming. Wait, I lie. I have always lived my life that way- avoiding work every chance. 

    It wouldn’t be an overstatement to say that I like almost every sentence written in that book. But on every other re-read, some new wisdom catches my eye.

    The following was the highlight of my most recent re-read of the book: 

    How good one feels when one is full – how satisfied with ourselves and with the world! People who have tried it tell me that a clear conscience makes you very happy and contented, but a full stomach does the business quite as well and is cheaper and more easily obtained.

    Good indeed, no denying that. This might have to do with the fact that I read the book in self-imposed solitary confinement, avoiding all world distractions (food included) as if they were the plague. 

    But that aside, the sentence did leave a good aftertaste. I wondered about it during and after many meals and felt even more strongly that a full belly is a prerequisite for sustainable happiness. 

    Yes, you can be happy without a full belly if you have a clear conscience, but I guess at some point, the grumbling of your stomach will overpower all other senses and thoughts.

    Full disclosure, my belief in my ideas isn’t as steadfast as I would like.

    So naturally, I resort to the public library’s reference section for all the true wisdom out there. 

    This search was quite the workout – moving around in the Psychology, Philosophy, ancient wisdom, and theology aisles- to name a few. A common theme was conscientiousness as the foundational brick for any sustainable human happiness. 

    Out comes Abraham Maslow and his hierarchy of needs, where physiological needs (satiating hunger in this case) are considered key to a satisfied human. 

    And Bam! 

    I see him and Mr. Jerome in my daydreaming mind, shaking hands, hugging, and having drinks at the local bar close to my place. I decelerate my imaginary speeding car and come back to the reality of my own experience.

    The only times I remember having had trouble sleeping was – if I had a presentation at work the following day that I am sure would bring shame to my professional existence, OR I only had a green salad and a soup for dinner. 

    Oh, how powerful hunger is, how accomplished at keeping me awake! 

    Literature tells me love has the same power. Love can make you lose your sleep and your appetite. I thank my stars that I never came across that kind of love (with loss of appetite and sleep, what good would that be to me anyway?)

    This is not to undermine the importance of conscience. Not in the least. Literature worldwide is replete with advice and means of keeping a clear conscience. I wouldn’t comment on my level of conscientiousness; objective self-assessment isn’t my strong suit. 

    But I like to believe that I am reasonably conscientious.

    Now the fun part is, I found myself obsessing over the first part of Mr. Jerome’s sentence, completely ignoring the second:

    “…but a full stomach does the business quite as well and is cheaper and more easily obtained.”

    I can only speak for myself when I say that eating dollops of cream cheese, tzatziki, and a veggie burger gets me tangibly closer to happiness every day than mental cleansing – conscience or otherwise.

    Ogden Nash, from the local library’s fiction aisle, had a terrific insight laid right out: 

    “There is only one way to achieve happiness in this terrestrial ball, and that is either to have a clear conscience or none at all.”

    I have not lost all hope.

  • “When 900 years old, you reach… Look as good, you will not.” – Yoda, Return of the Jedi

    “When 900 years old, you reach… Look as good, you will not.” – Yoda, Return of the Jedi

    I was (re)watching The Return of the Jedi the other day, and this exchange between Yoda and Skywalker made me gasp for breath. As usual, I exaggerate. 

    Surprisingly, it was not the image of my looks at 900 that disturbed me the most, and I think that had to do with the world average mortality rate of less than a tenth of that. 

    So, naturally, I got worried about how I would look at the more believable 90, assuming my junk-laden city lifestyle even allows me to survive that long. Considering my imagination is limited given my mediocre intelligence, I seek the intelligence of search engines out there – and surprisingly, the images brought by the algorithm do precisely the opposite of what I was hoping for.

    Even with all those age-defying state-of-the-art remedies out there, it does not look like we have advanced that much against age.

    Yes, you must be wearing sunscreen every time you step out in the sun (and sometimes without the sun for the habit), you may buy the last advanced age-defying serum from the shelf, you may spend three hours in the gym every day, you may have defeated bugs bunny and popeye in the carrot/salad/spinach-eating contest.

    But the truth remains: cells are born, they mature, and eventually die. 

    It’s ingrained in our DNA. We might be able to slow down the aging process, but not to the extent they showed in In Time – the Justin Timberlake, Amanda Seyfried starrer. 

    The wrinkles have a way of catching up… eventually. I wonder though, if seeing myself growing old is more painful than people telling me that I am?

    Would I be less gloomy and more prepped if I somehow brought myself to accept this eventuality if not embrace it?

    Would I be less depressed and anxious about the things I can’t control?

    While secretly thinking, ‘would that reduce my stress levels enough to reduce the cortisol production in my body, thus reducing inflammation in my body and slowing, if not halting, the pace of aging? 

    Of course, I can’t claim to know the answers to these questions. I do not. There is only one Yoda, and he breathed his last quite a while ago.

    But one thing I do.

    My favorite Yoda quote this is.

  • The Vintage Man – How Well Do You Know Your Cars?

    The Vintage Man – How Well Do You Know Your Cars?

    Now and then, I would have an urge to figure out my IQ, driven mainly by ubiquitous android or iOS Logo quiz apps on every website I am on. They claim to tell you your IQ based on your performance on their quizzes. Guess the company names by looking at their logos- what better way to know how intelligent you are! 

    If you don’t understand the symbols around you, you can’t be smart, can you? 

    Neither my words nor my logic.

    Well, I digress. The point being, I love cars, beautiful looking cars. The thing is, I don’t know much about them, except for their brand logos. 

    Unfortunately, I think I can only categorize a car as a sedan, hatchback, or SUV, and that on a good day. Maybe just big or small is the best categorization you could get out of me on a bad day.

    I digress again. Last year, on a nice summer day, while I was walking down the street after a visit to my nearby café, I noticed a car, the car didn’t look very modern actually. It seemed like one of those vintage cars I sometimes see on “Comedians in cars getting coffee” (For those of you that don’t Netflix as much, it’s a very popular comedy/chat show). 

    Just a vintage car, you might say? 

    At least I know that I thought that. 

    But no! It was as if Darth Vader had appeared with his royal vehicle, living the law-abiding life, waiting at the intersection for the traffic light to go green. 

    It seemed as if in that minute, he had enamored everyone in the 300-meter radius; everyone’s eyes were on this alien road dweller. People were spellbound, ogling at them both – the vehicle and its driver, trying to unravel the mystery of how they came to be together. 

    Some people took leave of their reservations and started whistling; the driver, a sport, acknowledged the kind gesture and honked in return. 

    The Gods of traffic lights couldn’t let that idyllic anomaly go on for long, could they? 

    The light turned green soon enough, the driver sped past in his alien vehicle, and that cute little downtown corner was back to its chaotic existence, but those 30 seconds of red light seemed like a few hours in a utopian world. At least for me. 

    My only regret: I wasn’t facing the vehicle, so I didn’t get a look at the logo – and hence, Je suis desole, never got to know what brand or make of the car was. All my hopes of evoking that enamor from random strangers were flushed down the drain, assuming I were ever able to get that royal ride for myself one day.

    I learned some critical lessons that day, which I hope stay with me, for long.

    “Never trust what logo quiz say your IQ is” (the creators for these and ‘does trump have a higher IQ than Obama’ quiz are most probably the same) 

    AND

    “Know your cars.”

    In a world full of logo quizzes every step of the way, tread lightly.

  • What’s with your accent?

    What’s with your accent?

    It happens to be dinner time, and I am eating AND watching this TV series. In one of the scenes, this guy is going about telling people that he is a cop/a Fed/a spy, whichever is convenient in the situation. 

    At best, people throw a confused look, and at worst, they exclaim, “Oh yeah? What’s with the accent?” 

    Naturally, in a world these people can make sense of, a Fed/cop/spy can’t have an accent. It just doesn’t sit right.

    Of course, I take it personally. After all, where’s the fun in watching something if you don’t picture yourself in the protagonist’s shoes. It’s freakishly easy for me to create this world in my mind, where I am this guy, and people are mocking my accent. 

    If someone said that to me as they did to that guy, I could see myself reacting in either of these two ways:

    1. Start bawling like a kid right there, which is quite embarrassing considering the grown-ass woman that I am
    2. Smack the perpetrator in the face

    As you can see, both of these reactions aren’t ideal and rightfully sit on two ends of the situational response spectrum. Both of them reflect a lack of maturity and emotional resilience to differing degrees.

    I consider a middle route between the two, maybe just tears welling in the eyes and me slapping the perpetrator lightly on their face, but that response seems even more pitiable, so I drop it off my simulation.

    Thankfully, my attention returns to the show soon enough, and I catch the guy’s response to the perpetrator.

    Poker face followed by ‘Oh yeah, what’s with yours?”

    What the hell! Why didn’t I think of that!?

    Sense returns to me eventually, and I have this epiphany, “Who doesn’t?”

    Take that, perp!