Heavy moments and meaning-making
On my last day home for Diwali, I sat in the living room, with my luggage packed, waiting to go to the airport. In my mind, I was already living in tomorrow. I had to take a call upon landing and catch up on the work I had missed. My parents waited in the same room, looking at the clock. Very few words were spoken. The time arrived, and I said goodbye and sat in the car to go. It was all very quick. Something felt too light, in a moment that should have felt heavy.
On an eventful evening in Mumbai, I found myself seated in an auditorium listening to मुशायरा. The fun, light-hearted event was nearing its end, and the audience was getting up from their seats, stretching their bodies, and eyeing the exit. Just then the host said the parting words — ज़िंदगी होगी तो दुबारा मुलाक़ात होगी. Time stood still in that auditorium, as the gravity of the words seeped in. There was an unsaid heaviness in that moment.
A major worry all of us have is that we will end up on the wrong side of regret. We think the experience of regret is like drinking water from a glass. It's possible to drink just the right amount; not too much and not too little. We worry that our future version will regret working too hard, or not working hard at all, of making too many friends, or not making friends at all, of deciding too soon, or not deciding at all. Despite reading books and talking to people, my younger self couldn't shake off this worry.
Two years ago, at our flat, my flatmate and work colleagues were having a house party. His boss, a top trader and the youngest partner at the firm, was also present. He was only a decade older than us, and a big shot in that specific market they traded in. Managing a portfolio of more than 200 crore, they were the number 2 or 3 in the country for total assets managed and returns. The newer members of the firm, along with me, were fascinated and asked questions about his life. In a rather abrupt moment of the evening, in between the answers, he started sobbing. The music dimmed, and the party came to a halt as it became clear what was happening. In a breaking voice, the partner spoke about his life after college, the unconventional choices he took, how hard he worked and studied to become extremely good at trading. There was pride and confidence in those words. The voice became heavier as he talked about the sacrifices. He revealed that he regrets missing out on living out his youth. He didn't get a chance to be carefree, adventurous, impulsive, or reckless. To live with fewer responsibilities. In that moment, I got my answer. I wanted to be exactly in his position when I grew up. When I am older and crying, I'd better be crying about lost youth than lost potential.
The experience of regret is not like drinking water; it is like tossing a coin, and it was precisely on this side of regret I would want to be in. It's also surreal that what I learnt from that moment was the exact opposite of what was being said verbatim. Life presents you a scene, and what you learn from it is your own.
Whenever I would be in the office working late or on weekends, I would remember this moment and remind myself why I was doing what I was doing. That running this company is something I chose for myself. I also created strongly opinionated stories around why other alternatives are not suitable for me, so that on a bad day, I am not entertaining thoughts of doing something else.
What is a heavy moment? It's the experience of how serious what we call life is. It's precious, it's painful, it's beautiful, and it's also short. And every decision bears life-changing consequences. A heavy moment brings us back to the present and prompts us to reflect on our approach to life. It shows us a glimpse of how consequential every moment is. A heavy moment pierces through all layers of emotions straight to the core and gives us a chill of who we are, true to our bones. These are the moments when we truly understand ourselves and create stories that will carry us throughout our lives.
After all, what do you say to yourself to justify running an extra kilometer, or working an extra hour, or going through another fight with your partner?
That is why people say relationships should have a healthy amount of fights. You need to be reminded why you chose to be with that person. Love is discovered in the inconveniences.
I wonder if, as a generation, our experience of heaviness has gone down. A part of feeling light in this world is to be flooded with choices. If the job is too much to bear, there is another one you can easily get. If I can become anyone tomorrow, why harden into a single shape today? Everything is a choice, so nothing really sticks to you. Nothing makes you question or look inside and get the answer from your heart. We feel like we are floating around in our own lives, like a person picking a new ice cream flavour each time, but unable to decide which one they really like. And in this floating around, we are skipping making meaning for ourselves.
Listen to the stories of our parents, or anyone from the previous generation. It's not a story of lightness. The story is about living a life of duty and obligation, working a job to meet financial needs, raising a family despite all challenges, and balancing the expectations of everyone around them. It's a story of sacrifice. These are weighty and meaningful stories. It's a privilege to have choices, but it shouldn't inhibit you from meaning-making.
It's not to say we are devoid of heavy moments; life throws us into the pit randomly. An injury, the loss of someone, a bad day at work, an extremely ugly fight. All of this prompts you to consider what you truly want out of life. It is also possible to experience more heaviness by committing to things, overexerting oneself, and being pulled in every direction, torn apart by life.
Try to do anything that prevents you from floating around lightly, and you will get answers for yourself.