that rite of passage

కిషోర్ అన్న and శారద గారు invited us to their house last evening because it was సోమవారం కార్తీక పౌర్ణమి and they were planning to do a రుద్రాభిషేకం. So we arrived there expecting to find many people, like it was when they did the సత్యనారాయణ వ్రతం, and were surprised to realise it was just us. Because he hadn't started the పూజ yet, అన్నtold me to change into a ధోతి ఉత్తరీయం and sit with him. While changing I realised I wasn't wearing my జంధ్యం and embarassedly informed him. He paused what he was doing and looked at me with barely concealed anger. He handed me a new one, muttering, "జంధ్యం లేకుండా ఏంటి ఆదిత్య", to which I replied, "Sorry" in a low voice, and he said, "నాకెందుకు sorry". Then we spent the next 15 minutes doing the ceremony so that I could wear it at the end of which he said, "I hope I'm not imposing" and I replied, "అయ్యో, లేదండి. దాన్ని ధిక్కరించే స్థాయికి చేరుకోలేదు", and then we started the అభిషేకం.

As I write this, I can see Sravani grimace, at the time of reading, at my easy capitulation. I understand her anger and disappointment. But at some level, what I said is true. In a different context, I would probably have argued and discussed the metaphysical aspects of the ritual itself and his belief. But there I felt more vulnerable because I was invited precisely for being born into a బ్రాహ్మణ household. And I felt like I was pretending to be one without backing it up with learning and experience. The problem was more in the lack of knowledge than in the pretense. Its the equivalent of being the only Indian amongst a group of people from other nationalities, and be stumped at answering the most basic question about India.

During the అభిషేకం itself, I felt inadequate and phony- not because of my lack of belief (not at all, actually, because I was processing it at the level of the ritual itself) nor because of the lack of conviction in my atheism, but because of my inability to learn about and embrace, not either but both, fully. If I had to be stupid, I wanted to be profoundly stupid, not simply stupid. I wanted to have known the శ్రీ  సూక్తం, పురుష సూక్తం, నమకం - చమకం, done the ritual properly, and then sat down to talk about it. తెలిసీ తెలియకుండా ప్రశ్నలు వేయడం ఒక వయసు దాక బాగుంటుంది, చాలా అవసరం కూడా , కానీ ఆ వయసు దాటేసిన తరువాత అది అజ్ఞానం, చేతకాని తనం, మరీ ముఖ్యంగా, నిజంగా తెలుసుకోవాలన్న జిజ్ఞాస కాక ఏదో వాగాలి కాబట్టి వాగే అలవాటు గానే మిగిలిపోతుంది. కుర్రాడికి మగవాడికి అదే తేడా.

While that's what happened last night, during the course of a recent, important conversation, I realised that one of the primary reasons why I feel like and act like a boy, permanently, seems to be because I never learnt how to grow into a man. To rephrase what I said then, "I was born a boy and didn't have to be taught how to behave like one. But to grow into a man, I had to see, learn, emulate, follow someone- which I couldn't. Its usually the father who acts as the template and because that was missing, I sort of never went through the rite of passage." Interestingly, I remember having a few very serious conversations on this topic with friends back in college but I don't think its come up since. I've been thinking over the past few days if that is an excuse but I think it is a genuine reason. Not that everyone with a father either learns or can learn from him, but in my case, and its hit me at the age of 33, that it has been a crisis; I know it is a big word and I'm used to downplaying my confusions and struggles as nothing more than products of immaturity or pigheadedness or affectation, but the last few months have been quite impactful in forcing me to look at these issues without escaping into abstraction or frivolity. 

Again, I don't mean to bring this up as an excuse for my actions or words through my adulthood. Infact, maybe some good has happened by not having that tree to grow in the shade of. Nonetheless, I think the time has come to look at this as objectively as I can- both without arrogance and, more dangerously, an escapist, reflexive kind of self-effacement. Stanley Kubrick once said that talking beautifully about a problem can give the mistaken impression that it has been solved. Similarly, talking openly about one's failings or confusions can give the impression, primarily to oneself, that nothing needs to be done to fix it. I seem to have fallen into that trap. Its like my reflexive sorry to anyone- there you go, I've admitted my mistake. Happy? What more do you want from me- to fix it?.

"Don't hedge your prose with little timidities", writes William Zinsser. In a sense, to be a man is to live upto that dictum. I can't keep kvetching and apologising and backtracking and airing my fucking uncertainities all my life. Or to quote Martin McDonagh from In Bruges, "He's suicidal? I'm suicidal, you're suicidal, everybody's fucking suicidal. We don't all keep going on about it. Has he killed himself yet? So he's not fucking suicidal, is he?". 

Yet there's a part of me that cherishes this openness, honesty, a refreshing lack of pretense. I don't want to lose that. I also don't want to extend my 'extended adoloscence' any further. Don't lose the play but don't trivialise the serious. That is the holy grail. I recently wrote to Sravani that I want to live in a way where I cherish the now, the ephemeral intense short-term without losing the ability to build the more permanent, grander long-term artefacts of life. To use Dr. Venki Ramakrishnan's dichotomy, we need both the interesting and the important. The boyish and the manly. I can see the churn happening inside me, intense and focused, in real-time. Has it happened before? I can't recollect. The bigger question, though, is, Will it lead to transformation?

Thankfully, one good thing is the immutable realisation that any transformation is a sum of innumerable daily actions, not an act of inspiration or blessing. I am trying to inculcate that into my daily life and ofcourse it is slow and hard, but as long as delusions don't cloud my eyes for long, I think I'll keep at it and get there. 

Who'd've thought that Tracy Austin was the genius after all.