If there is one thing I cannot stand, it's the uppity. The hoity-toity, the snooty, the plainly insensitive conceited individuals who lack everything except perhaps their branded goods.
The kind who make it a point to drop names by the minute, have no sense of restraint when it comes to glorifying their so-called superiority, the kind who have a warped sense of success and pleasure - in condescending others and in feigning happiness. The kind who derive their notions about others from the latter's appearances, from their size of the house/car/jewellery/lifestyle.
There are some utterances that have really annoyed me in the past. While listening to them, I smiled and nodded in wonder. Later, I thrashed myself for standing through it. If you don't agree with something, if you think your patience is being tested with soliloquies, walk away, I said to myself. Or give it right back. As always, witty retorts don't always come to mind when you most need them, but re-running the episodes in the mind much later, I always manage to find something that I could have said.
Some instances, I've even felt pity. It must be a deep-rooted sense of insecurity that is taking this form of extreme flashiness. This self-display is less about haves and more about some vaccum within. A sense of worth perhaps? Ignorance?
Somewhere along all these years, I've realised, the truly worthy people are the quietest of the lot. They don't see the need to trumpet their achievements, their extraordinary possessions, or their unique standing in their niches. Their humiliy is at the core of their being and their success is in their composure; they are the ones who have the same smile and the same respect for everyone - bank-balance no bar, background no bar. They are the genuinely happy lot - no exhibitionism, no masks. They are the ones who can laugh at themselves as well as understand that their good luck is just a blessing.
Life is a leveller, don't we all know that? I've had those moments of fake reality too, and every single time, I've got a rap on my knuckles - sometimes gently, sometimes not so gently. But it's been a learning everytime.
Like the time I was walking down a familiar lane back in Ernakulam during my last visit there five months ago. I held an umbrella to protect me from the intermitten rain, I wore a slightly impatient look that was directed at the woman and the child ahead of me in the tiny lane. "Walk in the centre! Where's your head, the sides are layered with fungii, you'll slip, make use of your brains atleast once in a while," she admonished the little girl in chaste Tamil. They were my grandmother's neighbours, I'd seen them around but never stopped to smile.
My eyes dropped to the lady's ankles, her worn out salwar tips and her rubber footwear. Perhaps a good decision considering the unrelenting rain, but to my biased eyes, they were plainly unflattering. I smirked as I heard the mother admonish the child, "what uncivilised mother would talk to the child like that," I thought. I had to move past them and walk ahead I thought, and softly hummed an "excuse me." They paused and moved an inch to the side to make way, and I walked ahead. The next moment I felt my feet give away, my legs sliding and my arms flailing as the fungii did its job. A loud scream emerged from my throat, and I could almost see the sky. But something helped me from landing on the ground, a firm hand, a firmer grip and an unbiased hold. It was the lady, a look of concern on her face, hands now steadily placed on my shoulders asking me if I was alright. "I was just telling my daughter to avoid walking by the side here, it's really slippery," she said. I looked at her, gratitude on my face, shame beneath.
This is the lady I judged merely by her appearance and her choice of language. This is the lady I dared to think was beneath my social radar. And in the swift action of a second, someone up there decided to set me right, and show me that it was not for me to decide who was superior. We walked together till the end of the road, as I said "thank you" to her for the hundredth time in the next five minutes and discussed the sad state of affair in the muncipality.
When I got home, I narrated the entire episode to my mother. I asked her if it is was nature's way of showing me humility. She laughed, and said, of course yes, "Haven't you heard that saying, pride comes before the fall"? Oh yes I had, I nodded. "I'd just momentarily forgotten it," I winked. "You won't forget that for a while now," she retorted.
