When I was in primary school, every day after lunch our teacher used to make us play a little game. Each one of us was required to keep one finger on our lips and be silent. The person who could keep quiet the longest was the winner. I don’t remember what the prize was but whatever it was, I never won it. In fact, I was one of the first people to break the silence all the time. Silence please!
“Silence” is something God never intended for my family. I was thinking hard about this post and it seems that every single member of my family (or for that matter my extended family) is chatty and loud. When we talk over the phone, we shout at the top of our voice. My father takes one stroll in the morning and the entire neighbourhood gets to know what is happening in our family. When my Mum laughs, you can say she is happy from a block away. My brother and I have taken the art of talking to a new level altogether. We are loud and we are chatty. A deadly combination, I tell you.
At least that was what it used to be…
Nowadays, I don’t talk much. One year in London and something has been zapped out of me entirely. Barring a few occasions when I am super happy or something of that sort, I seldom talk like before. I prefer silence now, I prefer solitude.
Why? No idea. But, I have changed for the better or the worse.
Sometimes when I am with my trader and banker friends and we keep on discussing endlessly about Bloomberg, Google Finance, IGIndex, S&P, FTSE, Dow Jones and FX and all those non-sense finance and banking terms, I lapse into those memorable college days when discussions were simpler, when making fun of Sharan Sir (Local Taalk), Topa (Math Prof) and T.V.P.S (Control Engineering Prof) in the canteen used to be my only World.
When I go to these expensive parties with ridiculously high prices and extravagantly dressed people, I think about those good old days when eating anda-bhurgi with Maggi at Nana’s Restaurant was all that I used to dream about. This world I currently inhabit is far removed from the simple abode that I used to call home. I don’t belong to these high-rise buildings with their appliance packed houses and I don’t identify with these people who always talk about money, money, money and more money.
Fate and circumstances are two very powerful words in the English vocabulary. Both of them lead you to the same consequences, but they represent a vast divide in the attitude of the person whose fate or circumstances we are talking about. I don’t know whether it is my fate or the result of my circumstances yet, but one thing is for sure, I am gradually turning into one of them traders and bankers I so passionately hate.
But what can I do? The wheel of fortune or shall we say misery has started turning and I have to play along. In an ideal World, I would have been a painter somewhere in the forests of Costa Rica or the deserts of Ethiopia trying to capture the unadulterated beauty that mother nature has bestowed on us, but I am trapped here, in my worn out bloody red couch on this cold winter night. I hear voices of people talking – about money, about forthcoming trades, about company financials, about the quick-buck. But, I prefer silence now, I prefer solitude. I wish they would stop, I wish I could stop.