The Bane of Sophistication

I‘d been to my ancestral village a week ago.  A place still largely unpolluted, both in its environment and in its people.  To me, a city dweller, this countryside was not just refreshing, but looked a threshold to wisdom.

In the village, most were not literate, but knew what is necessary.  All in the village knew the other.  They could tell the time from the shadows, make fire, knew when would the river swell, when to sow and when to reap.  But they didn’t know my way of making money.  Most were walking and the affluent ones were riding bicycles.  I visited the village in my car.

If there comes a day when electricity won’t work, they would survive, but I won’t.  If there comes a day when money won’t fetch food, they would survive, but I won’t.  They know what life is about, but I know Maths, Physics, Chemistry, Accountancy, Taxation, Trade Finance and what not.  But in the world in which I live, I am conditioned to believe that sophistication is a measure of success.  As I think I am more savoir-faire, I think myself as more accomplished.

In life so far, I have come across some from the urban high societies and some from the countryside.  I valued the urbanites more.

I have been on interview panels, from where I have preferred candidates with a gift-of-the-gab to those with humility and knowledge.  Often I mistook those speaking flowery English as knowledgeable.

I worked with employers who were raw and blunt, but were caring and inexpressive.  And with those who were polite and euphemistic, but were extremely exploitative.  I did enjoy working with the latter.

My mind looks for sophistication in everything.  To it, that which is sophisticated is good and that which isn’t, isn’t.

The day I learn to break free from my urge for sophistication, may be the day of my freedom.   The day I see things without the filter of sophistication, may be the day of my enlightenment.  For sophistication leads to darkness of the mind, for with it I start seeing those without it in poor light.  For it leads to a skewness in my perception of society, for with it I think I am relatively superior or inferior.

I wonder if I am capable of freedom from this conditioning.  For today sophistication is my sophisticated master and I, its rustic slave.

The Dark Hour of Reason

It is hard to believe that there was a time when I loved everyone, hated none, smiled when others smiled and cried when others cried, didn’t discriminate, everything I did was a joy to others, and led an uncomplicated worry-free life.

I believed that everyone and everything was good and didn’t know malice.

I had a lot of restrictions though.  I was not allowed to walk out into the street.  My food, my dress, and everything that I used…. nothing was of my choice.  But I didn’t mind.

The world was such a nice place to live in.  But I didn’t know that I was destined to change… very shortly.   After all, I was a child.

When I grew and went to school, my sense of logic did weird things to me.  I loved some, hated some, smiled when others cried, thought what I liked was good and that I disliked was bad, that white is right and black is wrong, big is better and small is not… and what not.  I used to dream with eyes open, much to the dismay of my teachers.  Very soon my lessons said “all humans are brethren”, but the newspapers talked of an enemy.  I learnt to disbelieve what I read.

When I was more by myself, I started avoiding those that advised me and started hanging around those that encouraged my deeds.  I started thinking that I should be the lord of all that I survey.  I judged others but didn’t realise that others judged me too.  I thought others judge me by what I possess.  I thought it would be nice to have a bike or a car.  I tried to show in my world that I am popular.  I enjoyed visiting a vanity salon that charged me in hundreds but I bargained with the auto-rickshaw for five.

When I tasted financial independence, I behaved as if those that are less affluent are another species.  I liked to move with the affluent.  But I didn’t like it when the more affluent did it.  I enjoyed tipping the five-star bearer a 3-digit note, but didn’t think the beggar that tapped at my car’s window is worth a coin.

Along the way I had friends who died, met with accidents, went broke, fell terminally ill.  I choose to think that I am not prone.  Today, as a full blown adult, weared down by my own contradictions, I am led to think that most of what I learnt may need to be unlearned.

Why was I happier as a child?  I think I know, but I am conditioned not to acknowledge.

I agree with John Betjeman.  The hour of reason is dark…. pitch dark.