Those Who Look For You, Will Find You.

Dear Readers

I’m not a philosopher, though I would like to be called one. The problem is, there’s only one label I find fit for myself – that of a learner. Philosophy interests me as a reader. Although what I learn is often a mere reflection of the beliefs of another. I try to reason out, but mostly succumb to the temptation of amassing esoteric knowledge or concepts or ideas. Besides, I think philosophy is a kind of estranged truth. And, I am notorious for my affinity to plain, naked truth.  

Why am I talking philosophy today? Being a part of several writing groups where I am the quintessential mute participant (who reads every message but chooses the elitist silent response), my inbox is brimming with philosophical quotes about writing. I specify the ‘mute participant’ bit because they, and not philosophy, are the main character of this discourse.

One such quote (based on a thought by Kafka) that I encountered recently said and I paraphrase, we are at a loss of words in the most intense moments of our lives. I don’t know what to make of this. Does that imply that everything written is not necessarily born out of the most extraordinary moments of a writer’s life? Does it also mean that all writing is superficial, and merely a floater of our subconscious mind that has gone astray?

Whatever it may be, I will agree that the present gravity of my situation has left me wordless and speechless. Therefore, besides nearly not writing, even my day-to-day interactions nowadays end with a nod, or at best with a filler. When I’m most chatty, I merely crack lame jokes. These interactions are both online and offline. As a result, many friends, acquaintances and particularly my ‘virtual writing family’ has disappeared from my life as fast as they had appeared.

And I’m not complaining; merely stating facts. As writers, it is best we learn early on not to underestimate the silent power of asking/giving. I watched a video of a corporate conference sometime back in which they did a small experiment. All participants were given thirty seconds to go and shake hands with as many people present in the room as possible. Some of them moved around from one table to another, some formed small groups, others large ones and then there were those who didn’t bother to get up at all. Evidently, at the end of thirty seconds the last category had hardly shaken hands with anyone in the room. Such is life! To be touched, you must touch. Also, at the moment, I happen to fall in this category.

Having said that, I wonder if not being able to shake enough hands is an existential threat? For writers, maybe yes. My septuagenarian father, who is battling old age and illness both, remarked one afternoon how he barely receives two phone calls in a day. One from his only brother and the other from me. My father was very active until recently, taking up architectural work beyond his professional years. Once he stopped venturing out and meeting people for work or social commitments (for unavoidable reasons), the phone calls and hellos began to die down. They didn’t really fly out of the window. The process was gradual and slow, but sure. Of course, more people remember him over a period of a week or a month, but you understand the implication of his statement as symbolic of his fewer social connections now. This points to the inevitable human tendency to reach out to only those who we love or those we benefit from. On the professional front, unfortunately, it’s mostly the latter.  

If we look further, we cannot overlook the fact that an online absence makes virtual friendships dwindle to a trickle pretty fast. Of course, it’s not vastly different in real life too. Just a wee better. Which brings me to the realization that human relations are based on the foundation of communication and exchange. But, if like me, you’re struggling to say or do anything beyond sending a heart emoji, what do you do? Well, you give up on most people like they give up on you because your ego is anything but a bubble and asking for help or understanding feels like being someone else.  

There’s another solace though. The undeniable wisdom of sacred texts that says, those who look for you will always find you. For the others, you will only be as important as the number of handshakes you can possibly do. The essential thing is not to be bothered by the statistics and care for the ones who look for you. As a writer, hold on tight to your random readers; to the ones who will read you, no matter what.

Which brings me to the end of this gibberish, non-philosophical piece that shouldn’t have managed to confuse you. What do you think I should call it –  ‘How Many Handshakes Can You Possibly Do?’ or perhaps, ‘Those Who Look for You, Will Find You’. Let me settle for the second one. No harm in sounding philosophical, right?

(PS- The image accompanying this article is unrelated. It’s only to attract readers. But any/all interpretations are welcome).