Life is larger than logic

Life is larger than logic

It was a dialogue in a movie. But when I heard it, it first made me smile and then cry a little bit. Now normally I’m not a very tears person, but this year promises to compensate for the previous 23. The dialogue struck a chord. Probably because lately, I’ve been feeling rather down and out. A little useless and hugely untalented. And it doesn’t help when people close to you decide to pick such a time to tell you how illogical and juvenile they think you are.

Which made me wonder, what exactly does juvenile mean? And considering I don’t quite seem to see juvenile-ness where others do, I probably don’t understand what maturity means either. So I thought I’d define it. Does juvenile mean walking out of the house at 3 am because you’re too scared to sleep, or is juvenile the act of taking someone’s demons and converting them into social currency? Is it juvenile when you either never ask for advice or never take it, or is it when all you ever do is agree with a more worldly-wise person's views on how you must lead your life? Is juvenile the spoilt little princess, or the adult who resents her her accident of birth? Is it juvenile when you make a mistake knowingly, even if you’re prepared for the consequences, or is it when you’re so afraid of finding a glitch in carefully laid plans that you never take the risk? And most importantly, is juvenile a function of age, or a story we concoct so we feel better about the choices we make and the life we’ve chosen to lead?

I was talking to my friend Z the other day and she said that as often as they’ve landed me in trouble, she would have loved to make some of the mistakes I made. Now Z is a girl who has spent the better part of her life trying to get me to “mend my ways”, as she calls it. In kindergarten, it was by getting me to sharpen my pencils before class; in middle school, it was by ensuring that my homework was done; in high school, she’d stop me from needling my most-hated teacher; in college, it was by calling me five thousand times a day to remind me of all the horrible things that would happen if I went out with the bad boy. Ever since I turned 18, she’s been terrified that one day, I’ll fall in love with a man twice my age and end up pregnant and barefoot in his kitchen. She often jokes that hopefully, when that day came, at least I’ll be married to the asshole and can claim the one-bedroom apartment in the chawl that we’ll no doubt live in. She is like a mini-parent, but in a nice way, because she won’t embark on emotional onslaught to get me to do what she thinks is right. She’ll just sigh and mutter “sudhar jaa” 500 times, every time I tell her about my latest adventure.

Considering all this, I was rather surprised to hear Z say that she envied my “mistakes”. Because Z is one of the most practical, poised and perfect people I know. Her responses are always measured—whether they are to people or situations. She does what needs to be done and when it needs to be done. I have never seen her as grossly underprepared for exams as I usually was. Nor have I seen her lose her temper over nothing issues, stamp her feet in irritation or be impolite unless it can be helped. The one time she called me up at midnight to cry and wouldn’t tell why, I decided that either she was pregnant and didn’t have the money for abortion, or was being blackmailed by an asshole ex-boyfriend over a vacation she may have lied to her parents about. I remember furiously calculating how much money Z, D and I could raise for the abortion/ blackmailer to shut up, if the three of us didn’t shop, eat or go out for a couple of months. I can’t recall what the “emergency” was, but I do remember laughing my guts out when we finally found out, huddled over a corner table at Barista the next day. We were 17 then. And I hadn’t still figured out that such situations simply didn’t arise in Z’s life. She was much too sensible for that. These things were more up my alley. Not quite, but close.

I must admit that it felt good. After the battering that my confidence had taken at the hands of my more “mature and together” friends, it felt good to hear someone like Z tell me she envied the very thing that was making me feel like the black sheep of my social set. Because she’s one of the very few people that I have ever respected. We may not always agree and our way of living life might be diametrically opposite, but the respect I have for her is impregnable.

When I asked her why, she went quiet for a few seconds. And then asked me, “When was the last time you did something stupid and regretted it?” And I didn’t have an answer. Because I could say that I regretted having gotten involved with some people for all the heartache it has caused me, that I regretted picking the bad boy over the nice guy, that I regretted quitting my job without finding another one first, and I regretted running away from home every other weekend. But the truth is, I don’t. Because even while I was making these seemingly wild and pointless decisions, I knew why I needed to do it. “So as long as you know why you did what you did, the reasons make sense to you and you’re prepared to deal with what the ‘morning after’ will throw at you, why the fuck do you care what anyone thinks?” she said, almost as if she was bored of the conversation, because the answer was so painfully obvious. “Of all the times that you refused to listen to anyone, you decide to start now, when you’re finally old enough to make decisions and not have them questioned by the world and its cousin?”

Again, I didn’t have an answer to her question. Why did I care what anyone thought. I never have, then why did I suddenly start? And then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “Sure, there are people who’ll think twice and then reconfirm before making a decision, but amidst all the thinking, we miss out on the feeling part. You don’t. Which is fantastic. It might be illogical, crazy and wild, but people who know you, know that when you feel something for them, it’s one hundred per cent true. You know how loved you made V feel? Why do you think that idiot can’t stick with his wife? And D and I can’t imagine you cheating on us. You know how rare it is to feel this sure of someone?”

And that’s when I teared up again. It feels good to know that someone gets it, gets you. Because no matter how much you tell yourself that you live life on your own terms, everyone needs someone. Like I’ve said earlier, up until a while ago, I didn’t really believe in soulmates, but maybe such a thing exists. In my case, my soulmates are my friends. There’s B, who’s long accepted that asking me not to overthink and overfeel is a massive waste of time. Then there are D and Z, who, after almost two decades of friendship, still don’t know what to do with me. So they just love me. Without questions, judgements or conditions. Illogical, as my relationships might be, they’re precious. Because life is larger than logic.